The meeting with the police was set for Monday. But on Sunday night, everything changed.
I woke up to the smell of smoke.
I sat up in bed, disoriented. The smell was coming from downstairs.
I got up and opened my door. The hallway was filled with smoke.
Fire. The house was on fire.
I ran down the hall. The fire was coming from the kitchen. Flames licked up the walls. The heat was intense.
I heard voices. Yelling. Running.
I ran outside and found Eleanor standing on the lawn, wrapped in her blanket, watching the house burn.
"What happened?" I said.
"I don't know." Her voice was calm. Too calm. "I woke up and it was already burning."
The fire trucks arrived. The police. The family gathered on the lawn, watching as the house burned.
And I looked at Eleanor and knew.
She'd done it.
