“You’re being ridiculously paranoid,” Lauren said, yanking her denim jacket back off the brass peg.

“I came over to bring pastries and help you clean, and you stand in the hall cross-examining your own sister.”

“You haven’t even touched your coffee,” I said, pointing at the full ceramic mug I’d poured her on the kitchen counter.

“I don’t want your coffee,” she said.

She hauled the heavy wooden front door open and went down the porch steps without finishing what she’d been saying.

At nine that night, after making sure Bennett was sound asleep in his room, I went into my home office and locked the door behind me.