Coffee and fresh-baked biscuits lured her nose to the kitchen, where her mother and Corinna were busy slicing apples for a pie. Corinna dropped her knife and walked to Violet with a huge smile, arms wide open to enclose Violet in warmth and security. She was six years old again whenever Corinna hugged her; she always would be.

“Law, you too thin to see in the mirror, missy. Sit down and eat a few biscuits, and tell me all that’s goin’ on in your fancy life these days.” Corinna swept her eyes up and down Violet’s body. “Then you can tell me what foolishness caused you to think you need to drive a fast sports car.”

“Well, you know me, Corinna, I’m gonna do what I want to do.” Violet sat at the table and hurried to steer the conversation as far from the Corvette story as possible. “How are Edward and the boys?”

“Fine, fine. They all say hello.” Corinna wiped counters as her mother piled apple slices into a big pot, then placed a plate of biscuits and a cup of coffee in front of Violet. A few seconds later Alice and Corinna were seated across from her, firing questions about everything from her experiences as a Junior Leaguer to the cuisine at the country club. Everything except whether her wonderful husband ever beat his wife.

She would’ve lied, anyway. Somewhere deep inside Violet a voice had grown louder and more insistent over the years: It’s your fault. No man hits a woman who doesn’t deserve it somehow.

Violet was sprawled across her bed reading a novel late that afternoon when she heard a group of men laughing downstairs. She strained to listen, trying to determine if a Bible study or a poker game was on—either would be typical of Doug Glenn.

“Violet,” her father yelled. “Someone here wants to see you!”

She checked her makeup and hair, slipped on some heels and performed her best beauty queen walk down the steps to hug one of Daddy’s old friends...probably Mr. Aderholdt, who’d been a partner in Doug’s firm and one of her favorite “uncles.”

The group had moved into the kitchen, Daddy leading three uniformed men preparing to examine the faulty wiring Alice complained hourly was dangerous and on the verge of burning the house down. The backs of their shirts read “Superior Electric” in bold blue letters. Two followed her father down into the basement but the tallest stopped and leaned back against the sink, arms crossed.

Violet studied him from the hall. This man was good-looking, and he knew it. You could tell by the way he stood, a faint smile on his face. His longish dark hair reminded her of that Elvis Presley guy her friends obsessed over.