Seven
When I got back to the house, Kirti and Scott were in the kitchen, cooking something. Kirti was stirring the contents of a large soup pot on the stove. Scott chopped vegetables on the cutting board on the kitchen table. The house smelled good—although I couldn’t identify what the smell was. They both looked over at me when I came into the kitchen.
“The children?” Kirti asked.
“They’re safe and sound,” I said, using the same words Sylvie had—and the same words Nate had—to describe the children. Same words Polly Zweib had used.
“I’m glad to hear that, Mom,” Scott said.
I walked over to the calendar by the stove and looked at today’s date: June 25. I had written in: “Scott coming.” Had Sylvie seen it when she broke into my house? No. If she broke in a month ago, Scott wasn’t speaki
