spent the night lying in bed, wondering what in the hell we had been a party to. Three police cars wasn’t misdemeanor territory. Exactly what kind of felony—or felonies—had we aided and abetted Campbell in committing?

When I finally heard Lillian stirring downstairs the next morning, I took that as my cue to throw in the towel on sleep. If my grandmother had heard anything about what had happened at the Ames place, I wanted to know.

I joined her on the front porch for morning coffee. We were the only two people in this family who took ours black.

“Something happened last night.” I took a long drink from my mug. “When we got home from the scavenger hunt, there were police cars at the Ames estate.”

Lillian Taft was nothing if not unflappable. “I don’t suppose there was an ambulance,” she said.

My heart stopped. It hadn’t occurred to me—not until just now—that Campbell might have hurt someone.

She didn’t. She wouldn’t. Would she?

“No ambulance,” I said out loud.

“Pity,” my grandmother commented. “A heart attack or two might improve Davis’s disposition.”

I choked on my coffee. “Lillian!”

“Oh, pish, Sawyer. Don’t look at me like that. Before my morning coffee takes hold, I am allowed to make heart attack jokes about Davis Ames, so long as no one with manners is around to hear them.”

Apparently, I didn’t qualify as a person with manners. I took that as a compliment.

“What do you think happened?” I pressed my grandmother. “Three police cars. That seems like a lot.”

I’d witnessed all-out bar brawls that had only merited one.

“We don’t see much crime in this neighborhood.” Lillian lifted her mug to her face and inhaled. “Davis would expect an immediate and impressive response. The senile old coot probably misplaced his car keys and reported them stolen.”

I should have found her dismissal of the situation comforting, but I was taken off guard, because for the first time in six weeks, I felt like I was talking to Lillian Taft, Actual Person, not the family matriarch—or even my mother’s mother.

“My mom called yesterday.” This was not what I’d planned on saying. “She wanted to know where I was.” I paused. “I went to see her.”

“I can’t imagine that she’s happy you’re here.” Lillian set her coffee down. “I’m sure that in her telling of things, I’m an absolute villain who never reached out, never asked to meet you even once.”

You didn’t, I thought.

“Quite frankly,” Lillian continued, perfectly content to carry on a one-sided conversation, “I’m appalled it’s taken this long for my daughter to inquire about your whereabouts and well-being.”

“Of course you are,” I said. I’d chosen to come back here. That didn’t mean I had to take her side against my mom’s.

Lillian cut me a look. “Have I done something to upset you, Sawyer? Something other than providing you food and shelter and opportunities most young women would die for?”

I would never, in a thousand years, master that tone: the one that managed to sound mildly curious and gingerly self-deprecating and not at all critical, no matter how much criticism was being given.

“I took Lily to The Holler last night.” When in doubt, go with blunt and unexpected.

“Pardon me?”

“The bar where my mom works. I took Lily there last night, and it appears as though someone is paying the owner to keep my mother employed.”

Lillian resumed sipping her coffee. “Isn’t that odd?”

“Lillian,” I said. No response. “Mim.”

It was the first time I’d used Lily’s name for her. My perfectly poised, perfectly formidable grandmother blinked, her eyes watering. She raised a napkin to her lips and gave herself the amount of time it took to blot to gather her composure, as effectively and mercilessly as a commanding officer gathering her troops.

“What would you like me to say, dear? That I committed the cardinal sin of watching out for my own flesh and blood? That I would have bought the entire establishment if I thought I could get away with it, just to make sure the two of you always had a home?”

You’re the one who kicked her out, pregnant and scared and alone. You’re the reason we were there.

“Now…” Lillian folded her hands in her lap. “Why don’t we talk about something a little more pleasant?” Not a question, not a request. “What do you think brought the police to our street?”