Sophie Mae pushed the scrambled eggs and sausage from the pan to her plate. She tugged the stool closer to the counter, and the savory aroma eased her soul. Living in the estate offered food, stable shelter, and others to converse with, allowing her mind to heal from her life of trauma.

The ring of the doorbell at such an early hour awakened her defense response. She peered from the secret door of the kitchen.

Mr. Langston made himself visible and greeted the visitor.

“Miss Sophie Mae Bastrop, please,” the stranger said.

“There is no one here by this name, sir.”

“I’m certain she’s here. My employer will vouch for her presence.”

Sophie Mae raced to the door, feeling confident next to the butler. “I’m right here.”

A businessman in a sharp gray suit carried a leather briefcase. He appeared well kept, nothing like the beggars back in Drycrop.

“Ah, Miss Bastrop. My name is Thomas R. Smith, and I must speak with you concerning Ms. Catherine J. Gardenia. You’re mentioned in her will. Might I have a word?”

Mr. Langston’s face reddened, and his brow furrowed. “Please leave the premises. I’m afraid you are not welcome here.”

Sophie Mae startled at the butler’s first sign of emotion since her arrival. Though she trusted Mr. Langston, she also needed more information regarding the demise of her Aunt Catherine. “Please, Mr. Smith. We can talk in the garden.”

She led him under the archway and through the ivy gate where they occupied an art deco bench. A cherub fountain splashed nearby, safeguarding their conversation from eavesdroppers.

Mr. Smith retrieved a stack of documents bound by a paper clip from his briefcase. “Since Ms. Catherine Gardenia’s passing, I’ve been commissioned to inform you of her last wishes. First, I want to offer my condolences. Her death was untimely, to be sure.

It’s stated in her will that you’re to be the sole inheritor of the estate. This includes land, buildings, and existing contracts. However, there’s a stipulation. Because of your age, you must have a guardian in residence to claim this inheritance. Ms. Gardenia named Ms. Hattie Picket in her will.”

Sophie Mae glanced at the typed document. The lightheadedness of anxiety returned. “That won’t be possible. She has passed.”

Mr. Smith’s arms folded onto the briefcase. “Once again, my condolences. To lose one’s family in such a time as this. Fortunately, the state makes exceptions,” Mr. Smith cleared his throat. “If the guardian mentioned above cannot take on the role, one can claim another adult as their legal guardian and override the will. Do you have anyone in mind? An uncle or aunt, perhaps.”

Sophie Mae stared at Mr. Smith, concerned her place at the estate might be compromised.

Folding the documents, Mr. Smith continued. “As a local resident of Evenland, I feel obliged to inform you of the risk to your safety. Many in town believe a man jealous of her wealth, a circus performer named George Cain, killed Ms. Gardenia.

Sophie Mae’s head jerked toward Mr. Smith.

“Mr. Cain moved into the Gardenia Estate after being in town a mere two days and living in a homeless encampment. The locals believe he forced his way into the home. A few months later, both Ms. Gardenia and the magician disappeared from public life.”

Sophie Mae shifted on the bench. This makes two people who believe her death wasn’t an accident. Is this why Mr. Langston tried to get rid of him? Is he covering for Mr. George?

Standing, Mr. Smith donned his hat, handing her a card and a copy of the will. “I’m sure you need a few days to analyze your situation. Here is my number if you need any clarification or advice on how to proceed. Please don’t hesitate to call. Good day, Miss Bastrop.”

Sophie Mae stood politely as Mr. Smith left. Her knees buckled, and she dropped back to the bench, mentally exhausted from the conversation.

Doubt welled in her mind. Shoving the will into her pocket, she plodded to the house. Poppycock! There is no way Mr. George killed Aunt Catherine. I’m sure of it. This town is full of gossips.

Sophie Mae pushed open the front door and spun on her heel as Dink barreled out of the house. “There you are,” Dink said. “Come with me to the hen house and steal a few eggs.”

“Why? You don’t eat them.”

“That’s not the point! We can throw them at Billy when he comes to harass the chickens. He goes there every morning. He’s so predictable.”

