She climbed out of her rental car, strode to Donny’s door, knocked and waited. No answer. Fuming, she paced, then knocked again. ‘This is useless. He’s gone,” she muttered under her breath.
“Can I help you?” came a voice from her right.
Mrs. Kelley, the shriveled busybody. Great, just great.
“I’m good,” she answered. “But thanks.”
She walked back toward her car, keenly aware of Abagail Kelley’s intrusive stare as she did so.
“Do I know you? You seem familiar,” the old lady persisted from her rocking chair.
Oh, hell. Can’t have that, can we?
She opened her driver’s side door and leaned in, retrieving her purse as she formulated her next few movements. Then she straightened, closed the door and strolled toward Donny’s neighbor’s front porch. “Hi, Mrs. Kelley, how are you?”
“Sarah? Is
