Staying Home Is A Killer. Sara Rosett
did another quick visual survey. When she didn’t spot the photos right away, Hetty’s forehead wrinkled. “They shouldn’t be that hard to find.” She stooped and began burrowing through a box beside the desk.
“Maybe the closet.” I opened that door. “Oh. I bet this is it.” I saw a box with bundles encased in bubble wrap. At the same moment I spoke, I felt a sick sensation sweep over me as I had so many times in the last few days when I realized Penny was dead. Stacks of baby toys crowded the rest of the closet. Bright boxes reached up to almost touch a row of baby clothes on miniature hangers. Clothes in pastel pink, blue, yellow, and green hung down from the rod. I touched the toe of a small, footed sleeper. I’d been shopping with Penny when she found the sleeper on sale. She bought it, saying, “I’ll save it. I know we’ll have a baby someday.”
I jerked the box out of the closet and closed the door quickly to shelter Penny’s dreams from Hetty’s gaze.
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