Mom returned her attention to the documents. “Maybe through Millie.”
“Great-aunt Millie?” I asked.
“Possibly.”
“How?”
She turned a page. “I don’t remember.”
Julie inspected one fingernail. “Wasn’t she adopted by Millie’s stepdaughter? You know, the one who married into the Marmell Pack.”
“Great-aunt Millie never had a stepdaughter,” I said, though I immediately questioned if my memory was correct.
Julie frowned.
Mom took another drink of coffee. “Yes, she did.”
“No, she had two sons.”
“She had two biological sons,” Mom corrected.
“Okay, then who was the stepdaughter?”
Mom and Julie looked at each other.
“Maribel?” Julie suggested.
“Marianne,” Mom said.
“Millie’s sister was Marianne.”
I left the kitchen with no useful information and a growing suspicion that the pack had survived for generations primarily because no government agency had ever asked us to document ourselves accurately.
Grandma Ruth was my next stop.
She sat on her front porch, shelling peas into an enamel bowl while Grandpa Alfonse watched a squirrel cross the yard with intense concentration.
“Grandma,” I said, sitting beside her, “how is Sloane related to us?”
She didn’t hesitate. “She came through the French exchange.”
I stared at her. “What French exchange?”
“The shifter exchange program.”
I choked back a laugh. “There’s no shifter exchange program.”
Grandma dropped another pea into the bowl. “There used to be.”
“When?”
“A while ago.”
“When, exactly, is a while ago
?” I asked.
Grandpa Alfonse pointed toward the squirrel. “Thief.”
Grandma looked toward the yard. “Your grandfather believes that squirrel has been stealing tomatoes from our garden.”
“You don’t have tomato plants.”
She shrugged. “Just let him be.”
“Tell me about the exchange program.”
“She was French.”
What the hell? “Sloane doesn’t sound French.”
“How can you tell through text? Furthermore, people move and adapt, Hudson. Why is that so hard for you to believe?”
“You said she was traveling around New Mexico, though.”
“She traveled after the program.”
“At what age?” I asked, hoping we were finally getting somewhere.
Grandma paused with a pea pod open between her fingers. “Old enough.”
“Grandma.”
She looked offended by my tone. “I’ve known many people.”
I held up a finger. “I’m asking about one.”
“Yes, and I remember her perfectly.”
“Okay, what did she look like the last time you saw her?”
Grandma tilted her head back and studied the ceiling. “She had red hair and green eyes. She also spoke Spanish.”
I closed my eyes. “I thought you said she was French.”
She clicked her tongue. “European children learn multiple languages, Hudson.”
I rubbed a hand over my face.
Grandma patted my knee. “You don’t need to worry. She’s not related to you, if that’s what this is all about.”
“How do you know for sure?”
“Because we would have remembered.”
The confidence with which she said it almost convinced me.
A Carpenter aunt thought Sloane’s mother had been Grandma Ruth’s third cousin through marriage. Another cousin insisted she had come here after running away from a pack in Canada because she disagreed with their maple syrup laws. Jason said he had no idea who she was and didn’t understand why everyone pretended otherwise.
That was the most credible answer I received all day.
Eventually, against my better judgment, I asked Aunt Karen. She was pruning a flowering shrub next to her mailbox, even though the shrub didn’t need any cutting.
She narrowed her eyes when I approached. “What do you want?”
“Information.”
She waved me off. “Read more books.”
“No, I’m looking for information about Sloane.”
She stopped snipping. “What about her?”
“How is she connected to the pack?”
Karen continued cutting. “She isn’t a blood relative.”
Finally, a clear answer. I nearly scooped her up and swung her around. “You’re certain?”
“Of course I’m certain. Her surname is Harper.”
“That doesn’t prove anything.”
Karen looked at me like I had shit smeared on my cheek. “It proves something. She was connected through an outside placement.”
“What kind of placement?”
Karen snipped another branch. “One of those temporary arrangements your mother was obsessed with supporting when she first became alpha.”
“Mom has supported several.”
“Well, this one involved a family from another region. They needed someone to host a young shifter who didn’t fit well into traditional pack life.”
“Who hosted her?”
Karen frowned at the shrub as if searching for an answer there. “I don’t recall.” She looked at me. “Why are you asking?”
“I’m just curious.”
“You’re never merely curious.”
“I’m trying to understand who she is.”
Karen’s eyes narrowed further, which I hadn’t thought possible. “You’re interested in her.”
“No.” The answer came too fast.
Karen smiled. “Oh.”
“Don’t say oh like that.”
She returned to her pruning with renewed satisfaction. “I don’t care what you do, Hudson. She isn’t related to you.”
“Good.”
At her sly look, I quickly corrected myself. “Useful, I mean. That’s very useful information.”
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