The doorbell rang again. Pat hurried downstairs.

She lived alone in the two-bedroom townhouse. Well, not entirely alone. She had a five-year-old tabby, named Pepper. She’d gotten Pepper from the shelter when he was just a kitten, and he had become the consummate house cat: he spent the majority of his time hidden in his favorite places, making appearances only to cuddle, eat, or use his litter box. He showed no interest whatsoever in her visitors. She was on her own when she opened the front door.

Grace stood on the doorstep, alone.

Pat did a double-take. Grace was the last person she had been expecting to visit—heck, probably the last person she would have wanted to see again, too. She talked to her son daily, via text if not verbally on the phone, and he’d told her that morning that Grace was still there at their house and would be through the end of the week, unless he convinced Monica to cut short her stay, a development that Pat considered unlikely. Monica’s desire to forge a connection with her biological mother had blinded her to the woman’s true nature.

“Hello,” Pat said, cautiously. She glanced over Grace’s shoulder, and did not see Monica waiting in the SUV. Had Grace visited on her own?

“Good morning, Pat. I hope you are well. You look good.”

Although Pat hated to admit it, Grace looked fantastic. She wore a stylish, wide-brimmed, black felt halt and matching coat, with a decorative silk scarf. Her skin glowed, and she seemed to have applied barely any makeup at all. She could have easily passed for a woman in her forties, if not younger.

She looks even better than the last time I saw her, Pat thought.

Grace carried a gift-wrapped box, a red bow sitting on top. The box was large enough to contain a couple of hardback books. Pat wondered about the contents.

“May I come in, please?” Grace asked.

Pat glanced away from the package. She nodded, stepped aside.

Grace strutted inside in a cloud of rosemary-scented perfume, boot heels clicking on the hardwoods. She walked with the swagger of a woman who expected every eye in the room to focus on her. Although Pat doubted this woman’s integrity, she respected her confidence.

Grace strolled into the family room off the entry hall. She swept her gaze around the space, nodding.

“You have a lovely home, dear,” Grace said. “Do you live alone?”

“I have a cat. He’s roaming around here somewhere.”

“No male companion?” Grace winked.

“Living with me? No.”

“Ah, I see,” Grace said.

Pat felt her stomach muscles tighten. Grace’s tone suggested that she was thinking: that’s exactly what I expected of you. You’re just an old maid living alone with a cat. How pathetic.

“But I have . . . friends,” Pat said, and forced a laugh.