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1 Lilac Lane
By Sarah Snee 1 Lilac Lane On my first and last day of housekeeping for the Richardsons’ large and looming estate, the flowers began to talk to me. I was, by all opinion, horribly naive. The estate, in its entirety, was spotless. There were whispers all over town as the sleek black Audi rolled through the streets, its reflection in each shop window catching the attention of every passerby, although there didn’t seem to be an eye that wasn’t glued to the back of the car. There was no license plate. I worked at an ice-cream shop on Ginger Street. A scoop of chocolate-chip-cookie-dough plopped onto the floor as I…
