I mounted it on a heavy wooden frame I’d bought that morning.

By Saturday afternoon the stage was set. I stood in the center of our vaulted living room and positioned the frame directly beneath the crystal chandelier, the focal point of the room.

Then I took a large black velvet cloth—a drape I used to cover the patio furniture in winter—and hung it over the canvas, obscuring the image entirely.

Dinner was scheduled for seven.

I walked into the formal dining room and set the long mahogany table for twelve. Crystal wine glasses, polished silver, imported linen napkins. I was preparing a feast for a family of vultures, and I intended to make sure they were entirely comfortable before the slaughter began.

At six o’clock precisely, my phone rang. Daniel, his voice carrying the lazy self-satisfaction that always preceded his family’s arrival.