As had become the norm lately, Grace prepared dinner that evening. The announced menu: baked salmon with a creamy dill sauce, French-grated carrot salad, roasted asparagus, and for dessert, peach cobbler. Monica had offered to assist in preparations, but as usual, Grace demurred. Monica hung out in the family room with Lexi and Junior, occasionally casting glances at her mother laboring in the kitchen.

Troy’s outrageous accusations continued to rebound through her mind, like a perpetually caroming set of pinballs.

Look at how our lives have totally fallen apart in only the past few days, starting when Grace arrived . . .

I’m beginning to suspect that Grace is responsible for Lily’s death, too . . . pushed Lily down the stairs . . .

Grace conveniently shows up at Lily’s funeral, ready and willing to be a part of your life.

Monica refused to believe any of it. It would have made her mother out to be a monster, when she was in fact the exact opposite: understanding, considerate, loving. A mother any child, adult or otherwise, would have been overjoyed to call her own.

But the charges were so egregious that she couldn’t fathom how Troy could entertain such ideas.

It had to be because of what had happened to Pat. That horrible freak accident. He was being overly emotional, desperate for a reason that could explain why something so awful had happened to his mother. Grace was a convenient scapegoat. It was obvious that Troy despised her anyway.

“Dinner is ready.” Grace came into the family room. Before beginning meal preparations, she had changed clothes, yet again. She wore a sky-blue, fitted blouse and matching skirt that ended above the knees, and her hair was pulled back into a long braid. She was the most glamorous-looking grandmother that Monica had ever seen, and looked nothing remotely close to her true age.

“Pat is awake.” Monica lifted her iPhone. “Troy sent me a text a few minutes ago. She’s awake and alert.”

“Well, isn’t God good?” Grace clasped her hands together. “I pray Pat makes a speedy, full recovery.” She paused. “Perhaps this will have taught her a lesson about the dangers of prescription drug abuse.”

“What?” Monica dropped her phone in her lap. “Come again?”

“I was reluctant to share this with you and especially Troy—it would have only upset him.” Grace pursed her lips, seemed to carefully select her words. “But when Pat stayed over here the other night, she and I shared the guest bath. She happened to leave her purse on the vanity, and it was open. I couldn’t help but notice half a dozen bottles of prescription drugs virtually spilling out of her bag.”

“What kind of drugs?” Monica asked. “Did you notice the names of any of them?”

Grace waved her hand. “I shouldn’t have mentioned this. I apologize. Why don’t we go in the kitchen and eat?”

“Please,” Monica said. “It could be really important.”