The bakery was only a few blocks from my rental, but by the time I made it there, I'd changed my mind. Rather than pull into a parking space, I kept my foot on the gas and drove past the little corner gathering place.

My best friends were at the bakery, but I couldn't go there. They'd ask too many questions and give too much advice. Honest, real advice that I wasn't sure I wanted to hear. They'd want answers, and I didn't want to give any.

I hit the stop sign at the end of the road and turned toward my parents' home. Maybe she'd talk to me now if I surprised her in person rather than over the phone. The plan had merit. At least until I got close and saw their house. In the middle of their driveway sat a familiar van.

One belonging to my aunt and uncle.

A heavy pit formed in my stomach, making me tired. My chest grew tight, so I had to force air into my lungs to get a breath. I slowed as I drove closer and then pulled to the curb, but I did not put my Camero in park. If they were anywhere near a window, they'd recognize the black sports car given to me by Frankie Zanetti, but I didn't care.

I couldn't go in there and see my aunt. How did I talk to the woman whose husband I put in jail? Just a few weeks ago she'd been my favorite-and only-aunt, but now I didn't understand what we were anymore. Could you still claim a niece if she was responsible for your husband getting ten to life in a Maine prison?

I thumbed the steering wheel to an imaginary beat. I didn't have anywhere else to go. I'd have to face my mother and aunt at some point, so wasn't it better to get it done with quickly? Like ripping off a Band-Aid?

If they were together, I could apologize to both of them, and we'd all move on together. It was a perfect plan. One grovel session and back to regularly scheduled annoyances. Christmas would still be weird, but I'd cross that bridge in December.

With a newfound-and quickly diminishing-confidence, I shut off the car and hurried up to the house. If I didn't knock soon, I'd lose all my gusto and go running back to Broadrick.

The door creaked, the lock turning on the inside, and my mother inched it open. Her gaze locked with mine, and her eyes widened in recognition. She swung the door open as her lips fell into a tight scowl that I hadn't seen since the time I got detention in high school for skipping fifth period to hit up the McDonald's in Clearwater for lunch.

"Mom," I said, the word coming out in barely a whisper.

Her eyes narrowed. "Now is not a good time."

She positioned her body in the door opening, making it so I couldn't see behind her. But I knew who she had in there. My aunt. Unless they'd broken my uncle out of jail and were on the lam, but it didn't seem smart to bring him to my parents' house. That's the first place the police were guaranteed to look.

"I just want to talk for a second. Apologize?" It felt like begging, but if that's what she wanted, I'd beg. If only my mother would hear me out for two minutes. "You aren't answering my calls."

She crossed her arms. The action pulled up on the white apron she had tied around her hips, covering a pair of dress pants and a blue blouse. Sylvia always dressed up, even on days she was home. "Your father has been keeping me updated."

"Okay, but..." I trailed off.

"Let her in, Sylvia. I want to see the woman who sentenced my husband to death," my aunt called from somewhere behind my mother.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Claire." Mom turned her head, but I spotted the eye roll as she did it. Was it for me or my aunt?

Aunt Claire said something else, but I only heard a round of mumbles.

My mom turned back toward me with pinched lips. "Watch what you say. Don't upset her more than she already is."

Over the last few days, I'd rehearsed a thousand different ways to apologize to my aunt, but as I walked past my mother's front door, my mind drew a blank. I'd never settled on the best approach and now had none.

"I didn't want him to go to jail," I said as my mother closed the door behind me, shutting us all in together.

My aunt wore an oversized sweatshirt with a baby yellow duck bedazzled on the front. She leaned forward on my parents' flowered couch when she answered, "Where did you think he was going to go, Vonnie?"

She had a point. I raised one shoulder until it almost hit my earlobe. "Not jail."

Although that was a lie. I'd known he'd end up in jail when I gave that packet of information to Anderson. There was no other option.

An idea hit me, and my eyes lit up. "He can turn state's witness and turn in the person higher up the chain than him."

