Lisa’s words triggered an image in Nora’s head—a tiny pantry with a used foam mattress covering its floor. Her mother had used your own room as bait to get control of the child support Nora’s father had started sending after he sobered up.
Pushing the thought from her mind, Nora edged closer to the murder of the sixty-eight-year-old widow. “Mrs. Hancock lived on the ground floor of that nice, old house?”
“Her place was originally the living and dining rooms for the whole house.” Lisa nibbled a square of chocolate and continued.
“She had these big glass doors that opened to the back yard. I thought they were the coolest things I’d ever seen. Her rent was a lot higher than mine. But she could afford it.”
Lisa leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Standing out on the lawn, you could look
