Grandpa motioned toward the hallway.
“My study. Now.”
We followed him.
His study smelled of old leather, cedar, and the lingering trace of tobacco embedded in books from years before he quit smoking.
He set his phone on the desk.
A map glowed across the screen.
Small lines traced the SUV’s movements over the previous two weeks.
Ava crossed her arms.
“So? You tracked us?”
“I tracked my property until the title transfer finished.”
Grandpa enlarged the map.
There were trips downtown.
Shopping centers.
Restaurants.
A hotel nearly two hours away.
Ava’s jaw tightened.
Then Grandpa tapped another location.
A storage facility.
Another.
A pawn and antique dealer.
Then the farmhouse.
Five visits.
Not one.
**Five.**
Grandpa looked at Ava.
“You told me you drove there yesterday to check on work.”
“I did.”
“Then explain the other four visits.”
Ava glanced toward Mom.
Mom suddenly found the rug fascinating.