It was a great idea. If he turned over whoever he purchased from, the government would give him a deal, and he'd have to serve way less time in jail. Maybe no jail at all. People did it so often they had television shows about it.

My aunt sucked in a deep breath of shock. "No. Your uncle purchased directly from the Colombians. They'd kill the entire family."

"I thought you didn't know where he'd gotten started," my mom said, her head jerking toward Claire.

She whipped her head toward my mother. "I didn't. Richard told me at the jail during our last visit. He confessed everything, and I forgave him. I've been going to visit as often as possible. He needs the support right now."

He confessed in jail? That was stupid. Didn't he understand they recorded everything at the jail? Should I have warned him of that?

"I trusted you, Vonnie," Claire said, her hard-set gaze on me. "I didn't want him arrested! We could have worked out whatever the issues were together. As husband and wife."

Was she trying to blame me for this? She'd asked me to spy on my uncle and catch him cheating. But no one expected his mistress to be a baggie of cocaine.

"Aunt Claire," I said, "he was distributing drugs to the entire county. He had a network of sellers underneath him." I refused to even think about the possibility he used his connections at the school to sell to minors. No one in my family could be that horrible. "How were you going to work that out together?"

"We would have worked it out!" She hit her fist on her knee. "You don't send family to jail, Vonnie!"

My head throbbed. You didn't work out being a major drug dealer in marriage counseling. What was she thinking?

"That's not how this works. He was selling drugs." I raised my hands as my voice rose.

It's possible I wasn't right to turn my uncle in to the police, but he had bags of drugs in his van. Did everyone forget that? We had a drug dealer in the family. And he'd confessed to me!

"I said you being a private investigator would turn out badly," my mom threw in. She wasn't yelling, but since she was so close to me, the words seemed loud. "How could you, Vonnie? This is your family. It was obviously a case of mistaken identity."

"He. Was. Selling. Drugs." I hit my hands together with each word for emphasis.

This wasn't a little bit of weed like Pearl put in her special brownies. My uncle was selling hard drugs. The white stuff. Coke. That was serious. Did no one else see the severity of his actions? Did we just excuse them because he was family? Where was this leniency whenever I fucked up as a kid?

"You've ruined this family," Claire said. "Just leave it alone now. You've done enough damage."

What? My head felt like I'd cast it on a swivel as it ricocheted between the two of them.

"I wasn't the one supplying the entire county with drugs!" Did they forget about the drugs? My heart pounded hard, and angry tears welled up in the corners of my eyes. Why did I always end up yelling when family was involved?

My mother stepped backward as if being next to me was too difficult. Her shocked expression burned through me. Did she not understand what my uncle was in trouble for? "Your uncle has not been found guilty of any crime. I don't believe he sold anything."

Wait. Did that mean? I shook my head again, my thoughts too rattled to form a coherent sentence. "Are you saying I made up the evidence? That I put him in jail on purpose?"

She smacked her lips. "I think you were confused. This PI business has gone to your head, and you see crime everywhere. It's all the media today. Your generation has to learn to put down your cell phones."

My chest physically hurt. Like my heart stopped beating because she'd shoved a knife in it and twisted. The ache spread until it hit my lungs, which stopped working. "Emma Richards is dead."

"Who?" Claire asked from the couch. "Why does that pertain to us?"

I stared at her, not sure who I saw. Was she my aunt? Had they ever been my family? "She was a classmate of mine. She sold for Uncle Richard."

Claire scoffed. "I had no idea what your uncle did or with whom. This girl could be the real seller who got Richard wrapped into her mess. We'll never know the truth of what thoughts were going through his head."

My ears rang as I tried to suck air in through my nose, but it burned in my chest.

"I think you need to leave, Vonnie. You've done enough damage for a while." My mother backed up and opened the front door for me.

I nodded in agreement and walked back through it into the sunny afternoon, even as the clouds in my head stormed. What did I do now?