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Gram knew about burner phones? She couldn’t work the remote control for the smart TV, but she engaged in complex clandestine operations. Society tended to dismiss and ignore older women. Big mistake. Never underestimate a woman due to her age.

Every word made me love and respect Gram more. She could have sat back and celebrated her escape. Stayed quiet and healed in private. No one would have blamed her, but she took a different path. She looked at the suffering passed in silence from generation to generation and saidenough.

“If a woman is at a different stage, ready to leave or in extreme danger, they get a slightly different pie recipe in their gift basket that leads to advice and information specific to their circumstances,” Celia explained. “Both cards include password-protected links to files we’ve put together over time.”

Now I got it. The notations. The gift baskets. “A recipe for the funeral pie with custard versus a recipe for the funeral pie without. You use one or the other, depending on an individual woman’s situation. The recipes are a notification system. A way to distribute information.”

Celia nodded. “Yes. We thought it was safe to use the two pie recipes since we don’t actually offer funeral pie as an option. And the nickname for the pie drives home how imperative the help is.”

Jackson looked lost again. “Wait. Is funeral pie the real name for this dessert?”

“Yes. I’ll give you the history later.” Then I’d remove the phrase “funeral pie” from my internal dictionary, just in case. “So, you don’t actually include poison or that specific pie in this care package? And please feel free to give me a definitive no.”

“We do not deliver poison or funeral pie directly to a woman’s door during an initial contact.” Celia sounded pretty sure about that.

Gram rushed to clarify. “But we do give ideas on what a woman can do if she can’t escape.”

“So, poison.” The way they danced around the poison question, taking it off the table then adding it back in again, switched my senses to high alert.

Gram shrugged. “Some men deserve a horrible end.”

“It certainly sounds that way,” Jackson mumbled under his breath.

I wanted to shout with pride about their ingenuity. I couldn’t, of course, this would have to be a family secret.

“You’re evil geniuses. But are you also in danger?” I feared both law enforcement involvement and a stray angry husband who might come looking for revenge before he met his fate.

Celia did the most Celia thing possible. She started serving tea. Probably from nerves and the need to keep her hands busy, but she didn’t stop explaining. “We take a lot of precautions.The passwords are on a one-time-use setup. After that we establish a direct link between the woman who needs help and a mentor of sorts who walks her through the process. There are layers of people who perform different tasks—identifying women at risk, meeting with them, delivering the pies, and for us, making the pies—and we never specifically advocate for killing a bad husband.”

Specifically? “Good?”

Celia remained calm through the entire explanation. “That’s a last resort option.”

“Can this last resort option be traced back to you or the business through these packages and recipes?” Jackson asked like the good lawyer he was.

Gram shook her head. “There’s no poison in the actual pie that’s delivered.”

“It’s the way you say those words that worries me.” The fact there was, at least for a time, a locked cabinet in the pantry that they had to get rid of suggested there was poison somewhere on the property until very recently.

Gram waved off the concern. “The goal is to let these women know they have support and provide options, even if they’re not ready to reach out for help. Even if they are in fear for their children’s safety. Even if they don’t have access to money. Even if they think they have nowhere to go.”

“There’s also a lockbox they can access when they’re ready,” Celia explained. “The mentors personally set that up.”

“But, and let me be very clear, poison would be included with every pie delivery if I had my way. Celia insists we be more subtle.”

Good Lord. “Thank you, Celia.”

Jackson focused on the positive. “You save lives.”

They did. They made a difference through their food and their top-secret advocacy.

“No one tried to rescue us. We want better for other women.” Celia reached out and took Gram’s hand. “Even women we don’t know.”

“Which is why this business takeover push, or outside financing, or whatever the proposal is, needs to stop. We can’t have Harlan—”

Jackson made a weird noise. “Dad?”

“He’s acting as Brock’s surrogate.” I hated to drop that truth but there it was.