“I don’t know,” Kitty said. The sound of a car startled her upright. “Oh my God.” She slammed the refrigerator door closed and peered under a pulled shade. The car passed, but Kitty didn’t relax. Her eyes were wide with paranoia again. She backed herself into a corner, glancing about as though the furniture might leap up and attack her. “We need to pack.”

“And go where?”

She opened up a closet. Mickey’s clothes—all on hangers, shirts folded up top. Man, this kid was neat. “I want my gun back.”

“Kitty, what’s going on?”

“If you found us . . . It’s not safe.”

“What’s not safe? Where’s Brad?”

Kitty shook her head, pulling a suitcase out from under the couch. She started dumping Mickey’s clothes into it. Watching this strung-out heroin addict—there was no nicer way to put that—a strange yet obvious realization came to Myron.

“Brad wouldn’t do this to his family,” Myron said.

That made her slow down.

“Whatever else may be going on—and I don’t know if you’re really in danger, Kitty, or if you’ve fried your brain into a state of irrational paranoia—but I know my brother. He wouldn’t leave you and his son alone like this—you strung out and afraid for your life, real or imagined.”

Kitty’s face crumbled a piece at a time. Her voice was a childlike whine. “It isn’t his fault.”

Whoa. Myron knew to proceed slowly here. He took a half step closer to her and spoke as gently as he could. “I know that.”

“I’m so scared.”

Myron nodded.

“But Brad can’t help us.”

“Where is he?”

She shook her head, her body stiffening. “I can’t say. Please. I can’t say.”

“Okay.” He put up his hands. Easy, Myron. Don’t push too hard. “But maybe you could let me help you.”

She looked at him warily. “How?”

Finally—an opening, albeit a small one. He wanted to suggest rehab for her. He knew a nice place not far from the house in Livingston. That was where he wanted to bring her, try to get her cleaned up. She would go into rehab while Mickey stayed with him, just until they contacted Brad and got him up here.

But his own words haunted him: Brad wouldn’t leave them like this. So that meant one of two things. One, Brad didn’t know how bad his wife was. Or two, for some reason, he couldn’t help them.

“Kitty,” he said slowly, “is Brad in danger? Is he the reason you’re so afraid right now?”

“He’ll be back soon.” She started scratching her arms hard, as though there were bugs under the skin. Her eyes started darting around again. Uh-oh, Myron thought.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I just need to use the bathroom. Where’s my purse?”

Yeah, right.