Chapter Six
Maureen Duvall had no idea that Sophie Russo parked at the bottom of the hill and hiked the long steep incline to Martin Scoffield’s studio. She didn’t know that the parking was always impossible in that neighborhood and for all the many times Sophie had circled the streets, she never found another space.
Maureen was winded by the time she reached Martin’s gate and gazed at the pristine house painted tan and trimmed in pale mauve. The porch was three times the size of the average neighborhood porch, with a hanging fern on the left-hand side and a square of sisal carpet as a doormat.
There was a knocker on the door but she chose to ring the bell instead. She never thought to enter without a personal welcome. Maureen waited a minute and no one came. She knocked again without
