to say this in a way that would soften the blow. “I showed you a photograph of a sleeping woman, remember?”
“It was only two minutes ago.”
“Right. She painted that picture.”
Delia frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Her name is Natalie Avery. That was her in the photograph.”
“That . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t understand. I thought you taught political science.”
“I do.”
“So are you some kind of art historian? Is that woman a Lanford alum too?”
“No, it’s not like that.” I looked back at that cottage on the hill. “I’m looking for her.”
“The artist?”
“Yes.”
She studied my face. “Is she missing?”
“I don’t know.”
Our eyes met. She didn’t nod, but she didn’t have to. “She means a great deal to you.”
It wasn’t a question, but I answered it anyway. “Yes. I realize that this is making no sense.”
“It isn’t,” Delia Sanderson agreed. “But you believe that my husband knew something about her. That’s why you’re really here.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Again I saw no reason to lie. “This will sound insane.”
She waited.
“Six years ago, I saw your husband marry Natalie Avery in a small chapel in Vermont.”
Delia Sanderson blinked twice. She rose from the couch and started to back away from me. “I think you better leave.”
“Please just listen to me.”
She closed her eyes, but, hey, you can’t close your ears. I talked fast. I explained about going to the wedding six years ago, about seeing Todd’s obituary, about coming to the funeral, about believing that maybe I was mistaken.
“You were mistaken,” she said when I finished. “You have to be.”
“So that painting. It’s a coincidence?”
She said nothing.
“Mrs. Sanderson?”
“What are you after?” she asked in a soft voice.
“I want to find her.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
She nodded. “Because you’re in love with her.”
“Yes.”
“Even though you saw her marry another man six years ago.”
I didn’t bother responding. The house was maddeningly quiet. We both turned and looked back at that cottage on the hill. I wanted it to change somehow. I wanted the sun to rise a little higher or to see a light on in one of the windows.
Delia Sanderson moved a few yards farther away from me and took out her phone.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I googled you yesterday. After you called me.”
“Okay.”
“I wanted to make sure that you were who you said you were.”
“Who else would I be?”
Delia Sanderson ignored my question. “There was a picture of you on the Lanford website. Before I opened the door, I checked through the peephole to make sure.”
“I’m not following.”
“Better to be safe than sorry, I figured. I worried that maybe whoever murdered my husband . . .”
I understood now. “Would come back for you?”
She shrugged.
“But you saw it was me.”
“Yes. So I let you in. But now I’m wondering. I mean, you came here under false pretenses. How do I know that you aren’t one of them?”
I wasn’t sure what to say.
“So for right now I’m keeping my distance, if that’s okay with you. I’m standing pretty close to the front door. If I see you start to rise, I hit this button for nine-one-one and run. Do you understand?”
“I’m not with—”
“Do you understand?”
“Of course,” I said. “I won’t move from this seat. But can I ask you a question?”
She gestured for me to go ahead.
“How do you know I don’t have a gun?”
“I’ve been watching since you entered. There’d be no place for you to conceal it in that outfit.”
I nodded. Then I said, “You don’t really believe I’m here to hurt you, do you?”
“I don’t. But like the saying goes, better safe than sorry.”
“I know that story about a wedding in Vermont sounds crazy,” I said.
“It does,” Delia Sanderson said. “And yet, it’s too crazy to be a lie.”
We gave it another moment. Our eyes wandered back to that cottage up on the hill.
“He was such a good man,” Delia Sanderson said. “Todd could have made a fortune in private practice, but he worked almost exclusively for Fresh Start. You know what that is?”
The name was not entirely unfamiliar, but I couldn’t place it. “I’m afraid that I don’t.”
She actually smiled at that. “Wow, you really didn’t do your homework before you came. Fresh Start is the charity Todd founded with some other Lanford graduates. It was his passion.”
I remembered it now. There had been a mention of it in his obituary, though I didn’t know it had any connection to Lanford. “What did Fresh Start do?”
“They operated on cleft palates overseas. They worked on burns and scars and performed various other necessary cosmetic