“I mean, Steve, here you are. Right on the scene after Danielle’s body is found. Was that on purpose, so you could make sure all went to plan? And then your so-called patrol, so you could be out in the neighborhood, conveniently, to call the police on my daughter.”

They are silent, Steve reddening.

“Someone bought you this house under a front company to be close to her.” Then the realization. “Or, equally, to be close to us. To spy on us? To scare us? Was it Anya?”

The name is like a grenade landing in the room. She sees their startled reaction. “Where is Anya?”

“No one is harming your son. I promise you, as a mother,” Carrie says.

“Your nursery that you got ready,” Iris says. “Is that why you did this? There is no generous pregnant distant cousin. This is how you’re somehow getting a baby? By helping to steal mine?”

“You’re not going to kill us,” Steve says with confidence. He takes a step toward her, hands up, voice cooled to reason. “But the police are going to be very interested that you shot at us in our house after your family’s other crimes. Your whole family’s going to be in jail. Is that what you want for Grant?”

“That’s what Anya wants. A clear path to my son. Where. Is. He?” She aims the gun straight at Steve’s head. “Carrie. I will make you a widow, I swear to God, if you don’t tell me where my child is.”

“The airport,” Carrie says immediately. Steve gives her a look of absolute loathing.

“Airport,” Iris repeats, nearly dizzy with shock. No. Can’t be. Couldn’t be. Anya can’t be taking him. He wouldn’t go with a stranger.

“We don’t know any more, all right? We don’t know any more!” Carrie says.

“Give me your phones and car keys,” Iris orders. She has to think this through. For her son’s sake. She can’t make a mistake now.

The Butlers comply. She sees the house phone and demands the cordless as well. She orders them into their walk-in pantry, slams the door, and jams a chair from the breakfast nook hard up under the handle.

Weirdly, the garage is empty, but she sees an Audi parked in the street, and one of the keys is for an Audi. She takes it; the press down the street don’t seem to notice her. She roars away.

She doesn’t see one woman break away from the crowd, get in a car, and start to follow her.

Stoplights and red lights are for other people, and screaming apologies and trying to be careful, she races through them when there are gaps in the traffic, warning all by laying on her horn.

She thinks as she drives. She talks aloud to herself as she drives, sorting it out.