for breakfast, she and Eden had argued:
He was looking at you.
No, it was you, Hannah. I’m sure he was checking you out.
No, it’s obvious he has a serious crush on you. And I’ll be honored to be a bridesmaid at your wedding.
Hannah kept noticing him again and again—all over the campus. He was usually operating a leaf-blower, but other times, he just seemed to be lurking. Hannah had a feeling he was the one prowling outside her bedroom window in the thunderstorm on her first night in bungalow twenty. Rachel maintained he was quite harmless. Lance had an on-again-off-again thing going with a divorcée in Waukegan. That was also where he lived—in a house with his mother. The property was owned by one of Mr. Bonner’s corporations. Rachel rented the place to them for some ridiculously cheap price. It was practically like charity. Lance’s mother, Alma, was Rachel’s cleaning woman and laundress. Once a week, she cleaned the bungalow—everything except for Hannah and Eden’s room. Hannah had run into her in the living room last week—a sullen, sixty-something, copper-haired woman who smelled like disinfectant. Around her neck, she wore a chain with a clunky-looking fake-gold crucifix. Her pale pink sweatshirt had a photo of two kittens on it. According to Rachel, Alma came by at least one other time during the week to pick up or drop off Rachel’s laundry. She had her own key. It made Hannah nervous to think that Alma’s creepy son had such easy access to the key to their bungalow.
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