The two instigators rushed into the hen house, and rummaged through the nests, wiping the poo on their pants. Feathers drifted in the air like the aftermath of a pillow fight. The hens squawked and pecked at the girls, who fled the pen with full hands.

“What a mess,” Sophie Mae said. “I’ll be picking feathers off my clothes for days.”

“Nah, they come off if you roll down the big hill behind the coop.” Dink’s eyes shot to the distance. “Look over there. Here comes Billy. Quick, get behind that water well.”

From the layered rocks of the rounded retainer wall, Dink held out her hand, and the eggs from her pocket appeared. Billy walked up the dirt path, his eyes darting at the slightest noise.

“He’s looking for Myrt,” she whispered. “She’s his archnemesis but also the closest thing he has to a grandma.”

The tall grass rippled in the field, giving away his crawl to the hen house. Sophie Mae and Dink readied the warm eggs in their hands. Billy reached up to unlatch the gate to the coop.

SPLAT-SPLAT-SPLAT

Eggs showered from the sky. Billy ducked and covered, but one slammed his temple. Yolk dripped off the end of his nose. “Dink. You better run. I’m gonna get you this time.”

“Oh, shoot.” Dink dropped the extra eggs and ran into the open, away from the seething brother. Sophie Mae scrambled close behind.

Billy locked on their location and chased them through the tomato garden and past the patch of dandelions filled with garden gnomes. Dink ran straight to the Mayville’s cottage and banged on the door. Both girls leaned on their knees to catch their breath. The door opened, and they stood at attention.

“Good morning Mrs. Mayville,” Dink said, winded.

“What’re you girls up to?”

“Oh, nothing, ma’am. Right, Sophie Mae?”

“Just out for a morning jog.”

Myrt, a mother of two boys and a grandmother of sixteen, wasn’t so easily fooled. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come in.”

Sophie Mae rushed into the cottage just as Billy caught up. He lurched from behind a tree, shaking his fist.

Dink perched on the floral canvas sofa and watched as Myrt brought Sophie Mae a glass of water. The elder woman fell into her worn chair and swung her legs to the footrest.

“You girls remind me of myself when I was your age. I used to run these hills like an antelope.”

“More like a goat,” Oscar D muttered from the kitchen table, hunched over the classifieds.

“An elegant antelope,” she continued. “My brother was very creative and found novel ways to taunt me. Once, he threw a fishing net from a tree and caused me to fall and bruise my entire left side. Another time, he chased me from the schoolhouse dressed like a zombie. I was so angry with John, but as we got older, we laughed at the adventures.”

Dink’s head dropped backward, and a long heavy sigh flowed from the deepest reaches of her lungs. She leaned into Sophie Mae. “Billy’s gone by now. Let’s scat before she really gets going.”

“Can’t we stay a little longer?”

“But she could go on for days. She’s two hundred years old or something. That’s a lot of stories.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

Dink took control. “Thank you for the water, Mrs. Mayville. We have to be going now. I promised Mom I’d…clean my room.”

Sophie Mae grimaced at Dink.

“Must you leave so soon?” Myrt asked. “You can’t leave me here with this old coot.”

Dink grabbed Sophie Mae’s hand and dragged her from the cottage, shutting the door behind them. She stomped along the front walkway, but Sophie Mae remained on the doormat.

“What?” Dink shrugged. “I saved you from wasting your time. Now we can use the imagination room.”

“Did you ever consider I might enjoy being with them?”

“How’s that even possible? They ramble nonsense.”

Sophie Mae stormed past a wrought-iron table and toward the mansion. Dink followed.

“Oh, I get it. You’ve been alone for so long that any human contact is good. Even people who have no idea what it means to live.”

Sophie Mae ignored Dink’s comment.

“Wait a minute…” Dink said. “Is it possible you think these people are your family? Well, I have a news bulletin for you—they’re mine, not yours.”

Sophie Mae stopped, keeping her eyes focused on the path. “You’re right, they’re your family. All I’ve ever wanted was someone to care for me and teach me the way I should go. You’re surrounded by family, but still more alone than I am without one.”

Sophie Mae continued to the house, and Dink fumed. “I’m just fine! I was fine before you arrived, and I’ll be fine long after you leave!”