Page 63 of Luck of the Devil

“I don’t have a plan,” I admitted. “I’m torn between treating it like a death notification or telling them who I am first.”

He snorted as he tucked the flask into his jacket pocket. “You’re their granddaughter. Tell them who you are first.”

“And if they kick me off their property, then what?”

“Then you shout at them from the street that their daughter is dead, but I doubt that’s gonna happen.”

“If only I can get so lucky,” I grumbled.

“Seems to me your luck has been holding out pretty well.” He pulled up to the curb in front of their home, which was so weatherworn the dingy gray had probably been white once upon a time. The bushes were wildly overgrown and the concrete driveway and sidewalk to the front porch had large cracks in them and sections that had been pushed up by large tree roots. “Let’s hope it continues to hold on.”

I had vague memories of this place. I was pretty sure we hadn’t visited since I was a little kid, but I remembered it being neat and tidy. The multiple landscape beds in the front of the house had been bursting with flowers. My mother had gotten her love or gardening from her mother. She’d been forlorn when neither Andi nor I had shown any interest. Every spring, she’d renewed her efforts, but she’d given up after Andi died.

I stared at the rundown house in disbelief. Had my grandparents moved, or were they so old they couldn’t take care of the property anymore?

“This the place?” Malcolm asked.

“There’s only one way to find out.”

Chapter 17

As I reached for my door handle, Malcolm held a metal tin toward me. “You might want this.”

Breath mints.

He had a point.

I took the tin and shook a couple of them into my mouth, then took a moment to steady my frazzled nerves. I desperately craved a stiff drink, but I wasn’t going to get one. I could do this without a drink, despite the voice in my head insisting otherwise.

I got out of the car.

There was no denying I was scared to knock on their door. Scared they’d either recognize me from my notoriety or blame me for ignoring them for twenty years. And if I were honest with myself, there was a part of me that was terrified about what I might find out about my parents.

I gave myself a mental shake. None of that mattered. The main reason for my visit was to tell my grandparents that their oldest daughter had died. They didn’t owe me anything.

Despite my rising dread, I strode up to their front door, burying the feelings. A fleeting thought flashed through my head that maybe Malcolm was right. Maybe all this emotion burying was what had gotten me where I was in life—thirty-six years old, mostly friendless, and without having had any meaningful romantic relationships. But this wasn’t the time to analyze my life choices—that was a problem for Future Harper.

Malcolm stopped behind me, thankfully giving me space while I stared at the door for several seconds.

This wasn’t like me. I was decisive, unafraid to face the hard truths, but then again, that wasn’t exactly true. I just had a habit of glossing over them.

Enough.

I lifted my hand and knocked, then took a step back, so it wouldn’t look like I was crowding whoever answered. My heartbeat sped up, and I took a deep breath to settle my nerves.

How many families had I broken bad news to? Logically, I knew I had to keep trying to treat this like any other case I’d worked on—but this wasn’t any other case. These were my estranged grandparents. This was about my mother.

More than a few seconds passed. I was considering knocking again when the door slowly creaked open. A short older woman with snow-white hair appeared in the opening. She wore a pink knit top and black pants. She was slightly stooped over and her left hand rested on the handle of a three-footed metal cane. The last time I’d seen my grandmother, over two decades ago, her hair had been darker and longer, but this woman was definitely her.

Her face darkened with irritation. “We already go to church so we don’t need savin’ and we ain’t got two nickels to rub together, so don’t waste your time tryin’ to sell us anything,”

“I’m not here to sell you anything,” I said with a half-smile, “and I don’t go to church myself, so I won’t be doing any proselytizing either.” I took a breath, then said, “I’m your granddaughter, Harper.”

Her jaw dropped as she stared up at me, tears flooding her eyes. “Harper?”

“It’s me,” I said, my voice tight.

She lifted her free hand to her mouth and started shaking. “I can’t believe it.”