“Progress. Settling in.” She studied the portrait as she took off her boots. “I read about you last night. About you and your Collin, and the crazy bitch who stabbed you. Hester Dobbs. Killed him, too, when you think about it, since he hanged himself, apparently because he couldn’t live without you.” As she went to hang up her coat, Taylor Swift’s “Lover” played in the library. “I’m getting used to that.”
