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that somehow, while she hadn’t been paying attention, her grandmother had edged into her late seventies.
    “It’s probably nothin’ real serious,” Shawna hastened to assure Raine. “She just had herself a little dizzy spell this morning when she climbed up on a kitchen stool to get the cornstarch. She was going to make a boysenberry pie.
    “I’ve told her not to get up on that rickety old stool, that if she wants something on the top shelf of the cupboard, I’ll get it down for her. She’s so short, it’s a real stretch for her to reach. I don’t know why she even keeps things up that high, but you know your grandma. Told me she’d set things up that way when she first came to Coldwater Cove from Portland after her divorce, and didn’t see any reason to change.”
    Just when Raine was about to scream, the girl stopped for a breath. “But I guess you already know that story.”
    “Yes. I do. So, if you could just get back to this morning, I’d certainly appreciate it.”
    “Oh…Sure. Well, I was out bringing the clothes in off the line because it was looking like it might rain, you know how iffy the weather is this time of year and—”
    “Shawna.” Having spent years learning to organize her thoughts, Raine was growing more and more frustrated by the way the teenager’s explanation kept wandering off the subject. “Why don’t you please just tell me what exactly happened to Ida? Without any embellishments.”
    There was a pause. Then Shawna said, “I’m sorry I’m not tellin’ this good enough for you.”
    There was no mistaking the hurt feelings in the girl’s tone. Nothing like badgering your own witness . “And I apologize for sounding impatient,” Raine immediately backpedaled. “I’m just trying to find out what happened.”
    “Mama Ida fell off the stool and, like, hit her head on the floor.”
    “I see.” And she did, all too clearly. Raine’s heart clenched as she imagined her grandmother—all four-feet, eleven inches, ninety-eight pounds of her—sprawled on the kitchen floor. “Did she knock herself unconscious?”
    “She says no. But we called 911, anyway. Which really riled Mama Ida up, but Renee was scared. And so was I.”
    “Renee’s another one of the girls?”
    “Yeah. She’s my sister. We ended up in the system after our mama and daddy died in a car wreck over by Moclips. For a while we were put in different homes, which is why Renee started running away. To be with me.” She paused as if trying to decide how much to reveal. “I wanted to take care of us, but I’m underage, and after I got busted at a kegger on the beach, the judge said I wasn’t responsible enough, so we had to stay in foster care. But things got better after we moved in with Mama Ida.”
    “I’m glad to hear that.” Nice little boarding school her grandmother was running, Raine thought acidly. Whatever happened to sponsoring a Brownie troop, where your biggest concern was the annual cookie sale? “So, you called 911. And the paramedics came?”
    “Yeah. Though she was spittin’ like a wet cat, they took her off to the hospital in Port Angeles. Which was when all the trouble started.”
    Raine pressed her fingers against her temple, where the jackhammer had been replaced by a maniac who’d begun pounding away with a mallet. The fire that had died down a bit during the conference-room celebration flared again in her chest. Higher. Hotter. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”
    “Our probation officer—that’s Ms. Kelly, who Mama Ida always calls Old Fussbudget—was at the hospital checking on some guy who robbed a 7-Eleven a few years back. He’d been in a bar fight and was gettin’ a cut on his head stitched up when your grandmother was brought into the emergency room.
    “Ms. Kelly called the house, and Renee, who’s too young to know any better, admitted we were here all alone. So, Ms. Kelly right away called Mrs. Petersen. She works for the county. In social services. She’s