“I know that doesn’t make it right.”

“It doesn’t,” I said.

She picked her second bag up off the floor and stood in front of me in the doorway.

She reached out and touched the wooden doorframe, her fingers following the grain of the polished oak.

“You kept Arthur’s house clean, Leah,” she said in a soft voice.

She walked past me down the hall without waiting for a reply.

Outside, the taillights of the moving truck vanished around the corner of Maple Street, with Vance’s silver hatchback right behind it.