k into focus with the

nding on my porch. Debra Fowler. Her face was pale, her eyes re

voice trembling. "I' m so sorry

peak. My heart was a hammer against my ribs. I remem

my son, Caleb. He has... he h

though I knew they were coming. The

ng to the clipboard in her hands. "And a fundraiser. We were hoping... well, I was hoping y

of my own death. The fall down the porch stairs. The sharp

and full of false concern. "Of course sh

my hand at my parents' funeral. The one who convinced me to move into th

itchen, a box of my mother' s old plates in her hands, a bright, h

heritance. She wanted the man next door, Matthew

ith a meal, use his inevitable death to turn the neighborhood against

And this time, I