They were canvassing. Going door to door. Talking to everyone. They were building a case, piece by piece, witness by witness, tracking closer and closer to us. To Mia.
Alarm flared through every cell in my body. What were the neighbors saying? What had they seen? What had they heard? What rumors were they spreading about us?
I forced myself away from the window and returned to scrubbing the same counter for the third time. Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang. My heart slammed into my throat. Apollo barked and raced for the front door.
I checked the peephole.
Not the detectives. Instead, Rowan Westinghouse stood on my porch, dressed in a navy cashmere V-neck, cream linen pants, and ballet flats, her hair swept in shiny loose curls around her shoulders. A bouquet of roses was cradled in her arms in shades of pink, cream, and coral, their stems wrapped in burlap tied with twine.
Chloe stood beside her mother, hands tucked into the pockets of an oversized cardigan, her face pale and drawn. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. She looked physically ill.
I opened the door partway. "Rowan, Chloe. Hi."
"Hello, Dahlia." Rowan's voice was warm, concerned. "We won't stay long. We wanted to check on you. And Mia." She held out the roses. "From my garden. I know how much you love them."
I did. I'd admired them at her Fourth of July party last summer, the way they spilled over the arbor in riotous colors. I’d always lovedthe fragile beauty of flowers, though I could never water them enough to keep them alive and thriving.
I took the bouquet. A thorn pricked my finger through the burlap. "Thank you."
Chloe looked past me into the house, her gaze searching. "Is Mia here?"
"She's upstairs, sleeping. She didn't feel up to school today. I'm so sorry, but I don't want to wake her."
"That's okay, Ms. Kincaid." Something flickered across Chloe's face. Relief? Disappointment? It was gone before I could read it. "I couldn't go back to school, either. Not yet. Everyone else went back, though."
Rowan squeezed Chloe's shoulder. "It's different for you, sweetheart. It happened at our house."
Chloe's eyes welled. She blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears. Apollo pressed his snout into her hands, and she petted his head between his ears.
"May we come in?" Rowan asked. "Just for a moment. I wanted to talk to you about an idea."
I hesitated. Normally, I would've happily invited her in. Today, my paranoia made me suspicious of everyone, but Rowan more than anyone had always been kind to me. She'd welcomed me into the neighborhood, invited Mia to Chloe's parties, and ensured both Mia and I felt like we belonged.
I stepped aside. "Of course."
Apollo stayed glued to my leg as I led them to the living room. I retrieved a glass vase from beneath the sink in the kitchen, filled it with water, and returned to the cramped living room. I undid the burlap and set the roses inside the vase, careful of the thorns. A few still pricked me. I wiped the droplet of blood on the burlap.
Rowan settled on the worn couch, her posture perfect. Chloe curled into the corner, knees pulled up, her glossy honey-blonde hair spilling down her back.
Rowan's gaze swept the small living room, the cramped kitchen. "This is darling. It reminds me of the cottage we rented in DoorCounty years ago. I admire how you've embraced the vintage aesthetic. Very authentic, and soyou, Dahlia."
"It's not much, but it's ours." I glanced around the room, at the scuffed baseboards, the mismatched throw pillows, the water stain on the ceiling I kept meaning to paint over.
For a second, I saw the shabbiness through her eyes. Embarrassment curdled my stomach. I tried so hard not to care. But I did, too much.
Rowan's smile seemed nothing but genuine. When I looked at her face, I saw only kindness. I was being ridiculous. She'd brought flowers. She was here to help. I was exhausted, jumpy, and seeing shadows everywhere. "I'll make us some coffee."
"Don't trouble yourself," Rowan said. "We really can't stay that long."
Obediently, I sank into the armchair across from them. Apollo lay at my feet. His eyes tracked Rowan's every movement as I settled my hands in my lap and forced a smile I didn't feel. "What's up?"
"I was thinking that we should hold a memorial service for Leah. Something uplifting, to celebrate her life. Not the official funeral or anything like that, but something small, to show the Cho family our community support."
Viv would probably loathe the additional attention, especially the false sympathy of near-strangers, but I didn’t have the heart to say that. Besides, I didn’t want to project my own feelings onto her. "That's a lovely idea."
"I'm so glad you agree. I was thinking we could do it soon, this Sunday evening perhaps, at the clubhouse. I know it might be difficult, given everything, but I think it would mean a lot to Vivienne. To all of us."
Sunday. Four days away.
