Jenny’s mouth tightened. She knew my grandkids well enough to worry. Their generation could text a hundred words a minute, and they’d rather be burned at the stake than make an actual telephone call.
“Grandma?” There was no anger or bitterness or cynicism in her voice. She spoke the word like a child frightened by a bad dream. “You were a detective, right?”
“I was a private investigator. It’s not the same thing.” I spotted Ronnie emerging from the B&B, a bulging canvas duffel bag slung over one shoulder. “What’s wrong, hon?”
“I think my friend Sage is in trouble.”
I caught Jenny’s attention and jerked my head toward Ronnie. She nodded that she’d seen him. We both started walking toward the van.
“What makes you think that, Ava?” I asked.
“He was acting really weird the last time I saw him. And his parents called, asking if I’d seen him. They say he ran away last night or this morning.”
“Have they called the police?”
“Ugh. That’s what Dad said. ‘It’s probably nothing. The police will handle it. Don’t bother your grandmother.’” Her imitation was dead on. “Everyone knows you can’t trust cops.”
“I’ve worked with some excellent police detectives,” I said.
“If something happened to me or Morgan, would you trust the cops to handle it, or would you search for us yourself?”
Dammit. On a different day, I wouldn’t have hesitated to drive over to comfort her, but I had a potential world-ending crisis on its way, not to mention tracking down the amateur demon-hunters from last night. “I know you’re worried, but right now I’m dealing with—”
Jenny plucked the phone from my hand. “Hi, Ava. It’s Aunt Jenny. Hold on a sec.” She tapped mute, and her tone switched from chipper to stern. “I’ve got things here, Annette. Go.”
“Were you listening to my conversation?” Those damn Hunter senses. Usually, she at least pretended to respect people’s privacy.
“Yes. Why did you buy Blake his house in Salem?”
“You know why,” I snapped. “Because after the divorce, he didn’t have the money to—”
“Why did you buy him a housein Salem?”
Jenny and I had been friends for too long. I knew exactly how the rest of this argument was going to go, and to my great annoyance, I knew she was going to win. I answered out of politeness. “I hoped it would give me a chance to reconnect with him and to spend time with my grandchildren.”
“And the whole reason you needed to reconnect was because...”
“Fuck you.” There was no ire in my words, only resignation. Like a student reciting a lesson for an overbearing teacher, I said, “Because I spent too much time focused on work and not enough time with my son. You realize if I’d been a man, people would say I was a hard worker and a good provider, but because I’m a mom—”
“Nobody’s saying you should have stayed home barefoot in the kitchen every day, butyoutold me how bad you felt about avoiding being a parent. I’m telling you not to make that mistake as a grandparent.”
“I see them every weekend,” I said.
“Your granddaughter—the granddaughter who’s spent months cocooned in angst and isolation—is reaching out to you for help. The world isn’t ending today. I can handle Ronnie Kensington. Go, Annette.”
“You can be such a bossy asshole.”
“I love you, too.” She handed the phone back.
I waited for her to walk away, then unmuted the phone. “Aunt Jenny says she’ll take care of the thing I was working on. I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Thank you, Grandma.”
I hung up and walked to my BMW. I did a quick check around the car before getting in, making sure nobody was lurking with holy-water squirt guns or worse.
I hated walking away from a case, and this one had too many loose ends I needed to track down. But as I started the car, I kept remembering the relief and gratitude in Ava’sThank you, Grandma.
I hated when Jenny was right.
