HE WALKED STRANGERS THROUGH MY LAKE HOUSE LIKE HE OWNED IT

not alone. A man in his forties with a clipboard. A woman pressing her palm flat against my front window the way people do when they are already picturing the curtains they will hang.

Gareth pointed at the fireplace. Then the dock. Then the bedroom hallway.

Twenty-two calm minutes. Not nervous. Not rushed. The walkthrough of a man who believed the deed continue reading …