Absolution

Lourdes has lived across the cul-de-sac from Adoncia Estrella for six years. She knows the woman's name. She knows about the lemon tree on the porch. She knows the driveway is empty by eight-thirty on Sundays.

She didn't know Sergio was dying until the morning with the ambulance.

Eleven days later, Adoncia knocks on her door holding a casserole with both hands. Mole. Her mother's recipe. Two days of work, minimum.

Lourdes knows this because she's made it herself. She knows what goes into it. And she keeps counting the days backward — from the knock on her door, past the funeral, past the ambulance — trying to figure out when Adoncia started cooking.

She doesn't like where she lands.

"A work of psychological suspense about what you notice about the people you live near — and what happens when you can't stop noticing."