Harvey Spratt and the other man emerged from the back of the van, heading back to the house. Mrs. Beecham had both hands on one side of the doorframe, but it wasn’t enough to keep her from sliding down. Norma appeared behind her.

Duckworth said, “Shit.” He glanced both ways before running across the street, reaching into his jacket for his phone along the way.

When Harvey saw the detective, he went slack-jawed. He said something to the other man that Duckworth couldn’t hear. Norma was struggling to get the woman to her feet, saying, “For God’s sake, Mrs. Beecham, didn’t I tell you to stay downstairs?”

Duckworth, panting, said into his phone, “It’s Detective Duckworth, Promise Falls Police. I need an ambulance.” He barked out the address, resisted any further questions, and was slipping the phone back into his pocket as he reached the front door.

“Mrs. Beecham,” he said.

“She’s fine!” Norma said, pulling the elderly woman to her feet, holding her under the arms. “There’s nothing going on here!”

“Who’s that?” the old woman asked, pointing a leathery finger at the man who’d been helping Harvey load furniture.

The man said, “Hey, I’m just buyin’ some stuff.”

Duckworth said to Mrs. Beecham, “Did you give these people permission to sell your things?”

“No! I heard all this racket and I climbed up the stairs and everything’s gone!”

“She doesn’t understand,” Norma said.

“Why don’t you explain it to me?” Duckworth asked her.

“We’re helping her,” the woman insisted. “We’re getting her ready.”

“Ready for what?”

Norma ran her tongue over her lip. “To go to the facility.”

“What facility?” the old woman asked.

“Yeah, what facility?” Duckworth echoed.

“It’s in Albany,” Norma said. “Pine Acres.”

“Show me the paperwork.”

“Paperwork?”

“Give me a name,” Duckworth said. “Whoever does the admissions.” When Norma hesitated, he said, “Okay, I see what’s going on here.”

“Can I load this stuff or what?” the man asked.

Duckworth said to him, “What’d you pay for all these things you’re taking?”

“Two grand,” he said.

Duckworth said to Harvey, “Give him his money back.”

“No way,” Harvey said. “You got no business interfering in a private transaction.”

“Show me something,” Duckworth said. “Emails, paperwork, anything that proves that Mrs. Beecham is moving to a seniors’ residence, and that someone here has been given legal permission to act on her behalf. Do you have a power of attorney for her?”

Norma and Harvey exchanged looks. Norma said, “I’m sure we have that somewhere. Tell the man, Mrs. Beecham. Tell them we’re helping you. But first, let’s get you off your feet.”