Franny laughs darkly, looking very jet-lagged. “Try living in the worst pollution you can imagine with no toilets, electricity, or showers. The people were wonderful, and once you got out of the smog of the city, it was beautiful. But I was trying to juggle grief and Mom, and an entirely different culture, and now …” She shakes her head. “Now I think I need a dewormer, because our cheapskate mother forced me to eat some bargain biscuits from the Beauty Supersaver Market that she’d been hoarding in her luggage, and they smelled a little off—and now my stomach hasn’t been right for months.”

“Wow,” Mom says. “We’ll take you to a vet today.”

“Thanks,” Aunt Franny says, smiling for the first time since last night. “I’m okay right now. I’ve always loved this resort. Softest beds in town. I could live here.…”

“You know who owns it now, right?” Evie says, glancing at me. “Bunny Perera’s father.”

“Seriously?” I say. “This town is small.”

“And that family knows their way around some fine, luxury linen,” Aunt Franny purrs, pulling her robe around her.

“Hey, Mom?” Evie asks. “Hate to spoil your hotel fantasy vibes, but I’m just wondering.… Where are we going to live?”

“No fair,” I say. “I was going to ask that first. Aren’t we all sort of homeless now?”

Mom sighs heavily. “Yeah, Franny. Glad to see you, but we’ve got to iron out some kinks. Because Josie and I cannot live with the old bat.”

Three quick raps sound on our suite’s door. We all turn our heads, and as if summoned by magic, my grandmother’s voice slithers through the wood. “Girls? It’s Diedre. Are you up? I brought a late breakfast.”

Frantic and wide-eyed, Mom motions for everyone to stay silent, but Franny shakes her head. “She knows we’re here, sis. The jig is up.”

Evie opens the door, and in sashays my grandmother … along with three golden carts of breakfast foods, ferried by uniformed servers. I keep my robe pulled closed, watching as a series of cloches are uncovered and fragrant steam fills up the small suite.

Seduction through freshly made patisserie and hot coffee?

This smells like a big old stinkin’ trap. I don’t trust it.

Mom doesn’t either. The entire room is tense. I don’t want a fight. I don’t want the time bomb to start ticking again in the middle of the pastries and freshly squeezed orange juice.

“Mother … what are you doing here?” Mom asks my grandmother in a strained voice. “It’s ten-thirty. Don’t you have a store to run? Or have you come to ask for my keys back?”