CHAPTER 22
The doorbell never seems to leave me alone these days. On Monday evening, when I’ve slipped into a nice satin nightie while waiting for Jeff to finish whatever he’s doing in the music room, the damn thing rings. Sammy barks, which he usually doesn’t, meaning he’s nervous.
I grab a bathrobe and go to open the door.
I wasn’t prepared for such a cavalcade.
Martha is the one with her finger on the button. Iris Richardson is looking over her shoulder with Leeanne right next to her. Emma stands a bit further from the group, looking uncomfortable to be here and gripping her closed umbrella tightly between gloved hands.
“We need to talk,” Martha says and walks in without asking for permission.
“Come in, by all means,” I mumble as if I hadn’t made plans for the evening.
The ladies
