“I did.”
“And?”
“He said the money was being used to pay for my care.”
I glanced toward the lone suitcase in the back seat.
Grandma let out a humorless laugh.
“At lunch today, your mother told me we were stopping somewhere that had a lovely garden. They walked me into that facility, finished none of the paperwork, and vanished.”
My phone buzzed.
Dad.
Grandma reached over and turned it face down on the console.
“Courthouse first,” she repeated. “Then the bank. Then there’s one more place.”
“What place?”
She looked directly into my eyes.
“My house.”
I swallowed hard.
“Why?”
“Because if they’ve done what I think they’ve done, your parents didn’t just leave me there today.”
She reached inside her coat and pulled out a small envelope.
Across the front, written in my grandfather’s handwriting, were two words:
HOUSE DEED.
“I hid this before they came to pick me up,” she said. “I wanted to know whether they would go looking for it.”
