I said, “When did you move to Mercy?” Wrong question, I knew immediately.

Ed stared down at the floor, two fingers rubbing circles on the table. “Why do you need to know about me? I got nothin’ to do with that place or that woman anymore.”

His slumped shoulders and his downcast gaze made him seem so much older. What was distressing Ed so much? Whatever it was, I felt awful for making him feel so uncomfortable.

I leaned toward him and gently said, “I don’t want to invade your privacy, Ed. This is about Ritaestelle, not you. But I—I think we need her story. Something is wrong in that house. I felt it. Here.” I tapped my abdomen with my fist.

“Maybe so, but I’m about wore out with all this talkin’,” he said. “I got things to do.” His tight jaw and curt tone told me he was shutting down.

Tom saw this, too, because he stood abruptly. “We understand, don’t we, Jilly?”

“Certainly.” I reached across and placed my hand over Ed’s. “I’m sorry if I upset you.” The contented Ed I knew had disappeared before my eyes. This sadness and anger I’d stirred up made me feel guilty, but I couldn’t help but be curious, too. What had happened between Ed and Ritaestelle? Bad breakup? Unrequited love?

Ed withdrew his hand. “Who says I’m upset?” He gathered our tea glasses and carried them to the small sink.

“Come on,” Tom whispered through his teeth. He nodded toward the door.

“Guess we should go,” I said.

Tom and I walked toward the kitchen entrance. Ed was rinsing the glasses in the sink and didn’t turn as we were walking out. But he did say, “You want to avoid Nancy, I say go in disguise. That hall closet’s full of stuff that could make you look like a different person.”

“Okay,” I said tentatively.