Page 76 of Bad Intentions

“Does Trevor have any new intel?”

“Not that I know of.”

“No news from the police department?”

“Honestly, I hope it stays that way,” Rika says in a grim voice.

That makes me think of Grandma, so I send her a text.

Me: Is everything okay?

She responds right away.

Grams: Everything is fine. Are you at work?

Me: Grabbing lunch with Rika. Is Mrs. Snickett still there?

Grams: She left.

Me: Are you sure you are okay?

Grams: I am fine.

Fine is the most ambiguous answer ever. Fine is not good. Fine is not okay. Fine means you are putting up with life, and putting up is a beast that turns living into existing, as you ignore the issues.

Grams: Do you want me to make your favorite beef potato stew?

Me: I’d love that!

As long as it’s not pancakes.

Me: Can I invite Rika over?

Grams: I’d love that.

I want them to meet properly. Right now, Rika is my only friend around here.

“Everything’s good?” Rika asks me as if she knows I’m talking about her.

I smile. “Yeah. Grams is making beef potato stew. Are you working late tonight?”

“No. Why? What’s up?”

I purse my lips, hiding my excitement, knowing that this will be an unusual invitation. “Wanna come over for late dinner?”

She beams. “Hell, yeah. Dinner with Ma Boots? I’m in.”

The thought stays with me for a while as Rika drops me off at the car wash place, and I pick up my car and drive to the diner.

It’s nine o’clock by the time I finish the paperwork in the office and check the register. It’s dark outside, no rain—that’s good. I’m looking forward to having dinner with Grandma and Rika. Not the takeout stuff from the diner, but an actual home-cooked meal. Grandma is a great cook, but I’ve been eating at the diner a lot lately because somehow, I thought that cooking was an extra effort for Grandma in her condition. I realize that she won’t stop her routine anytime soon. She loves cooking, just like many other things I’ve forced her to cut down on thinking it’s too hard on her.

Only when I pull up at the house does my mood sink. There are no lights in the house. That means that Grandma either didn’t cook or went to bed early. Which, in its turn, means she’s not well, which already sets me on edge.

But something is wrong. I know it when I realize that the usual light outside the kitchen window is not on either. That light never goes off, not even in the daytime.

I park the car, hurry to the patio, and flip the switch inside.

The light doesn’t come on.