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“Yes.”

“I’m Ruth Alder from two houses down. Henry and I saw Sophie’s car.” Of course they did. Apparently, Redwood Run’s unofficial surveillance network remains intact. “I brought chicken casserole.”

“That’s very kind, but not necessary.”

She gives me a look that suggests necessity has nothing to do with casserole. “You’ve got a child in there and trouble in the family. We heard all about it from the in-laws.” She holds out the dish. “Take the food.”

I take the food. “Thank you.”

Her face softens, just slightly. “How’s little Lucy?”

“Quiet.”

Ruth nods as if the answer means more to her than it did to Sophie. “Children go quiet when the room is too loud, even if nobody’s speaking.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

Luckily, she doesn’t require a response. “You need anything, you come down. Henry can fix whatever Ben didn’t get around to fixing.”

The mention of Ben lands between us.

Ruth notices. Why wouldn’t she? “He was a good boy.”

My grip tightens on the casserole dish. “He was.”

“Miss seeing his truck out front.”

I look past her toward the driveway, empty except for my rental car.

“Me too,” I say, surprising myself and her, judging by the way her brows go up.

Ruth pats my arm once. “You look tired, honey.”

“I’m fine.”

She hums, unconvinced. “That’s what people say when they’re not fine.”

“I say it when I’m trying to end a conversation politely.” The words are out before I can stop them.

Ruth laughs. “Well,” she says, stepping back. “You’ve still got some Sterling bite in you.”

That shouldn’t feel like a compliment, but it does.

After she leaves, I shut the door and carry the casserole into the kitchen.

Then I make another list.

Lucy’s immediate needs:

* Food available without pressure

* Quiet

* Familiar objects

* School schedule

* Information from Tom