There Was an Old Woman

Chapter Thirty-one


Mina had been surprised to see the police officers next door talking to Evie. Even more surprised when one of them came over to talk to her. As often as she called the police, she couldn’t remember the last time they’d actually stopped and questioned her. She was lucky if they slowed down when they rolled by.

Now she watched as the pair got back into their cruiser and drove off. Sandra Ferrante’s daughter was still out on her mother’s front steps, standing there like the poor thing didn’t have the good sense to come in out of the rain.

Mina pulled an umbrella from the stand and walked next door, picking her way across the wet lawn. “You had a break-in?”

“That’s what it looks like. Did you see anyone trying to get into the house?”

“I didn’t. But I was busy.” She’d gotten the chicken started, sat down to read, and then fallen asleep. The rain had woken her. When it let up, she’d taken the kitty litter over and sprinkled it over the gasoline spill. Young people had no idea how easy it was for a fire to get started. “What did they take?”

“Nothing, really.”

“What kind of nothing?”

The girl squirmed under Mina’s gaze. “A brown shipping box. Who’d bother with that?”

The girl must have been talking about the box that Mina had seen sitting at the end of the driveway getting rained on. Or maybe it had been in the grass. Weeds, really. Mina doubted if there was even a single sprout of actual bluegrass or fescue left in that yard. Then she’d gotten distracted by the sound of the winch raising the car and the spectacle of the truck driving off with the car in tow. After that, Frank had disappeared and she couldn’t recall seeing the box again.

“A big box?” Mina stretched her arms wide. “And flat?”

“Where did you see it?”

“Out in front of your house when he”—she tipped her head in the direction of the house across the street—“was out there chatting up the tow truck driver. I don’t know what he’s up to but he’s a schemer, that one.” Mina felt her face grow warm. “And he’s been hanging around your mother.” Like smell on a dead fish, as her father liked to say. “Helping out.” Mina sniffed.

As if that man were capable of helping anyone other than himself. Oh, he’d been pleasant enough when he first moved in. Brought her a bottle of sweet sherry that she’d never even opened. Even her grandmother hadn’t had a taste for sherry. Offered to clear the leaves off her lawn when she’d complained about the infernal noise of his leaf blower.

“He thinks I haven’t heard him, going through my trash in the middle of the night.” Mina caught the girl’s skeptical look. “More than once.”

“I know you don’t like him very much.” The girl had her arms folded in front of her as she pinched and tweaked her sleeves. “Are you sure you saw him actually walk off with that box?”

“Well.” Mina dropped her gaze. “Maybe not walk off with it.”

“Mrs. Yetner, whoever got in didn’t break in. I know Finn has a key to the garage. But maybe you know if my mother gave house keys to anyone else.”

Mina fastened the top button of her blouse and pulled her sweater around her. The question flustered her, because somewhere, deep in the recesses of her memory, she did recall that Sandra Ferrante had, once upon a time, given her a key to her front door. It was years and years ago, when the girls were little and sometimes locked themselves out. Mina had a vague memory of slipping the key into an envelope and writing Ferrante on it. But where it had gotten to, she had no idea.

“You don’t think I—” Mina started. “Because I would never—”

“You? Of course not,” the girl said, her cheeks blazing. “It’s just that whoever got in must have a key. Which means they can get in whenever they want to. And I might not even have noticed except the papers were—” Her voice cracked and she took a breath. “And I don’t know if it’s random or what.” The poor girl was trembling.

“Shhhh,” Mina said, putting her arm around her. “The thing to do is get the locks changed. Right away. And why don’t you stay overnight with us? Ivory will be delighted.” She could read Evie’s guarded look. “I promise not to leave a pot on the stove and burn the house down.”