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Celia traced her finger over the handle of her mug. “I deleted the star references in our business documents after I realized you’d been in the computer system.”

That explained that. “So much for thinking I’d been stealthy.”

“When Mags turned on her computer she saw that the spreadsheet was open to the column with the stars. She hadn’tbeen looking under that tab when she stopped working,” Celia said. “Next time make sure you return everything to its rightful place after you’re done poking around.”

Gram cleared her throat. “There won’t be a next time.”

When I realized Gram was staring at me, I answered the unasked question. “Yes, ma’am.”

“We didn’t know if you figured out what you saw or realized it had significance.” Celia shrugged. “Erasing the potentially damning evidence seemed wise. You were also in and out of the kitchen, so we locked some items in a cabinet in the pantry until we could dispose of them properly.”

I didn’t want to ask... but I really did. “What was in the cabinet?”

Celia seemed to think about how to answer before spitting out an explanation. “It doesn’t matter. It’s gone.”

Gram focused on Jackson. “How did she convince you to get involved in all of this?”

“I was a willing participant.”

That wasn’t quite true, but I loved him for saying it. “Jackson begged me to be cautious and not jump to conclusions.”

Gram sighed. “The conclusion being that we were killing men around town with our pies.”

“Didn’t I get that right? Wait...” I focused on Jackson. “Last chance for you to leave. You can bolt before they answer.”

“I’m in this now.”

“You can go look. We don’t have poison in the pantry.” Gram acted like her comment closed the subject.

She’d been mighty specific with her words. “That seems smart, but did you and do you keep it anywhere else now?”

Gram didn’t answer me.

Celia skipped right over the poison question as well. “We are part of a network of like-minded women who are concerned about this issue.”

No, that didn’t sound ominous at all. Who knew coming home for a few days of pastries could be so stressful?

“Women around town who have dealt with abuse in their own homes or by watching someone they love struggle.” Celia kept playing with her mug. Touching it. Turning it. Running her finger down the side of it. “We started with a few women in key places—in the Junior League, at country clubs, tennis clubs and golf clubs, through advocacy groups, and even in government and leadership positions throughout the county.”

Jackson whistled. “That’s a lot of women.”

He wasn’t wrong. It sounded like Gram and Celia didn’t half-ass this. They’d built a community based on the most desperate kind of need.

“It started small but has grown as we reach out to more women. We help a woman and then, if she’s able, she looks out for other women and reports back when she hears anything of concern,” Celia said.

The strain around Jackson’s eyes grew more pronounced as the weight of each sentence pressed down on him. “How do you keep it a secret?”

“Our network and what we offer are not secrets to the women who need help,” Gram said.

“This issue touches every economic group, education level, ethnic background, race, and religious affiliation.” Experience had taught me that. Those books I read confirmed it.

Jackson wore a pained expression. “I don’t know how you trust any of us.”

“It can be hard.” Gram responded by patting his arm. “The men in my family tree are regrettable creatures but I do realize not all men are terrible.”

“Some are lovely. Some pretend to be lovely. The latter is when problems arise,” Celia said.

“If a woman is in trouble but early in the process, like she doesn’t know where to go or how to leave, the woman who reached out to her delivers one of our pies along with a recipe, specific information aimed at her circumstances, and a burner phone for confidential communication.”