She glanced disapprovingly at Violet, and I was painfully aware of how difficult it must have been for her to even acknowledge Trey’s half sister; Violet took for granted all of the benefits of being a legitimate Simmons that Trey had been denied. She was a living, breathing reminder of the life that Mrs. Emory had wanted for herself. But Mrs. Emory didn’t seem interested in Violet at all. She fixed her pleading eyes on me. “If you’ve heard from Trey—”

“I haven’t,” I blurted. There couldn’t have been a more inconvenient time for her to have begun interrogating me about Trey’s whereabouts. “I don’t know where he is, and I’m worried about him, too.”

Mrs. Emory took another step closer to me, and now there was urgency in her eyes. “Well, if you do, tell him that he should accept what’s rightfully his,” she said as her expression turned sour, and she side-eyed Violet. “Your father’s attorneys have been in touch with me, and I understand they’ve reached out to Trey, too. I don’t know what your father’s motivation is to finally be acknowledging Trey as his son, but it’s about time he did.” Returning her attention to me, she said, “Tell Trey that he can have his inheritance placed in a trust and access it from wherever in the world he chooses to go. He doesn’t have to come back to Willow. But it would mean everything to me to know that he’s safe.”

I didn’t know how to reply; it was best that she had no idea I knew anything about Trey, the attorney who’d been threatening him, and Mr. Simmons’s sudden interest in forcing an inheritance on him. So I nodded foolishly and said, “If I hear from him, I’ll let him know.”

With her face hardening, Mrs. Emory gripped my shoulder. I instinctively flinched, startled that she’d touched me. In a low, gravelly voice, she told me, “Remind him about cutting his hand when he was eight. Ask him to remember how that happened. That,” she said, looking me straight in the eye, “is part of this.”

Mrs. Emory let go of me and took a few steps backward, still maintaining eye contact with me as if daring me to look away. Instead of returning to the group of mourners, she walked down the slope toward the road, presumably to her car. Violet and I watched her in silence, and she turned to look at me once more over her shoulder. As I returned my attention to Violet, intending to continue our conversation about the gun, I realized that Henry had backtracked to fetch us and was standing right behind us. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, looking genuinely apologetic. “But they’re getting started. We should get up there.”

I shot Violet one more loaded look, hoping that I’d effectively communicated how very, very important it was for her to fulfill my request. But she refused to look my way from behind her sunglasses, instead holding her head high as she forged ahead of Henry and led us toward the funeral ceremony. I offered Henry a weak smile, feeling guilty that now he suspected I was keeping secrets from him—as well as simultaneously protective of him, because although I’d spent hours deciding whether to ask Trey or Henry to make a threat on my life, it was obvious to me now that Violet was the one who’d been my only real option, all along.