“She had sleep aids and anti-depressants. Lunesta and Lexapro are the brand names. I recognized them only because in a family for which I used to work, the wife was abusing those medicines, too.”

“Pat doesn’t seem like the drug-abusing type,” Monica said.

“They never do, my dear.” Grace took Junior’s hand and led him toward the kitchen. “I wouldn’t share this information with your husband, if I were you. He’s so enamored of his mother, as any son ought to be. This revelation would crush him.”

“He needs to know,” Monica said. “If it’s true.”

“Pardon me?” Grace spun around, eyebrows arched. “If it’s true, you say?”

“If it’s true that Pat is abusing prescription drugs, yes. She might have those medicines, but that doesn’t mean she’s abusing them.”

“The poor old girl ran into the street directly in front of a moving vehicle, an utterly illogical thing to do. I shared with you that she is ingesting drugs known to cause hallucinatory side effects and erratic behavior.”

“Yes, but—“

“Don’t be a fool, dear. It doesn’t suit you. Now come into the kitchen and eat before dinner gets cold.”

Glaring at her, Grace whirled away. Lexi followed Grace and her brother.

Chastened, Monica lowered her head. She glanced at the phone in her lap.

If what her mother said about Pat’s drug abuse was true, it was her responsibility to share that information with Troy. It could be critical in understanding what had happened, and preventing any future problems.

But Monica simply didn’t believe it. Pat was too well-balanced. Certainly, there was the situation with her supposedly forgetting Duchess outdoors the other night--

(our lives have totally fallen apart in only the past few days, starting when Grace arrived)

--but that seemed like an unrelated incident. There was no correlation between a memory lapse and a complete lapse of sanity.

“My dear?” Grace called from the kitchen. “Do you require assistance standing?”

“I’m okay, coming now.” Pulling in a deep breath, Monica rose from the sofa. Her achy knees almost buckled from the effort. Beads of perspiration broke out on her hairline.

Although Monica had professed to be fine, Grace came to assist her anyway. After taking Monica by the arm, she slapped her rump with a vigorous swat that would have knocked Monica over if Grace hadn’t been holding her upright.

“Hey, that hurt!” Monica’s buttocks stung.

“Did it? My apologies, sometimes I don’t realize my own strength. I was only getting a feel for your figure—you’re becoming a regular bag of bones, dear. Mama’s got to fatten you up. Men prefer women with curves.”