I was sitting in Eva’s backyard with a notebook, trying to remember how to draw a planting plan, when an unfamiliar number appeared on my screen.

“Ruth? This is Sloane Prescott.”

I considered ending the call.

Instead I asked, “What do you want?”

There was a long pause.

I heard traffic and the click of a car indicator.

“Callum says you’re trying to make a claim against the family,” she said.

“He thinks you’re angry about us.”