Mr. Grant picked up the bottle and poured another glass for each of us. “There are lots of different stories, but all agree that Peggy was the only survivor of a wreck at sea during a ferocious sleet storm. When she was found, she didn’t know who she was, and the family who took her in named her Peggy.”

“That’s a wonderful story,” I said. “I wonder what the chances are of having a place named after me. Milagroville. Milagroberg. Milagrocita. None of those sounds quite right.”

He chuckled in that charming way that silver foxes do, as if you’ve said something terribly clever. “With you, I’d say they’re much better than average. My grandson wasn’t expecting you, but I’m glad you’re here. I was quite curious about you.”

“Did you hear good things about me, or bad things?”

“Interesting things. I did hear that you were very pretty, and you are.”

“That’s sweet, but you don’t have to lie. It’s not as if I’m a vampire and can’t see my own reflection in a mirror. I’ve never looked more hideous.”

“But you are pretty. Very pretty. Of course you’d have to be for Oswald, because beauty is his business.”

“I thought he was a doctor.”

“Yes, and he went on to become a plastic surgeon. Didn’t he tell you?”

“There was a lot of material to cover.” I never imagined myself with a plastic surgeon. I bobbed in my seat to see if everything jiggled the way it was supposed to. When Mr. Grant stared at me, I kept bobbing up and down and began humming. “Ever get a song stuck in your head?” I said. “What inspired you to visit here?”

Mr. Grant considered for a moment before saying, “Since you and Oswald broke up, he’s wanted more grandfatherly guidance. I could understand what he was going through since I lost the only woman I ever loved, the woman who gave me wonderful children and carried on the family line.”

“That’s so romantic and tragic,” I said. “A love that dare not bite again.”

Someone behind me cleared her throat. “Well, AG, I see you’ve made friends with the Young Lady.”

In the doorway was a petite older woman dressed in elegant sea blue satin lounging pajamas with a matching robe and sleek brown leather slippers. Her shining silver hair was cut close to her elegant noggin, and she turned her luminous, exotic green eyes toward me.

“Hello, Milagro. My grandson tells me that you claimed to be transporting a dead body in a pickup, on the run from unknown assailants, and that you’ve conveniently acquired amnesia.”