Chapter SeventeenI
f Brooke’s murder had shattered the serenity of Clover Lane, I saw no evidence when I arrived five minutes after my talk with myself.
On the drive down the street, I spotted one resident unloading groceries from her car, a teenager washing his car, and a woman walking her dog. I also heard the splashes and gleeful shouts of kids swimming in a backyard pool.
I pulled over in front of Olive’s house and turned off the engine. Looks can be deceiving. It might look like normalcy reigned, but there may also have been half a dozen pairs of eyes fixed on me and six fingers poised to call the police and report a stranger on the street. I had an explanation at the ready. I was a Gibson family friend checking on the house.
No one appeared to be home next door at the Wheelers.’
