A faint trace of the woman I knew returned to her face.
“I lied to him.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
“Where is it?”
“At the house.”
“Where?”
“The flour.”
I blinked.
She looked exhausted.
“Your father used to say nobody in America searches inside an old woman’s flour canister.”
“Dad said that?”
“No. But it sounds like something he would have said.”
For the first time since 2:27 a.m., I laughed.
It lasted less than a second.
Then my mother’s face crumpled.
“I think he hurt me because of that envelope.”
I took her hand.
“I’m going to find out.”
“No.”
The sharpness of her answer surprised me.
“Kelsey, listen to me.”
“I am.”
“You are not going into that house alone if Ryan might be there.”
“I can handle Ryan.”
“I thought I could too.”
The words landed between us.
I said nothing.
She squeezed my fingers.
