“You weren’t always a housekeeper, were you?”
“No, ma’am. I used to run a company.”
She didn’t question me further.
Yet something outside the house began troubling me.
Twice, while sweeping the porch, I spotted a gray sedan parked opposite the property. Each time I noticed it, the vehicle drove away.
On the second occasion, I glimpsed a man photographing the house with his phone.
I suspected Trevor had arranged surveillance, although I couldn’t substantiate that suspicion.
I recorded the approximate license number and both sightings in a notebook.
On my twelfth day, Opal invited me to share dinner with her.
She’d cooked chicken soup. As she placed bread rolls on the table, she asked something that made me go still.
“Rebecca, why were you in prison?”
My fingers tightened around the spoon.
“Because my husband and my sister stole money using my name. Then they convinced everyone I was the one responsible.”
