Behind me, the garage side door creaked open.

Evelyn stood in the narrow gap between the cedar garage door and the iron garden gate, in her cream wool coat and a dark green designer silk scarf.

She tugged at her watch strap with her thumb, then stopped herself and smoothed the silk scarf down over her high collar.

“You shouldn’t be back here on Pine Street, Madison,” she said, her voice laced with the sharp, conditional warmth she always used when she was cornered.

“Dad spent ninety-four thousand dollars of Ethan’s trust on a luxury car,” I said, holding the carbon receipt out between two fingers.