Leona Grant's flawless face was a cold, undisturbed mask, her inky eyes revealing nothing but indifference.
'Was it all an act? Well, there was one way to find out.'
...
The bus made frequent stops, so it was a slow journey. By the time Annabelle Linton got to the hospital, she was cutting it close.
She had just stepped into the hospital when a jarring voice cut through the air.
"Well, well, who do we have here? If it isn't Mrs. Grant. Absolutely no sense of time. I don't think you'll find anyone else in this hospital who manages to show up for work right on the dot. But who can blame her? She's got money to burn and married a good husband, right?"
It was a shrill, biting voice. Even if Annabelle had never heard it before in this lifetime, she would have known exactly who it belonged to.
