Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
“We have made arrangements that will keep you close by,” she said.
I set my napkin beside my plate and stood up, leaving the dining room before the silence could settle back over us.
The air outside on the porch at three o’clock was damp and smelled of coming rain. I sat on the top step, my wool coat pulled tight around my shoulders to block the wind.
The side gate clicked open, and Martha Vance walked up the concrete path, her wool shawl tucked closely around her neck. She carried a warm peach pie wrapped in a clean blue kitchen towel.
“Cassandra, what on earth are you doing sitting out here in the damp?” Martha asked, her words coming in her usual rapid-fire chatter as she climbed the steps.
“Just getting some air, Martha,” I said, trying to smile as she sat down beside me.
Martha stopped, her eyes moving from my face to the drawn curtains of the living room windows.
“I saw a white van here yesterday morning, Cassandra,” Martha said, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “The side of it said estate liquidators. Tell me they are not doing what I think they are doing.”
