Whatever her motives, Pat distrusted them. Troy and Monica were a prosperous couple, with a beautiful home and children. A cunning individual could take advantage of a woman like Monica, someone enduring a terrible bout of grief. Although their genetic bond was undeniable—from the looks of her, Grace was Monica’s biological mother as surely as Pat was Troy’s mother—the circumstances of this emotional reunion were questionable.

The family dog, Duchess, was on edge, too. The normally sweet-tempered canine had been resting on the floor at the edge of the kitchen, but when Grace came in, her ears lifted and she started growling.

Pat didn’t know why the dog disliked Grace, but Pat considered herself an astute judge of character. She had worked as a high school principal in the Chicago Public Schools district for decades. Throughout her career, time and again, her intuition had proven spot-on about teachers, administrators, and students. She had led her school to distinction as one of the best in the state, and it was partly because she had learned to balance the facts with her well-honed instincts.

Nevertheless, she was going to keep her mouth shut about Grace. Monica had dealt with enough lately, with losing Lily and all. The poor girl was desperate to create a relationship with her biological mother, and Pat’s own misgivings gave her no reason to interfere.

But in the meantime, she was going to keep a close watch on Grace Bolden.

Pat had removed a stack of four, foil-wrapped plastic plates from the refrigerator and was looking for a dish to use for reheating the food as Grace strolled to the pantry. Grace was humming a tune, which Pat recognized as Amazing Grace. It annoyed Pat, perhaps irrationally. They had just heard the song at Lily’s funeral.

“I’ll be preparing tonight’s dinner for the family.” Grace retrieved an apron from the clothing hook on the inside of the pantry door. “My daughter is enjoying a well-deserved rest. You can go look after the children. Run along, now.”

Run along, now? Please. “I’m going to reheat the leftovers in case anyone wants them.”

“No one will want them.” Grace knotted the apron around her waist. “Not after they’ve gotten a taste of Nana’s famous meatloaf.”

“You’re going to make meatloaf?” Pat asked.

“Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, a chopped salad . . . perhaps homemade biscuits.” Grace had opened the refrigerator and was rummaging through the contents. “They keep a well-stocked icebox.”

“I went grocery shopping yesterday,” Pat said. “Since so much has been going on with the funeral and all, I’ve been trying to help out as much as I can. That’s what I do.”