Monica folded her arms across her chest. “And who worries about Communists anyway these days?”

“She just wants to make sure everybody in town knows how she feels about us,” Penny said. “I don’t like to talk bad about anybody, but she’s letting this town die out of spite.”

Blue remembered Nita’s anxious-to-please expression in those early Garrison photographs and wondered how different things might have been if the local women had welcomed her when she’d arrived instead of shunning her. No matter what Nita said, Blue didn’t believe she had any intention of selling the town. She might hate Garrison, but she had nowhere else to go.

Syl squeezed Blue’s arm. “You’re the only person who has her ear right now. Convince her these improvements will mean money in her pocket. She likes money.”

“I’d help if I could,” Blue said, “but the only reason she’s keeping me around is to torture me. She doesn’t listen to anything I say.”

“Just try,” Penny said. “That’s all we ask.”

“Try hard,” Monica said more firmly.

Nita pitched a fit that afternoon when Blue announced she was taking off, but Blue didn’t give in and, around four o’clock, amid threats of calling the police, she left for the farm in the Roadster. Since her last visit, the pastures had been mowed and the surrounding fence had been repaired. She parked by the barn, next to Jack’s SUV. The warm wind plucked at her ponytail as she crossed the yard.

Riley dashed out. The Silly Putty smile stretched across her face made her look like a different child from the sad little girl Blue had found sleeping on the porch just over a week ago. “Guess what, Blue?” she squealed. “We’re not going home tomorrow! Dad says we get to stay a couple more days because of working on the porch.”

“Oh, Riley! That’s great. I’m so glad.”

Riley pulled her toward the front door. “April wants you to go in this way so she can show everything off. And guess what else? April gave Puffy some cheese, and Puffy got stinky farts, but Dean kept blaming it on me, and I didn’t do it.”

“Yeah, right.” Blue grinned. “Blame it on the dog.”

“No, really. I don’t even like cheese.”

Blue laughed and hugged her.

April and Puffy met them at the front door. Inside, the foyer glowed in the late afternoon sun with fresh eggshell paint. A carpet runner patterned with earth-toned swirls ran down the hallway. April gestured toward the splashy abstract Blue had spotted in a Knoxville gallery. “See how great the painting looks? You were right about mixing contemporary art with the antiques.”