“Their Nana will take care of it,” Grace said, and Monica was too tired to protest her use of that name again. “Relax, darling. Nana will take care of everything.”

10

Troy and his mom kept an eye on the kids while Monica showed her mother around the house. But when the clock ticked past six in the evening and Lexi asked about dinner, Troy realized that he hadn’t seen Monica and Grace in a while. He’d heard them go back upstairs, but that had been some time ago hadn’t it?

More than likely, the two women were diligently working on forging their mother-daughter bond, in private. Troy knew that Monica had a lot of tough questions she wanted Grace to answer, and there would be tears and accusations, justifications and apologies. It wasn’t the kind of conversation that everyone needed to hear.

Like the discussion he’d had outside on his phone when they’d gotten home. Monica had inquired for details, but some things were meant to remain confidential.

“I’m going to see what they want to do for dinner.” Troy pushed out of his leather recliner and stretched his arms over his head. “I’ll be right back.”

Mom had been reading a book to Lexi and Junior, both kids perched attentively on either side of her on the sofa. She was a natural teacher, one more reason Troy loved having her around. His children thrived in her presence.

“If they don’t mind, I can reheat the leftovers I brought from the repast,” she said. “It’s no trouble at all.”

“That’s probably what we’ll do, but I’ll check.”

Troy headed up to the second floor. He called out: “Monica? Grace? Have a minute, ladies?”

No one answered him. He shuffled down the catwalk. The door to the guest room where Grace would be sleeping was closed, but a knock brought no response. He opened the door.

The room was dark, and vacant.

The familiar scent of rosemary hung in the air. He ordinarily liked the scent, but it was so strong that it made his stomach roll. Quickly, he pulled the door shut and sucked in a deep breath, and the spell of nausea passed.

Had that smell come from something Grace had brought into the house? Some kind of weird incense or potpourri?

He looked around the second floor and wound up at the only room he hadn’t checked, the master bedroom. The double doors were shut. When he turned the door lever, he found it locked.

He knocked. “Monica? Is everything okay?”

He got no reply. He knocked again, harder. A few seconds later, Grace cracked open the door a couple of inches. Her brows crinkled into a frown.

“What’s going on?” Troy asked.

“My daughter is resting,” she whispered. “She’s had a long day, as you surely can appreciate.”

“Can I come in?” He pushed the door, but Grace didn’t budge.