Grace smiled as if to soften the blow, but Monica didn’t believe the painful slap on her ass was a mistake. It was a rebuke. Monica had dared to disagree with her on the topic of Pat’s possible drug abuse of prescription medications, and Grace hadn’t liked it.

I’m starting to think like Troy, Monica thought. Which was wrong. Troy was wrong. Grace was an angel, a blessing for all of them, and they should have been grateful to have her.

But why couldn’t she stop thinking about what Troy had said?

Grace helped her sit at the table.

“Have some iced-tea,” Grace said. She slid a tall glass of a greenish beverage toward Monica. “I brewed it especially for you, darling. It will ease your mind and soothe your spirits.”

“Sounds like exactly what I need,” Monica said.

46

That night, Troy was driving home from visiting his mother at the hospital when Sullivan called him with an update.

Troy was in better spirits than he’d been earlier. Things were looking up for his mom. She had regained a firm hold on consciousness, and despite her weakness, her mind was as keen as ever, a clear indication that she had avoided the ugly specter of brain damage. Although she had suffered other, extensive physical injuries, and it would take time to determine when—or if—she would ever walk again, he was grateful that she was alive, alert, and talking. That was a blessing, and he would take them wherever he could get them these days.

He’d also taken the jar of that mystery cream Grace had gifted his mother: Lovely Hands. He had a vague notion of finding a chemist to run an analysis on the substances therein, though it didn’t much matter anymore. The damage to his mother, the target of Grace’s widespread malice, had already been done.

His phone buzzed as he was pulling out of the hospital parking garage. He had his iPhone paired with the BMW’s Bluetooth system; he pressed a button on the steering wheel to accept the call.

“Hey, Doc, it’s Sullivan,” the detective said, his voice broadcast over the car’s internal speakers. “The DNA results came in. Expedited like you requested.”

“Monica and Grace are mother and daughter, like I’ve been saying,” Troy said.

“Well.” Sullivan cleared his throat. “Not exactly. The results don’t make much damned sense. I think your samples were mixed up, pal.”

“If there was a mix-up, someone at the lab you used is responsible,” Troy said. “I collected the samples properly. Anyway, what did the results say?”

“The DNA is almost a perfect match.” Sullivan laughed uneasily.

“What do you mean, almost a perfect match?”