6
Angela Stuart was peering down from one of Mrs. Miller's upstairs bedroom windows, her face pale and strained with anxiety. She waved at Elisabeth through the billowing folds of crisp white curtains, leaning precariously forward.
“I would like to talk to you,” she said in a stage whisper. Elisabeth cupped her hand around her ear, indicating that she could barely hear her. Angela tried again.
“Alone,” she mouthed exaggeratedly. “Talk to you alone.”
“Of course,” Elisabeth mouthed back. Mrs. Miller was so overwhelming. She was probably pressing Angela at every opportunity to file for divorce. She called up softly, “Can you come down?”
“Side door,” Angela mouthed.
“How about coffee? Pierre's? I'll go ahead?” Angela nodded and ducked behind the white curtains again.
Pierre's was a lit
