“You sound a little drunk,” Yumi says. “You should come over to my porch and get even drunker.”
“Can’t. Have to go home and work on the yard sale.” I don’t add that I want to work on the yard sale. That the yard sale has become my reason for getting out of bed these past few weeks. Ever since I wasvoluntoldto take early retirement, it’s been a struggle to find meaning and purpose in my days. They bleed together, an endless blur of waking and showering and sleeping. There are only so many résumés you can send out.
“Ridiculous. You two have to pass that to someone else, Caren. Come over!”
“No one wants to step up. Kenya and I have been doing it for eleven years. Eleven years!”
“People won’t as long as there’s a chance you two will do it. Want to know what I think? You like being indispensable,” shesays. “You’re terrified of what is going to happen once Rachel’s gone and you don’t have any mom responsibilities. And that goes double for Kenya.”
“Thanks, Dr. Phil.” But she’s nailed it. I yank on the dog’s leash, turning back toward home. “I’ve got to go post a bunch of things before I fall asleep. I can’t drink like I used to.”
“Any good donations this year? If you see anything great, let me know.”
“What do you want?”
“A functioning immune system.”
I laugh. “I think I saw one. Just your size. I’ll put it aside for you.”
I am suddenly aware of how empty the street is. A rustling sound startles me and I whip my head around, heart lurching. Nothing. Just the hedges swaying in the slight breeze. A trick of the wind.
“Hello?” Yumi says in a singsong voice. “Caren? You there?”
“Huh? Yeah, I’m still here,” I say. “I thought I heard something. I think I had too much to drink.”
“You’re slurring your words. Where are you?”
I look up at the modern gray structure in front of me. “I’m on Earlston. In front of the Allards’ rental house.”
As soon as I say it, the smiling face of the nanny who was killed while living here springs to mind. My heart picks up speed. I’m being silly. I’ve walked past this house since that murder hundreds of times. It’s my evening routine and I know every step of it, every house, every bush, every Little Free Library. But tonight, the street feels different and the house, ominous.
I force a laugh, trying to shake it off. “Probably just my imagination.”
I walk faster, trying to put some distance between myself and the house, but my fitted dress constrains my strides. I should have changed out of my wedge sandals before walking the dog. I should be wearing my glasses. It’s time to accept that I really need them to function. I hear another sound behind me and this time it’s not the wind. I recognize it as footsteps.
I spin around.
“Oh my God.” I let out a relieved laugh when I see who it is, bringing a hand to my heart. “You scared the crap out of me! I thought someone was sneaking—”
And then my world goes black.
THREE
Finn tucks the well-worn tarot card into his back pocket and climbs the stairs out of the basement and up to the main level. He’s up earlier than usual on a Sunday, but Jo Allard wanted to meet at six fifteen because she had a CorePower class at seven, so Finn agreed.
He really wants this job.
He needs to get inside the Allard house.
“Eggs? Toast?” Paula comes out of the kitchen with an orange in one hand and a paring knife in the other. “Fresh orange slices. Blood oranges. Last of the season.”
“Can’t have breakfast today. Thanks, though. I have that dog-walking interview at six fifteen.”
“So early on a Sunday?”
“I know, but that’s when she could meet.”
“The Allards already have you hopping to it.”
