I slipped on my robe, tied it with calm precision, and walked downstairs. I wanted to see exactly how they planned to treat the homeowner to her face.
Melissa spotted me in the foyer and startled, but recovered fast. Melissa was good at recovering; it was part of her charm package.
“Oh,” she said brightly. “Eleanor. Brandon said you’d moved upstairs already. Great. The master suite gets the best morning light.”
Behind her, Patricia swept past me without introduction, dragging a suitcase toward my bedroom as if she’d stayed there before.
“Mom has arthritis,” Melissa continued, nodding toward Patricia like it was a medical badge. “She really needs the ground-floor room.”
I watched them cross my marble floor in sandy shoes.
“Coffee’s in the kitchen,” I said mildly. “Help yourselves.”
“Oh, we brought supplies,” Melissa chirped, already opening my pantry. She began rearranging my shelves like she was reorganizing a store display. “Mom’s on a special diet. The kids are picky eaters. We’ll need you to clear out some refrigerator space.”
She started piling my groceries into a cardboard box.