CHAPTER 1 Vivian Leary stood motionless at the corner of the street, her eyes darting from side to side. She had no idea where she was or how she’d gotten lost. After all, she’d lived in Colville her entire life. She should know—did know—every square inch of this town. But the last thing she remembered was going out to collect the mail and that must have been hours ago. The street didn’t look familiar and the houses weren’t any she recognized. The Henderson house at the corner of Chestnut and Elm had been her marker, but it was nowhere in sight. She remembered that the Hendersons had painted their place white with green shutters. Where was it? she wondered, starting to feel frantic. Where was it? George would be upset with her for taking so long. Oh no, how could she have forgotten? George was dead. The weight of grief settled over her, heavy and oppressive. George, her beloved husband, was gone—taken from her just two months short of their sixtieth anniversary. It had all happened so fast…. Last November, her husband had gone outside to warm up the car before church, and a few minutes later he lay dead in the carport. He’d had a massive heart attack. The nice young man who’d come with the ambulance had told her George was dead before he even hit the pavement. He sounded as if this was