She didn’t sit in chairs like a normal adult. There was no straight-backed posture for Remi. She hugged one knee into her chest, her other foot swinging as if she couldn’t tolerate stillness for even one meal.

“So, Remi Honey,” Darlene said, changing the subject. “How long are you renting Red Gate?”

Remi didn’t look up from her plate. “Just a couple of weeks. Agnes doesn’t have a reservation until spring.”

“A couple of weeks?” Kimber’s eyebrows shot up. “That can’t be cheap even in the dead of winter. Where’d you come up with that kind of cash?”

Brick listened raptly as he hefted a fork of turkey to his mouth.

Remi shrugged. “Pretty sure she gave me a ‘practically family’ deal. I forgot how cute that place is on the inside. She had the kitchen redone a year or two ago with new cabinets and appliances. And between the furnace and the fireplace, it’s downright toasty.”

There was her trademark misdirection. Enthusiastic info dumps that dazzled the listener into forgetting what the original question was.

“Can we come see the cottage, Aunt Remi?” Hadley asked.

“You better come visit, or I’ll be deeply offended and not buy you any Christmas presents for two years,” she teased.

“How’s your asthma? Have you been taking your prescriptions?” Darlene asked.

Remi shifted in her chair. Her gaze stayed fixed on her plate. “It’s been good,” she said. “I thought I’d have more problems last spring with all the pollen and the air quality alerts. But I really didn’t.”

The lies that came out of this woman’s mouth.

Brick marveled at her ability to spin a tale without batting an eyelash. If he hadn’t seen the EMT’s report, even he might not have picked up on the lie. It had been a while since his Remington Bullshit Detector had a workout.

“That’s wonderful,” Gilbert said. “I’d always said you’d probably outgrow it.”

“Fingers crossed,” Remi said with a smile that wavered around the edges.

“Aunt Remi, how’d you hurt your arm?” Ian asked, eyeing her cast as he dropped a piece of turkey in his lap.

Without missing a beat, Kimber handed her son a napkin.

Remi wrinkled her nose. “I was in a very small car accident.”

“Like a Matchbox car?” Ian asked.

“Not that small. The accident was small. The car was normal-sized,” she assured her nephew.

“In your car?” Darlene asked.

Remi drove a Chevy Suburban, and Brick still wasn’t certain it was big enough to keep her safe.

She shook her head. “No. My friend was driving.”

The hand that reached for her drink was shaking. And all he wanted to do was pick her up, carry her out of the room, and interrogate her.

“A boy friend or a girl friend?” Hadley wanted to know. Brick’s grip tightened reflexively on the knife in his hand.

“Girl,” she said, managing a smile for her niece. But he watched as she curled in on herself even tighter.

Operating on instinct, he spread his legs wide enough that his left knee pressed against hers. Remi didn’t move away from the touch, and he wondered just what the hell that meant.