![]() ![]() Ezra and I watched the Dateline special-“Mystery at Murderland”-at home while our neighbor stayed with us. And the second time was five years ago, for Melanie’s teenage daughter’s funeral. The first time was the year before we were born, when our grandfather died from a heart attack. Sadie left Echo Ridge when she was eighteen, and she’s only been back twice. You’ve probably heard the name.” Ezra and I exchange wide-eyed glances. ![]() She used to babysit your mother when she was young. I have terrible night vision, so Melanie was kind enough to drive. Her family lives down the street from us. When we slide into the backseat Nana turns to face us, and so does a younger woman behind the steering wheel. “They won’t let you idle for more than a minute.” She pulls her head back in as Ezra wheels his solitary suitcase toward the trunk. “Go on, get in,” she calls, side-eyeing the traffic cop a few feet from us. She doesn’t look much different than she does over Skype, although her thick gray bangs appear freshly cut. The passenger-side window rolls down, and Nana sticks her head out. We wait a few minutes, wilting in the heat, until a forest-green Subaru station wagon pulls up beside us. “Nana’s texting and driving?” “Apparently.” I haven’t seen my grandmother since she visited us in California ten years ago, but from what I can remember that seems out of character. ![]()
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