As kind and generous as her parents had been, Dulcie was convinced that had to be it. At some point, her parents must have come up here after the murder and brought four-year-old Dulcie with them. That would explain these odd almost-memories she kept feeling.

Laura, wanting to repay the Hugheses, had in turn left all she had in the world to them. It was a great scenario except for one thing. Laura Beaumont hadn’t left her worldly possessions to Dulcie’s parents. She’d left this house and land to Dulcie.

That, she reminded herself, was what worried her. No one left property to a four-year-old unless it was their own child.

At the kitchen door, she stopped, shocked by what she saw. Dishes still on the table. A bowl and a spoon in front of one chair, an overturned cereal box and what appeared to be signs of those critters Russell had told her about.

In front of the other chair was a small plate with a knife next to it and a coffee cup. Dulcie could imagine two shadowy figures sitting there, the daughter having cereal, the mother having toast and coffee. Neither having a clue how horribly this day would end.

She blinked and drew back, knowing she was putting off going upstairs. She’d been afraid that the house would feel familiar, that she would remember being inside here.

But as she stood there, she realized she felt nothing. She hadn’t been inside this house. At least she couldn’t recall this part of the house.

Retracing her footsteps, she moved to the bottom of the stairs and looked up. With the shutters closed up there, it was much darker at the top of the stairs.

Dulcie hesitated. She’d been called bold and daring because of her business ventures. But when it came to this sort of thing, she was far from fearless. She had a yellow streak a mile wide.

Unfortunately, she also possessed a stubborn streak that, while it had seen her through some tough times, right now it meant she wasn’t leaving here until she went upstairs. So she might as well get it over with.

She clutched the banister, then quickly let go, grimacing as she brushed the cobwebs from her hand onto her canvas pants. Testing each stair with a tentative step, she climbed upward into the dim darkness.

A few of the locals had stopped by right after Jolene was hired to finish out the school term for the teacher who’d run off and gotten married. The locals had brought homemade bread, cinnamon rolls and homemade canned goods from their root cellars.

She’d felt welcomed by their visits and their gifts.

But now as she saw Midge Atkinson drive up in front of her house, Jolene wanted to hide and pretend she wasn’t home.

Unfortunately, she feared Midge had seen her pedal down the road from the school only moments before.