“Sit down,” I said. “What’s wrong?” The ringer on my phone was turned off, and anything might have happened. Maybe a car accident. Michael and Wyatt, speeding back from the oil fields, wrecked and bleeding by the side of the road.

But Elizabeth shook her head, one fist pressed to her mouth. “It’s Sandy,” she said. “Marcia was supposed to pick her up for scrapbooking, but she didn’t come to the door or answer her phone. Marcia’s got the keypad code to open her garage, so she let herself in. But I just can’t believe—”

“What happened?”

“She’s dead.”

The last Styrofoam container still clutched in my hand, I stared at Elizabeth, seeing instead Sandy with her bright clothing and supercilious expressions. Now she seemed fragile to me, always trying to look younger, attacking other people to make herself feel stronger. “How?” I whispered.

Elizabeth sat down at the kitchen table and wrapped her arms around herself. All the color she’d regained had ebbed away. “She slipped in the shower. That’s where Marcia found her.”

I stuffed the last of the trash into the bin and came to join her. “Was that Marcia?”

She shook her head. “Rachael.”

After the history between me and Sandy, I didn’t expect I’d be getting a text about this. “Are they organizing meals or collecting for flowers or …” I didn’t know what else might be needed.

“She lived alone. We’ll probably do flowers, but it’s too early yet.”

I felt conflicting pangs of pity for the woman who’d died naked and alone and pangs of irritation for Sandy who’d been so mean, so narrow-minded, and whose carelessness was putting Elizabeth’s health at risk. “Go sit on the sofa.” I patted her shoulder. “I’ll make you some tea.”

But the lush leather sofa, the steaming mugs of mint tea, and the mindless drone of the television didn’t dispel the specter of Sandy, her neck at an unnatural angle, bleeding out alone on the bathroom floor.

CHAPTER

10

I WOKE CONFUSED, WEARING my clothes, my nose filled with the rich smell of the leather sofa. Elizabeth and I must have fallen asleep watching a marathon session of mindless television. I could hear a key turning in a lock, a door opening.

And Michael calling my name.

My eyes fluttered open, and the first thing I saw was Elizabeth, asleep in the recliner, and the television display, frozen with a message asking Are you still watching?

Something heavy hit the ground in the foyer, and I sat up as Elizabeth stirred. Wyatt was already crossing the room, kneeling beside her, smoothing her hair. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“I think so.” She leaned into him. “Kacy was here.”

Michael stood by the door with an unfamiliar suitcase, probably Wyatt’s, at his feet. When our eyes met, he smiled.