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daggers.
    Before I could find out what she was up to, a car pulled up. I watched a tire scrape against the curb, bounce up onto it for a moment, then bang back down.
    Grams.
    My sweet grandmother was behind the wheel of her Cadillac Fleetwood. Even though she’s becoming a minor menace to society, Grams still has a valid driver’s license and isn’t giving it up no matter what anybody says.
    Besides, everybody in Moraine recognizes her car and gets out of her way when we see her coming.
    “For cripes’ sake,” my mother said, getting out of the backseat. “See, Tom,” she addressed her significant other, who was opening the passenger seat door with Grams’s dog Dinky in his arms, “I told you. She shouldn’t be allowed to drive anymore.”
    Oh, geez, Mom could be chairwoman of a new organization, Daughters Against Aging Relatives. Next she’d be passing a petition around town. Not that anyone would sign it. The residents of Moraine love my grandmother.
    I’ve told Mom a zillion times to stop riding with Grams if she can’t handle it, but my mother thinks she’s somehow protecting Grams by being next to her. I have visions of Grams driving right for a big oak tree to get Mom to shut up, but that won’t really happen. Grams is an angel when it comes to tolerating her lippy daughter.
    “Hi, sweetie,” Grams called to me, coming around the front of her car, looking as fresh as the mock orange blossom tucked in her gray bun.
    “I wasn’t expecting company,” I said, a little confused by their appearance. Usually, I’d be at the store at this time of day, not home. “What’s going on?”
    “It’s none of your concern,” Lori said to me with a lot of snap in her tone.
    “Still as peppy as ever, I see,” Grams said to her. “But that’s my granddaughter you’re speaking to in that condescending tone of voice.”
    “Sorry, ma’am,” Lori said.
    Nobody messes with my grandmother. Not if they know what’s good for them.
    “Let’s get a family picture,” Grams said. “Helen and Tom, get right behind Story, and Tom, let Story hold Dinky. That’s right. Helen, get in there.”
    Mom gave a big, loud, impatient sigh, but she did what she was told.
    Dinky sure was happy to see me. I’d been her foster mom for a while, before I pawned her off on Grams. Dinky has her share of issues—peeing on people’s feet and chewing up undergarments—but she’s in obedience training with Hunter, so we’ll see. If anybody can train her, it’ll be Hunter.
    “Well?” Lori said impatiently as soon as Grams was through with the photo shoot.
    Shouldn’t that woman be moving off by now, not hanging around us? And that comment she’d made, about it not being any of my business. What was that all about?
    “What’s going on?” I asked again while Grams took another picture, this time of Lori scowling.
    “I’m looking at the house,” Tom said, glancing sharply at my mom.
    “To buy?” I asked.
    “To rent. My place isn’t very big.”
    That was certainly an understatement. Tom owned the antique store in town and lived in a tiny apartment in back of it. Small, yes, but fine for only one person . . . it wasn’t half bad, unless . . .
    I shot a look at my mother. She wouldn’t meet my eyes.
    “These two lovebirds,” Grams announced, taking Dinky out of my arms, “are shacking up!”
    At first I panicked, thinking she was talking about Hunter and me. Then I noticed that she was beaming at the
other
two lovebirds.
    Okay, I didn’t see that coming. My mom? And her boyfriend? Get out!
    “But . . . but . . . ,” I stammered. “You hardly know each other.” I was barely used to the idea of my mother dating for the first time since my dad’s death. Now she was moving in with the guy? And next door to me? This was too much, too fast.
    “Sweetie pie,” Grams said to me. “Don’t be a prude.”
    I’m sure my mouth was wide open in total surprise. I took a good look back at my house, the one