8:20 p.m.

It was easier this way, Grace told herself as she searched for clean linens for the guest room. Easier than arguing with the old woman. When Grace picked up Emily from Grandma Wenny’s she had insisted on coming home with them, at least until “Vince returned from the Alps.” That was exactly how her grandmother referred to Vince’s trip to Switzerland as if he was there on some ski trip.

Grandma Wenny had been concerned ever since Jared Barnett had been released from prison, though Grace hadn’t confided anything about him following her. Nor had she shared her suspicions that he was one of the bank robbers now on the run. Yet the old woman seemed to have a sixth sense about these things. Even the night Grace’s parents had been murdered, Grandma Wenny had lit a candle in the window for protection from the “bad air” of the approaching thunderstorms, not realizing it was a storm of another kind that would hit her son’s house only three blocks away.

Grace had left Emily to show Grandma Wenny the house, knowing her daughter would make the suite they’d renovated for her sound like more of an adventure than a prison sentence. It was one of the reasons Grace had given in so easily to her grandmother coming home with them. It was ridiculous to believe the old woman could somehow protect them, especially since Grace had insisted the .38 stay back at the bungalow. But maybe, just maybe she could convince her grandmother that her presence was wanted and needed in their home.

The bottom line was that Grace wanted Grandma Wenny to live with them, but only if she wanted it, too. She owed the old woman so much, it was her grandmother who had taught her she could do anything she set her mind to. The sacrifices the old woman had made for her were great, but her German heritage would explain it all away as something you just did for family. Family was the most important thing. But her grandmother’s will, her spirit, the kick in the pants and the constant nagging that reminded Grace that she could and would do important things—that was something Grace relied on every day.

She found them in the kitchen, devouring the oatmeal chocolate-chunk cookies that Grandma Wenny and Emily had baked earlier at her house. Emily and Grace had talked the old woman into having dinner out, finally settling on the Greek Isles Restaurant, where Grandma Wenny had explained that the Greeks were a people to be admired for all their contributions, unlike the French, who she insisted couldn’t be trusted, using their high prices and small portions of food as proof. Grace let her get away with this kind of talk. Sometimes trying to change old ways, old beliefs, old prejudices was a losing battle.

“So is this a bedtime snack?” Grace asked, sitting down at the table across from the two.

“I should stay up later to make sure Grandma Wenny isn’t scared,” Emily said, avoiding Grace’s eyes and concentrating on the cookie she was holding over a glass of milk, half dunked.

“I don’t think Grandma Wenny is scared of anything,” Grace said. “Nice try, Em.”

“Emily tells me about her Mr. McDuff.”

“Yeah, I still can’t find him, Mom.”

“I’m sure he’s here somewhere.”

“I don’t like sleeping without him. I thought maybe I could sleep with Grandma Wenny tonight. You know, just until she gets used to the house.”

“I think she’ll be fine in her own room,” Grace said, but she watched the two exchange a glance as Emily finished the last bite of cookie, and Grace knew the matter had already been discussed. “Emily, go on up and get your pj’s on. Grandma Wenny and I will come up and tuck you in.”

“Okay.” But there was another glance as Emily slid out of the chair. Grace could tell Grandma Wenny was listening and waiting until she heard Emily reach the top of the stairs.

“She said the bad man took her Mr. McDuff.”

“She overheard Vince and me talking about a case. She just misunderstood.”

“He was here, in the house.”

“No one’s been in the house.” But Grace knew immediately that Grandma Wenny didn’t believe her. She had never been able to lie to the old woman. Fact was Grace didn’t know if Barnett had been in their house. Was he the one who’d left that stupid ceramic gnome? And if he had been here, what did he want besides letting her know that he could come and go as he pleased?

“I can feel it. He was here in the house.”

“We’ve had lots of workers in and out. They’ve been working on the renovation.”

“No, no. This is a bad man. He was here. And he took Emily’s Mr. McDuff.”