Page 28 of The House on Forgotten Hill

My fingers tightened around the strap of my handbag. “Sometimes.”

“Do you always take a purse with you when you go on a walk?”

“I like having it with me.”

“Guess it just seems a little odd to me.”

“I didn’t realize I was being interrogated.”

“I’m only making conversation.”

A sudden wave of unease washed over me. “I should go.”

“I was thinking about taking a walk myself. Mind if I join you?”

Every instinct I had screamed no.

“I’m meeting a friend,” I said.

“Who?” He tilted his head toward Estelle’s house. “The same friend that bakes you bread?”

I nodded.

“Seems the two of you are getting close,” he said.

“We’re neighbors. Why not get to know each other?”

“I could say the same about us.”

Today, he wasn’t flirting.

He was studying me.

Waiting.

Watching.

“You seem nervous and jumpy,” he said. “Is something going on?”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

He took a step toward me. “I have a habit of noticing things, like when someone stops making eye contact, for example, or answers questions differently than they did the day before.” He studied my face. “Am I wrong? Because you seem eager to end our conversation.”

“I told you, I’ve had a busy day.”

“Did something happen? Is there something you want to talk about?”

“No.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Nothing,” I said.

“Just now, you hesitated.”

“I don’t know what you're talking about.”

“I think you do.”