Chapter 13: The Green Book

My father laughed once, through his nose.

"Everyone from Marigold Court," he said. "Half of them are dead or in Nevada, Anneliese."

"Then I'll bring the other half."

"You don't have a single phone number."

"No," I said. "You do. You kept them all, didn't you?"

He did not answer that.

He put on his coat, one arm and then the other, and he looked at Nate over my shoulder for a long moment.

"The dress is hanging in the bridal room at the Garden Club," he said. "Four o'clock."

"I'll be wearing blue."

He walked out into the parking lot, and the door sighed shut behind him.

Frances drove us to Sierra Madre with the heater on, though it was warm.

Nate followed in the flower van.

Nobody talked, and nobody needed to.

The cottage was dark under the oak, and the kitchen was still white and empty.

I sat down on the floor in the middle of it, in my blue dress, and Nate sat down across from me.

Frances stood in the doorway with her arms crossed.

"I know the names of three families," she said. "I haven't heard from one of them in seventeen years. I can't give you a number."

"My mother would have kept a list."

"Iris kept a list of what she bought at the grocery store."

"She went to see Mallory's mother with a casserole and a check," I said. "She didn't do that off the top of her head."

Frances looked at me for a long moment.

Then she went to the cellar door, and I heard her go down the steps.

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