Mrs. Jemima Atkins's house on 102, Massachusetts Avenue, the house where Diana Walter met her untimely end. And where Sarah had met Ryan Johnson two months ago, for the first time since high school, is a big run-down Victorian with an overgrown yard and a tower on one corner. Before he left town, Ryan had done his best to fix it, but there is a limit to how much one man can do in a few weeks.
So when Sarah drove up the circular drive the next afternoon, the place still looked pretty bleak. The grass was dry and dead from the summer heat, and the yellow leaves had started to fall from the trees onto the lawn, but no one had made any attempt to collect them. The porch swing was still flaying and the boards in the porch creaked under her feet as she made her way up to the front door.
The do
