“What rest?”

“The domestic terrorists. The backwoods drunks running around grabbing the Natives. Aren’t we doing the same thing? Aren’t we exactly the same?”

Elizabeth laughed. It was a rare sound that shocked the room into silence. “Oh, my dear, no. No, no, no.” She patted her lacquered chignon. “We are doing this for the children, because, as dictated by rule number one…ladies?” She raised her hands like a conductor in front of an orchestra, and the group responded like a well-timed overture.

“Moms do what is best for the children. Always.”

“Exactly.” She approached Veronica and put a soft hand on each shoulder, her Cheshire Cat grin matte lavender. “And my dear, we follow the rules. After all, we are civilized ladies. Not some gang of wild savages stowing away on a train.”

“And when they get here?” This was what Adelaide really wanted to know—the action part. Just how action-y would it be?

“Well, we’ll secure them, we’ll conduct some research and testing, and we’ll carefully measure out the cure.” Elizabeth was already tired, and annoyance was slipping into her tone.

“Research? Measure out? What about those of us who need a solution, like, yesterday?” Jimmy needed Adelaide to stay angry if he was going to get better.

“Meeting adjourned.” Elizabeth clapped. She was done.

So was Adelaide.

On the drive home, Adelaide used voice messaging to text Miranda, their woman on the inside, the one who’d spent months getting into the inner circle. Also the person she’d first gotten drunk with at thirteen and whom she’d stayed close to when the shit started to hit the fan.

“We need to talk.”

She didn’t mince words. She never did. Mincing was for President Purdue and that wimp Veronica. They could mince all they wanted. Adelaide was ready to take what was hers. The Canadian schools were offering a reward for the return of “lost assets,” and not something stupid like a bag of cash or the key to some Podunk Canadian city. No, they were offering special dispensation for an informant to relocate to Canada with their immediate family. Canada, where you could have all the straight-from-the-source dream serum you needed. Forget the MOMS and their hesitant and measured pace. Adelaide could make sure Jimmy got more than enough to come back to her and then some.

“I think it’s time to reach out to the school people. I’m tired of this shit.” Her phone beeped to confirm the message was sent.

If there was one thing Adelaide knew, it was that being tired didn’t mean you would be able to sleep. She was lying in bed, wide awake and reading a romance novel, when Miranda texted back:

“Roger that. I’ll make a call.”

Her phone screen was still glowing when she put a receipt between the pages to mark her place and set the book down on the nightstand. Then she settled into her pillows in a bed made too wide by her husband’s recent absence and fell asleep. If she could have dreamed, it would have been a good one.