Page 3 of Rich Little Liars

She was just curious. New neighbour. Perfectly normal.

Except her gaze hadn’t felt curious. It had felt… knowing. Like she would see straight through the Georgian facade and the insurance money and my story about needing a fresh start after a difficult time. If I even dared to tell her such lies.

I lean against the door and close my eyes.

This is fine. This is what I wanted. A quiet town. A clean slate. A place where I can learn to be Kelly Reynolds again, or whoever Kelly Reynolds is supposed to be now.

I push away from the door and go back to the kitchen. Back to the boxes, unwrapping mugs and plates and reminding myself the smell of smoke was just my imagination and that the woman outside was just a curious neighbour and that everything, absolutely everything, is going to be fine.

The sun is setting by the time I finish unpacking the kitchen boxes. The light coming in turns golden, then amber, then dims into that blue twilight that makes everything look unreal. I should eat something. Should make tea. Should do any of the things normal people do after a long day.

Instead, I pour myself a glass of water and stare out the kitchen window, looking out at the garden that’s mine but doesn’t feel like mine. At the fence that separates me from the park. At the gathering darkness that looks so much softer here than it did in my old life.

I drink the water. It tastes clean. No minerals. No metallic tang. East Hampton water, filtered and perfect and nothing like⁠—

The doorbell rings.

The glass nearly slips from my hand. I slowly set it down on the counter and wipe my palms on my jeans. No one knows I’m here. No one should be calling. The movers are gone. The realtor sent a text earlier to check everything was okay. There’s no reason for anyone to⁠—

The doorbell rings again. Two short chimes that echo through the empty house.

I walk to the front door. My reflection swims in the hall mirror – pale face, wide eyes, looking exactly like someone who has something to hide.

You don’t have anything to hide. You’re just tired. Just settling in.

I open the door.

It’s the woman from earlier. Same navy coat, same expensive dog, same assessing gaze. Up close, she’s immaculate – makeup subtle but perfect, jewellery understated, the kind of woman who probably irons her dishcloths.

‘Hello,’ she says. Her voice is warm but controlled. ‘I’m Caroline Halstead. From number twelve.’ She gestures vaguely behind her, towards one of the identical lovely houses across the park. ‘I saw you moving in and thought I’d pop round to welcome you to East Hampton.’

Her smile is pleasant. Her eyes are sharp.

‘Kelly,’ I manage. ‘Kelly Reynolds.’

‘Lovely to meet you, Kelly.’ She tilts her head slightly, and the dog shifts at her feet. ‘I hope the move wasn’t too dreadful. These things are always such chaos, aren’t they?’

‘It was fine. Thank you.’

The silence stretches. Caroline doesn’t seem bothered by it. She stands there, perfectly poised, waiting for me to add something. To invite her in. To be the sort of neighbour who chats for hours and borrows cups of sugar.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I’m not yet settled. Bit of a mess inside.’

‘Of course, of course.’ Her smile doesn’t waver. ‘I won’t keep you. I just wanted to say hello. And to mention – we have a homeowners’ association meeting next Thursday evening. Very informal. Just a chance for everyone to catch up, discuss town matters. You’d be more than welcome.’

‘That’s kind. I’ll… I’ll think about it.’

‘Wonderful.’ Caroline adjusts her grip on the leash. The dog stares up at me with bulging eyes. ‘Well. I’ll let you get back to it. If you need anything at all, I’m just across the park. Number twelve, remember. The one with the blue door.’

‘Thank you.’

She walks away, the dog trotting beside her, and I close the door before she can turn round and catch me watching. Inside, the house feels smaller. Like the walls have moved inward while I wasn’t looking.

I go back to the kitchen and lean against the counter. My hands are shaking. I can’t stop wondering if Caroline knows about my past. But I’m being ridiculous – there’s no reason for anyone in East Hampton to connect me to what happened. The fire was months ago. Miles away. A different town. Different life.

But her eyes seemed to bleed knowledge.

I close my eyes and count to ten. Then twenty. Then thirty.