CHAPTER SEVEN
The townhouse where the Woods family was temporarily living was spacious and luxurious, and Stella saw it had a spectacular view of the Connecticut River; although on this overcast morning, the water looked gray and swathed in mist. The bare branches of surrounding trees reached to the cloudy sky.
She knocked on the white-painted door, which was opened instantly by a woman that Stella guessed was Mrs. Woods.
She was tall, slender, with shiny, bobbed brown hair, and carried herself with a graceful bearing, as if she was an ex-model or dancer. From her son’s age, Stella guessed she had to be in her forties, although she didn’t look it any more than Desiree did.
Worry made her features gaunt and tense.
“Are you the FBI? I’m Carolyn Woods. Please, come this way. I cannot tel
