The ragged patches left by Eleanor’s silver electric clippers were gone, cleaned up neatly by Rose four hours before, leaving only a clean, dark outline.

I pressed my palm to the smooth skin at my temple.

The whole timeline was clear to me now.

The clippers hadn’t been plugged in at midnight because of some sudden motherly rage over a late dinner.

Eleanor hadn’t spent forty-five minutes logging my travel dates in her green ledger because she was worried about my safety.

They had needed to throw me off balance.

The court audit on the second garage lease was set for final filing at the end of the week.