He’d been so easy to talk to, so friendly. He had a wife back home and three kids, he said, but the work had dried up in that area, and that’s why he was on the road. She’d been on the verge of inviting him to stay awhile with her and save his money at that motel he said he was living in down south by Fletcher. She’d thought of June, then, and what she’d say about that, and bitten her tongue. And now it turned out, she’d been taken in, made a perfect fool of.

The grit, and Ida was known for her grit, oozed out of her. Stupid. How had she ever let this happen? Feeling sick to her stomach, and old, and bereft of good sense, Ida eased up from the rocker, shuffled inside, crossed the living room to her bedroom, and threw herself on her bed. She’d rest awhile, and then she’d figure out what to do.

22

Amelia’s Suspicions

The day Ray Wilson visited Ida, Amelia was alone in the house when someone knocked on their front door. Amelia did not open the door to strangers, but peeped instead through the living room window. A pleasant-looking young man, with his hands shoved into his overalls and a cap pushed back on his forehead, rocked back and forth on his heels. As she watched him, his eyes narrowed. He seemed to be inspecting the walls, the ceiling of the porch, the steps up to the porch. Walking to the steps, he craned his neck up—looking at what? A bird? The gutters? Then, returning to the front door, he knocked again.

Amelia’s car sat in the driveway. He would assume someone was at home. He looked nice enough, but one never knew, one could never be too careful. Amelia had read an article in a magazine she’d picked up in the beauty parlor the other day warning about scams. A don’t list included Do not open your door to anyone you do not know or anyone posing as a repair person that you have not called.

Tiptoeing, Amelia sneaked up the stairs, closed her bedroom door, and locked it. Phone in hand, she was about to call for help or guidance, but her mind went blank. Who should she call? She dialed 911 and hung up. Surely this was not a 911 call. Who, then? Velma and Charlie Herrill. Their phone rang and rang. Max and Hannah weren’t at Bella’s Park; the answering machine in Hannah’s office said that they’d gone into Asheville for supplies. She couldn’t recall where Grace was, and earlier she’d seen Bob load his golf bag in his car and drive away.

From her bedroom window, Amelia watched the man walk across the street toward Max’s house. Amelia dialed Max’s number and thank God, Anna answered.

“Señor Max’s house.”