But Helen had never been careless. She could be distant. She could keep secrets. She could wound with silence more precisely than others could with shouting.

But she was never careless.

I took the keys from my pocket and stepped out. The brass key fit the lock. It turned easily. Too easily. For a place that was supposedly abandoned, the door opened as if it had been waiting for me.

I stepped inside and froze.

Chapter 3 — Lavender

The smell wasn’t mildew. Not decay. Not damp wood surrendering to time. Lavender. Soft, but unmistakable.

The front room was modest — worn hardwood, a faded couch beneath the window. But the floors had been swept. A blue throw was folded over one arm of the couch.