“Mommy must be having her nap,” the younger one said as her sister rang the bell. “She takes a nap when Taylor does and she always locks the door. She usually sets her alarm, but if she’s really tired, she forgets.”

“Do you have a key?” Adam asked.

Both girls shook their heads. “Mom’s always home,” the older one said.

“Can I try it?” I asked.

The girl nodded. I cast an unlock spell under my breath and turned the knob.

“Huh,” I said. “Must have just been stuck. Go on in. Tell your mom we’re here.”

The older one glanced back to make sure we weren’t going to follow them. I let the screen door close. Inside, the baby’s howls turned to whimpers as she heard her sisters.

“Mommy!” the younger one said, racing past her sister as she dropped her backpack. “We’re home! Did you make the cupcakes? My teacher said I need two dozen for the bake sale and—Mommy? Come on, Mommy. Wake up!” Giggles erupted, punctuated by squeaking springs.

“Don’t jump on the bed,” her sister said. “Mom?”

There was a pause, a long one, and my heart started thumping. Adam gripped my elbow, reassuring.

The older girl ran into the hall. She saw us and started, like she’d forgotten we were there.

“Is everything okay?” I called through the screen.

“It’s Mom. She won’t wake up.”

twenty-nine

twenty-nine

Tiffany lay curled up on her side, under the covers. Her younger daughter still stood on the bed, uncertain. She gave a tentative bounce, and for a second, I saw myself years ago, bouncing away as my mother sang, Ten little monkeys bouncing on the bed...

My mom. Their mom. Oh, God. Please no.

I touched Tiffany’s neck. She was warm, but I couldn’t find a pulse. I shook her shoulder. Her head lolled back, eyes still closed.

I turned. “Adam—”

He was already running back into the hall. “I’ll get them.”

“Mom?” the older girl said, her voice wobbling.

“She’s sick,” I said. Liar, liar. “Take your sister and—”

I stopped. I wanted them out of that room. God, I wanted them out of that room. But I’d just been found over another dead body. I couldn’t stay in there alone. So I scooped up the younger girl and carried her out, motioning for her sister to follow.

“Let’s get the baby, okay?” I said. “The doctor is on the way and your mom—”

I stopped myself before I said “your mom will be fine.” I wouldn’t. When my mother died, they hadn’t told me for days, and that only made it worse.

The baby was howling again. When we walked into her room, she was sitting up, face red, chubby body trembling with exhaustion.

The oldest girl snatched a cartoon character pillow out of the crib. “She isn’t supposed to have that in bed.”