Rose settles back in the seat. Careful to make no noise, she opens the clutch. She will text Daniel and see what is going on. In Izzy’s purse there is nothing but a tube of lipstick. She left the phone on the desk in Alma’s office.

Or did she?

She thinks she remembers putting it in the clutch before using the restroom, but then she remembers a lot of things that never happened, and doesn’t remember a lot of things that did. Could Alma have stolen the phone? To what end? So Rose couldn’t call for Lyft?

Or dial 911?

Not last out tonight but She won’t last out the week. It was Alma’s voice in the hallway outside her bedroom in the MCU, the other participant in the conversation Rose heard as a threat to her life.

She reaches past the headrest and lays her hand on Mel’s shoulder. The girl’s fingers close warm around hers for a moment.

Eleven months and thirteen days. Daniel, too, was counting the days; Mel had said so. At the time, Rose thought he was merely celebrating his freedom.

The Greene and Associates gilded cream folder lies next to her empty clutch. An unpleasant premonition causes her to reach out and flip open the cover. The pages inside are blank.

“Eleven months, thirteen days,” Rose says. “Why are you counting?”

Stella doesn’t reply.

“In North Carolina you’ve got to be separated for a year before you can file for divorce. Uncle Daniel can file in seventeen days,” Mel says spitefully.

Stella does not respond. A moment later, Rose hears the telltale thump as the doors are locked from the driver’s seat.

Once the papers are served, the marriage is officially at an end. The marital property accrued during the union will be split. Daniel and his wife lived in a rental, have no children, no investments, no property, and a good bit of debt: Stella will get half of nothing. Unless Daniel comes into a windfall before he files for divorce.

“Stop the car,” Rose orders.

“Keep your panties on. We’re almost there.”

Rose considers strangling Stella from behind but is afraid the ensuing car accident might hurt Mel.

The Jeep turns onto Applegarth and proceeds in the direction of Rose’s house. Late-afternoon sun paints the white brick a burnt orange. Though it is prime dog-walking hour, the street, as usual, is empty of life, doors closed, windows curtained. In this moment Applegarth strikes Rose as a stage set for The Truman Show, Our Town, The Stepford Wives, a place real people don’t reside. Where neighbors never notice murderers on the porch roof, or strange sounds in the night.

Stella conns the Jeep up the empty driveway and noses it in in front of the one-car garage.

“Who are we meeting?” Rose asks, trying the door handle and finding it still locked. “Where’s Daniel?”