Chapter 6
Celia was a real-estate agent. Or so I gathered when I pulled up in front of the address where my GPS had unerringly led me. There was her smiling face shining out of a more-than-life-sized sign stuck in the grass out front. There were listings of overpriced, perfectly manicured dwellings tacked to the front window of the building. There was a young couple walking up to the door arm in arm, ready to be sold a dream of the perfect family built around the perfect house in the suburbs.
I wasn’t buying it. Or maybe I was just chicken s**t. Either way, I locked the rental car—who says small towns are safe?—and turned in the opposite direction so I could slip inside the diner across the street.
A cow bell above the door clanged and I jumped. The place was empty, but plates and other
