Arthur cleared his throat, a deliberate sound that seemed to fill the small space between us.
“We keep things very orderly in this house,” he said, his eyes shifting back to my face. “Everything has its proper place.”
I looked past his shoulder toward the hallway, where the door to his private study sat half open.
Through the narrow gap, I could see the dark edge of his massive oak desk and the brass lock on the center drawer.
The drawer was shut tight, the key nowhere in sight, but the metal lock gleamed in the shadows of the room.
Arthur noticed the direction of my gaze and stepped slightly to his left, his broad shoulders cutting off the view of the study entirely.
“David is waiting on the porch,” he said.
I took my purse from the counter and walked out to the front porch, where the autumn air was sharp and smelled of damp earth.
David was already standing by the wooden railing, his car keys jingling softly in his hand as he looked out at the dark lawn.
