CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Anastasia Williamson stepped back to admire her handiwork.
The flowers she had picked up from the farmers' market this afternoon looked lovely, especially in the Murano glass vase that Marcus had gotten her for their anniversary this year. She adjusted them slightly so that they were better centered on the dining room table.
She talked to her mother every day and she should have known that if she told her that two women had been killed and their green cards were found on plates in their dining rooms, it would lead to paranoia.
To be honest, Ana was a little paranoid too, considering that she matched the profiles of these women.
Like them, she was married to a wealthy American man several years her senior.
The thought filled her with a new rush of anxiety and for the third time since she had arrived home, she decided to check the doors again.
She started with the sliding one leading to the backyard.
Locked. She checked the side one leading from the kitchen to the garage. Locked. She checked the front door.
It was unlocked.