The news of the surveillance footage leaked three days later. I don't know how. Harold said he didn't tell anyone. Marge said she didn't tell anyone. But by the end of the week, the story was in the local paper, and by the end of the month, it was in the regional paper, and Eleanor Bellamy, who had spent twenty years building a reputation as a philanthropic widow, was suddenly a woman who had been caught on tape.
She called me the day the story ran.
"Vivian." Her voice was different now. Not warm. Tired. "We need to talk."
"I think we've talked enough."
"No. We need to talk. In person. Not in the house. Somewhere neutral."
I didn't want to talk to her. I didn't want to see her. But there was something in her voice that I hadn't heard before, something that sounded almost like surrende
