My stomach tightened.
“Why is she coming over here?”
Denise actually stepped backward.
I kept watching.
The woman stopped at the edge of my driveway.
Then she pointed toward my ruined pink car.
One of the men walked over and examined it.
They spoke for a moment.
There was no audio, but the woman’s body language made it obvious that she was furious.
Then she turned and pointed toward Denise’s house.
I paused the video.
“Denise.”
Silence.
“Who is that woman?”
Denise swallowed.
“My sister.”
I stared at her.
“Your sister?”
She sank into one of my kitchen chairs.
The rage had disappeared.
So had the smug attitude I had gotten used to seeing.
For the first time in almost a year, Denise looked scared.
“Her name is Sabrina.”
I glanced at the frozen video.
“What does your sister have to do with what happened to
