She answered in a sleepy voice.

“Beth?”

“I need a favor.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Then what happened?”

I glanced toward the bedroom door.

“I finally woke up.”

Clara was quiet for two seconds.

Then she gave me the access code to her property.

At four that morning, I quietly went downstairs.

The house was dark.

I walked past the guest suite where Greg and Sarah slept beneath sheets I had purchased.

The white SUV sat beneath the driveway light.

I pressed the spare key.

The lights flashed.

By sunrise, the vehicle was locked inside Clara’s barn.

And I still wasn’t finished.

Clara drove me downtown.

At 5:47 a.m., I opened Willow & Hart.

At six, Tom, my longtime handyman, arrived with his toolbox.

He studied me.

“Front and back?”

“And my office.”

He paused.

“Everything okay?”

“It will be.”

Every lock was replaced.

By eight, Sarah’s personal belongings had been carefully packed into one cardboard box.

At 9:15, my phone started ringing.