“It’s eleven?” she said. “You’re kidding me. We slept that late?”

“Well, just look at the clock, why don’t you?” Grandma pointed at the cuckoo clock in the kitchen. It read 11:05. I realized it was the only clock I’d seen in the house.

“Since you children seemed so tired, I just decided to let y’all sleep right in,” said Grandma. “And I went ahead and spoke to them myself.”

“Wait, you already talked to the police?” I said. “About Mom and Horace and all that?”

“Why, of course I did,” she said. “I was sitting in the parking lot when Sheriff Bearden opened the station. See, I wake up at four A.M. on the dot every morning. I feed the chickens and take my morning constitutional, and I greet the coming day with a hymn of supplication, same as I do every morning, same as I have for forty years now. And as you two sleepyheads were still snoring away at six, I decided to go ahead and take myself to town and report the . . . the murder”—her voice cracked a little—“of my daughter Jenny, as well as the fact that a madman was after my grandchildren.”

“And they believed you?” said Murphy.

“Of course they believed me,” said Grandma. “Sheriff Bearden is an old friend of mine. A friend of the Farm as well. I told him all about your situation, and he was most helpful. When I mentioned your stepfather, Sheriff Bearden found a photo of the man on his computer. Strange to lay eyes on my daughter’s husband for the first time in such a manner, and such a brute of a man, with that ridiculous haircut. But Sheriff Bearden promised me he would put something called an ‘all-points bulletin’ out about the man. An officer is supposed to come around before too long and ask y’all some questions. I expect him before sundown.”

“We really should have gone with you,” said Murphy. “I mean, we have evidence. Of Horace’s guilt.”

“Your grandmother will take care of you, children,” she said. “I have lived a long and varied life, and I’ve gained a not unsubstantial bit of wisdom in my time. I believe I am up to the task, don’t you?”

“You still should have told us,” said Murphy.

“Life is not lived in shoulds,” said Grandma. “There is only what has been done and what will be done. I’ve already spoken to the police, and they’re sending an officer here later in the day. You may say to them whatever you want then. Okay?”

“Fine with me,” I said.

“I guess,” muttered Murphy.

“Murphy,” said Grandma, her voice gone sharp. “I asked you if that was okay with you. Look me in the eyes and answer my question. Is this plan okay with you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Murphy.

“That’s better,” said Grandma. She clapped her hands together, a crack like a gunshot. “Now then, there are dishes to wash and chores to be done. We are on a farm, you know, and it’s been ages since I’ve had any help around here. We’ll keep busy until the police come for questions. Because a busy mind is a healthy mind, and idle hands are, after all, the devil’s playthings. Of course, the idea of a devil is utter nonsense, but the sentiment remains true.