Should I run down the stairs? Get the heck out of here? But then I remembered that my handbag was sitting on the floor next to that yellow velvet chair. I stepped out from hiding. “Yes. I came to talk to you, Miss Longworth. But first, are you okay?”

She squinted and pointed at me. “I know you. Where do I know you from?”

“I don’t think you know me. Can I help them get you on your feet?” I started down the hall toward them.

But Evie put up the traffic-cop signal for stop. “You need to turn around and go back downstairs.”

Miss Longworth was struggling to rise, and Augusta and Evie turned their attention to her.

Bad decisions, I’m told, make for good stories. But I had the feeling this bad decision wouldn’t sound like a good story to Shawn. I’d failed at this assignment and had been caught snooping around where I shouldn’t have been. Time to leave while everyone was occupied. I hurried down the stairs and was met at the bottom by Mr. Robertson. A silver tray with two glasses of iced tea sat on a small telephone table in the hallway.

George was holding my handbag. “You need this, ma’am?”

“Yes, thanks.” I was breathless from hurrying down the steep stairs.

“I suggest you go quick. I’m guessing Miss Preston isn’t too pleased about now.” He stepped aside and let me pass.

“Thanks, Mr. Robertson,” I said.

He nodded solemnly, but I caught a twinkle in his eye as I left the house with my shoes in one hand and my purse in the other.

Minivans aren’t exactly the fastest vehicles, so my getaway wasn’t all that quick. Once I made it out of the long driveway and onto the county road, I hit fifty-five miles an hour, my max. My heart was still pounding, and I vowed never to do anything like that again. Shawn would have to deal with this problem himself. Maybe he’d be visiting Miss Longworth in the hospital. I mean, her hip or her leg could have been broken after that fall.