Doubled fists pound her temple. Rose’s body topples, lax and senseless. Another blow, and her vision fades. The only sense that doesn’t abandon her is hearing, Stella muttering “… got to pry the damn thing open. Mouth like a badger trap.”

Rose does not completely lose consciousness. There is a vague awareness of her body being kicked and rolled, the sound of chains, a sharp banging, then silence. Rose is on her back on the concrete inside the garage. The only light comes from a two-inch slit between the bottom of the door and the ground. Rolling to her side, Rose tries to get to her knees, but cannot.

“Here,” Stella says from outside. A piece of paper is shoved through the opening. “Read this. Bite me, you bitch. Jeez!” Rose looks at the paper in the narrow spill of light. Thick creamy bond, her signature at the bottom. The upper half has been cut away. On the bottom half, above her signature are the words I can’t go on. Life is too hard. I’m taking Melanie with me.

“This is so trite!” Rose hollers. Then she realizes what it is. “No one will buy it. Mel’s got a bullet in her foot. That’s going to blow the whole scene. Let us out. Let’s talk. It’s about money. I’ve got lots. Don’t you think I’d gladly give you a few million for my life and Mel’s? Don’t be an idiot.”

“A little late, Gigi,” comes a sneering voice. “Maybe you and Harley should have thought about Dan and me five years ago. You forgot he had two sons. We didn’t have a little grandchild to dandle on your arthritic knees. A week in the mountains, a vacation at the beach. Nothing too good for little Melanie.”

“We invited you!” Rose wails.

“Right, like we were going to come be an audience to the perfect family, while you and Izzy warbled over Miss Cutie-pie. Melanie, Grandma was going to cut you out of the will. Good old Gigi was going to leave you high and dry.”

Something metallic clatters to the ground. “Doggone it!” Stella grumbles. Rose puts her eye to the crack, ear to the concrete. The magazine of the gun has slipped through Stella’s fingers and lies on the cracked paving near her feet. A hand clutching a gun enters Rose’s field of vision. The gun slides under the door. Before Rose can react, the door falls with the finality of a guillotine blade.

So sudden and complete is the darkness, she can’t tell if her eyes are open or closed. Reaching up, she touches her face. Open. The sturdy, windowless little brick bunker has no chinks where ambient light might penetrate.

“Mel,” she breathes. “Grasshopper?”

“Gigi?”

What a wonderful sound. “Are you okay?” The stupid question. It is the only kind Rose can think of.