But the blustery morning forced them to stay huddled in the cozy eat-in kitchen. The only sound to break their groggy reverie, besides their soft sips and the occasional car horn from Seventh Avenue, was the sound of the TV from Fanny’s guest room one floor up. It bothered Fanny more than she was willing to admit. “She spends so much time in her room. This is not what I expected.” “It’s not her fault,” Amy replied. “That’s the chance you take when you invite strangers into your home.” Her tone said, “I told you so,” although she purposely avoided using those words. “I thought it would be nice. We would have adventures and talk about the case, then exchange eggplant recipes for dinner.” “Mom, this isn’t a Lifetime movie. Some people are shy.” “Did you say something to insult her? Ever since you girls went to visit the first wife, Samime’s been even quieter.” Well, that’s understandable, Amy thought. There had to be something empowering to flying across two continents to try to get justice for a dead man you still loved.
