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I didn’t know what to say, but there was nothing that she would have listened to, anyway. “Well, good luck,” I finally told her. “I’m glad you thought to tell me what was happening. Please keep me informed.”

“I will! But I don’t believe in luck,” she reminded me. “If I’m blessed by the eternal spirits, then Daisuke will be released and we’ll be happy together.”

“I guess that I hope so,” I said, even more cautious. Then I told her, “Bye, Mom.”

I thought that she had already hung up. This was a terrible idea but I wasn’t going to try to stop her—as if I could have.

At that point, someone pounded on the door and it was the furniture delivery company, the one that was supposed to have texted to let me know that they were on the way. Then I would have let Mrs. McGlothen know when they were here, but I actually didn’t want to see her at all. I went down to talk about how the delivery men would have to walk up one flight (there was no freight elevator) and they started carrying in all the things I had purchased. Vera emerged from her apartment to see what was happening and then Mrs. McGlothen did, too. She frowned and I had the sudden fear that she was hexing me. Did I believe in hexes? I certainly believed that my sink played music.

She walked off to make sure that the guys had used enough moving blankets to protect the architecture and I shot a glance at Vera. “You don’t have to be afraid of her,” she mentioned quietly. “Penelope and I have been friends since kindergarten.”

“You told me that she might have killed her husband!” I whispered back.

“But he had it coming,” she told me. “Anyway, she wouldn’t do anything to you. She likes you.”

“She does?”

“She was happy when you wanted to tour 1C,” Vera answered. “She said it would be nice to have someone young and she thought you’d be a good match with Oliver in 2C. She likes him too, in spite of who his grandfather is. He looks a lot like Ollie did, several years ago now.”

“They’re both very handsome,” I said and she nodded.

“Cutie-patooties,” she agreed. “And you really don’t have to worry about Penelope.”

“Worry about what?”

Both of us spun around. Somehow, Mrs. McGlothen had come up behind us—my stomach sank to my knees.

“Nothing!” I said. I bolted to the stairs but got trapped behind my couch. Luckily, she didn’t follow me and there were only a few more trips until the delivery truck was empty of my stuff. It rumbled off down the street but the rattling windows didn’t bother me. The therapist had given me some strategies for dealing with that fear, and they seemed to be working.

When there was another knock on my front door, I expected to see Gramps. I had invited him over to check out my new décor and he had said he’d come, eventually. “Too many damn customers creeping around today. I have to watch them like a hawk,” he’d texted back.

This wasn’t Gramps. “I’m here to check for damage after your deliveries,” Mrs. McGlothen announced grimly. “As you know, your lease allows me access if I have any concerns about outside parties harming the walls, baseboards, doors, or other features.”

“Um, yes. Come in,” I invited. “They really didn’t cause any harm.”

She didn’t take my word for it, though. Mrs. McGlothen did a thorough inspection of everything, including my new furniture. “Hm,” she said, sniffing as she looked at the couch. “Not bad. This is all much better than what you had in here before.”

“I thought that I should buy furniture that will last,” I explained. “I had planned to stay in the Milaflores Building for years and years.”

“You don’t plan that anymore?” She eyed me.

“Well…I’m not sure. Maybe, at one point, I’d like to have a roommate. Or, you know, someone else around,” I said. “Maybe I might, you know, really care about someone and want to be with him all the time.”

“I figured as much.” But she stopped frowning and suddenly, she smiled at me. “I figured as much.”

“Did you? How?” I asked, which was pretty bold if she actually was a witch.

But she didn’t answer those questions. “I think you’ve been talking to Vera and she told you some things. Is that right?”

Slowly, I nodded.

“I didn’t kill Mr. McGlothen,” she said, chuckling. “He probably deserved it but he did it to himself. He ate three whole fried chickens and a baker’s dozen of doughnuts, and he washed it down with six bottles of Stroh’s. Then he said, ‘Penelope, what did you put in that chicken?’ and keeled over. There was nothing but a little salt and some spices, plus buttermilk. You have to use buttermilk,” she told me. “Vera likes to think that I took charge, but I only made the chicken.”

I nodded again. Talking to her now, I felt a lot less convinced that the whole witch story was real. She was just a normal person! There was nothing supernatural about her.

“There’s no damage here that I can see,” she noted, peering around again and frowning. But that was usual for her. “I don’t care for the color of that couch. You should have asked Vera about it.”

“I like it, and it’s mine, so…”