Fifteen hundred a month. My attorney redrew the note. No house on it this time. Just his name.”
“Thank you for telling me.”
“Mrs. Vance?”
“Yes?”
“Blythe wants to see you. Alone. Would that be all right?”
Blythe came out to the point on a Tuesday afternoon.
She drove herself, in a small gray Honda I’d never seen before. She wore jeans and a plain blue T-shirt and no makeup. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She looked about twenty years old.
She stood at the bottom of
