“Walk with me,” she encourages, nodding toward a set of doors that leads to the back of the resort. Outside, a wide, empty porch winds around the bottom floor of the hotel. I think they have a lot of events out here—wedding photos, things like that. Massive rocks below. Blue water. The Harborwalk, where people the size of bunny rabbits stroll toward the main pier.

A placid scene. Good place for an ambush.

My stomach twists.

“Do you know why I went to Nepal?” Grandma asks, leaning against the railing of the porch to look out over the harbor.

Strange question. “To help Aunt Franny get over Uncle Ed’s death.”

“That’s one reason. But I did it for Winona, too.”

“You went to Nepal for my mom?” I say scrunching up my nose.

“That’s right,” she says, glancing at my face. “See, it took me a few years to figure it out, but I finally did. I wanted my daughter—Winona—and my granddaughter, you, to come home. But the problem was, my daughter hates my guts. You don’t know how that feels, because you don’t have a daughter yet. But you might one day. And let me tell you, it’s the worst feeling in the world.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” I say.

“She does,” Grandma says diplomatically. “But I’d like to change that. And the only way I can do that is if she’s home. And the only way to get my daughter home was to leave.”

I blink at her. “You went to Nepal …”

Grandma nods. “So that Winnie would come home. And bring you home. But hey—I’m no fool. I know relationships take time. And I know everything that’s happened was not part of the plan. I like a good plan, see.”

“Me too,” I say.

“But my plan got screwed up when Franny insisted on coming back early. So here we are. And we can’t all live together, of course. There would be five corpses before sundown.”

She’s not wrong.…

“So now we’re on to plan B. You have to have a backup plan. It’s as important as the main plan. That’s what people never understand. It’s two plans, really. Two equal plans.”

“Two equal plans,” I say, realizing immediately that I have failed miserably on this account. Damn. She’s good—evil, but good. Tenacious. Wily as a fox, even.

“So, here’s my backup plan,” she says. “You and Winnie? You take the apartment. I’m moving out.”

“Wait—hold on. It’s your apartment.”

“Yours just as much as mine. We’re just stewards. It belongs to all of us. And if we’re getting technical, then what I want is to start a conversation with your mother about her taking legal ownership of the apartment. But I thought I’d talk to you first, to make sure that’s something you’d want.”