“Just your face, darling.”
So I sent the picture.
But that night, I noticed something odd.
Arthur had never asked for a photograph of my garden.
Or my house.
Only me.
I noticed something odd.
***
His house had old bookshelves and photographs of a woman I assumed was his late wife.
Arthur greeted me with pink roses.
“For the lady who grows better ones.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.”
Arthur greeted me with pink roses.
He smiled, then studied my face long enough to make me touch my upper lip.
“Come in, Holly.”
He led me into the living room.
A woman carrying two crystal glasses entered from the hallway.
“This is Helen,” Arthur said.
He studied my face.
Helen looked at me. One glass slipped from her hand, then the other.
They shattered against the floor.
“Oh, goodness!” I exclaimed.
Helen remained still, staring at my face.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
