She nodded. She was still a bit buzzed from dinner, and the argument she'd had with Ruby followed by reading the murder book had probably put her more on edge than she would've been otherwise. "You're right. We're safe. This is fine."

He gave her an odd look and opened his mouth as if he was about to say something. Then he started toward the sidewalk.

She hurried to catch up. They walked to the corner. Every house had lights on but there wasn't another person in sight.

"Any idea where you wanted to go, or are we just wandering?"

"Just wandering," she said.

They crossed the street. Somewhere out on the ocean a ferry horn sounded. Martin glanced at his watch. "Must be the last ferry out," he said.

It seemed to mean something to him but she didn't ask.

They walked a few paces in silence. He peered into brightened windows. She looked at her feet, careful not to break her mother's back.

They passed a newish bungalow at the end of his old street, still decorated from Christmas. In the window a mother and father and two children played a board game over the dining room table, laughing as the smallest child moved her piece across the board. It felt like a relic of a simpler time: a family enjoying each other's company with no cell phones, computers or big screen televisions to distract them.

They both wondered how nice it would have been to grow up in a normal household with a loving family.

"Ruby's quite a formidable woman," Sheila said, breaking the silence, if only to stop thinking about her own mother.

"That's one way of putting it."

"Was she like that in the hospital?"

"No. She wasn't lucid most of the time. I don't think she even knew who we were when Norma and I visited. She'd say all kinds of weird stuff. One time she attacked me."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I guess she thought I was this guy named Ledbetter, because she kept calling me that. Sounds like a lawyer or something. She said I was the one that did it, only she said 'the one what did it,' in that thick Irish brogue she gets when she's upset. 'He's the one what did it,' she kept shouting, pointing at me when the orderlies came in to restrain her. 'He's the one what dashed poor Violet's crown upon the rocks.'"

"Who's Violet?"

"No idea. Maybe a distant relative?"

Sheila considered it. "That's not so odd, under the circumstances. People say all kinds of peculiar stuff when they're having an episode. The wires get crossed. It's—"

Martin's phone rang, interrupting her. He reached into his jacket and pulled it out. "Savage," he said. That obnoxious, self-important greeting that always annoyed her.

His features went slack. She couldn't hear what was being said on the other end but it was obviously a shock. He nodded, said, "Uh-huh," and "You're sure?" Then he shook his head somberly. "Okay. Thank you, Detective Lumsden."