Her smile vanished.
“What is that?”
“I’m leaving.”
The back door opened before Priscilla could answer.
Dean stepped inside, still wearing his winter gloves.
His wife rushed toward him.
“Tell your mother she can’t do this,” Priscilla snapped. “The caterer is booked. The tables are rented. Everyone is coming.”
Dean looked at Sylvia.
“Mom, people have already made plans.”
“I know.”
“It’s Christmas.”
Sylvia said nothing.
That silence frightened Priscilla more than an argument would have.
Because Sylvia had spent months studying unfamiliar charges: luxury retailers, restaurants, online orders, and purchases far too large to be accidents.
Each time, she had defended Priscilla in her own mind.
Maybe she had forgotten.
Maybe she was confused.
Maybe age had made her suspicious.
But Sylvia had printed every statement and hidden the pages inside the bottom drawer of her desk.
Now her hand moved toward her purse.
Priscilla went pale.
“Sylvia,” she whispered, “you don’t understand.”
Sylvia pulled out the first statement.
Dean took one step closer.
Then he saw the merchant name at the top of the page—and Priscilla suddenly screamed for him not to call the police.
CHAPTER 2 – The Charges
Dean stopped with his phone halfway out of his coat pocket.
For a moment, the only sound in the kitchen was the refrigerator humming.
Sylvia held the statement steady. “Why shouldn’t he call?”
Priscilla’s eyes darted from the paper to Dean, then to the front window. Her red nails pressed crescents into her palms.
