“Dinner at Roni’s. I would’ve never expected it.” Exiting the car, Bridget tossed her hair back and smoothed her skirt down.

“You look beautiful.”

“Thank you. I still feel a bit uncomfortable about Roni inviting us over and having Ruth cook for us. If it were Sylvia, it would have been okay, but her mother? She is not their maid.”

Turner took her hand. “From what I understand, Sylvia can’t cook, and Ruth is more than happy to do it for them.”

Bridget shook her head. “Poor woman.”

“Why would you say that?” Turner held the elevator door open for Bridget, hitting the button for Roni’s floor when she was safely inside.

“She cooks for them as an excuse to be close to Sylvia. She doesn’t have anyone else in her life.”

“Isn’t that true for most clan members?”

“Unlike the other clan members, Ruth doesn’t socialize. She doesn’t hang out with anyone or go out to clubs. Until getting the job at Jackson’s café, she never worked outside the house. It was fine to be a stay at home mom when Sylvia was growing up. Ruth dedicated all of her energy to raising her daughter, which was admirable. But now she is an empty-nester and has nothing to fill the void with.”

Sounded a lot like the flip side of his life until he’d met Bridget. He’d had a fulfilling job but no family and no friends. Ruth had a family, but no calling other than motherhood, and no friends either.

“I can sympathize.” He knocked on the door.

Roni opened the way. “Hey, guys. I hope you’re hungry. Ruth prepared a feast fit for a king.”

Turner handed him the wine bottle he’d bought on the way. “I hope it goes with whatever Ruth made.”

“I’m sure it will be all gone before we are done loading our plates.” Roni took the bottle. “But no worries, I got more.”

“Hi, you guys.” Sylvia hugged Bridget and offered her hand to Turner. “Let me introduce you to my mom.”

Even though Turner should’ve expected it, he was still taken aback by the mother looking no older than the daughter. She was slimmer and shorter than Sylvia, but the coloring was identical. The same wavy brown hair, and same eyes. But where Sylvia’s were full of confidence, Ruth’s darted nervously around.

She offered him her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Roni talks about you all of the time.”

Doing his best to put her at ease, Turner smiled and shook her hand gently. “He talks a lot about you too, raving about what a great cook you are.”

A faint blush crept up her cheeks. “I like feeding Roni. He has a good appetite.”

Roni clapped Turner’s back. “I’m hungry. Let’s eat.” He motioned for them to follow him to the table.

Sylvia chuckled. “Since his transition, Roni is always hungry. He is lucky my mom feeds him. He would’ve either starved on my cooking or subsisted on sandwiches from the vending machines in the café.”

Turner pulled out a chair for Bridget. “My lady?”

“Thank you.”

Roni copied the move and pulled out a chair for Sylvia, but she shook her head. “I’m going to help my mom serve dinner.”

“Do you need help?” Bridget asked.

“No, we got it. Sit back and enjoy.”

“I can do that.”

Roni scratched his spiky blond hair. “I should help too.”

Sylvia put a hand on his shoulder. “Stay and enjoy your guests. Mom and I got it.”

“Should I open the wine?” He glanced at Turner.

Funny. It seemed the kid was expecting Victor to teach him how to be a host. He wasn’t going to get any help there. Turner was just as inept at it as Roni.

“Go ahead,” Bridget said. “I would love a glass of wine.”

“Me too,” Sylvia said as she placed a platter of roast beef on the table.

Ruth came out of the kitchen with another platter, loaded with assorted steamed vegetables. That would get her the seal of approval from Bridget.

“Dig in, people,” Sylvia said. “I’ll just get the salad.”

When everyone had loaded their plates, Bridget lifted her glass. “To family and friends.”

“Amen,” Roni said.

During dinner, Sylvia and Bridget kept the conversation going, with Roni making occasional comments about this and that. Ruth seemed satisfied to sit back and listen, her contribution limited to a few nods and smiles, which was more than Turner had done. The roast was delicious, and he’d taken seconds despite Bridget’s disapproving glances. Talking could wait until he was done eating. Besides, no one had asked him anything, so he was good.

“How are things at the café?” Bridget asked Ruth in an attempt to draw her into the conversation.

“I’m learning a lot from Jackson. He wants me to take over so he can open the new place in the village.”

“Do you think you can handle it?”

Ruth nodded. “It’s not that hard, and I’m hiring help. Human help, that is.” She cast a nervous glance at Turner. “I don’t mind working with humans. It really doesn’t make a difference to me. In fact, it’s easier. I can take a peek into their minds and see what they think of me.”

“Isn’t it against the rules?” Turner asked. The idea of immortals rampaging through his head was disturbing.

Ruth blushed. “It’s allowed only in emergencies. But to me, almost everything feels like an emergency.”

“Oh, Mom.” Sylvia leaned and kissed Ruth’s cheek. “You’ll be fine. You worry too much.”

“That too.”

The woman was obviously uncomfortable with everyone’s attention on her.

To help her out, Turner searched his mind for a new topic of conversation that would shift the focus away from Ruth.

Bridget had told him a lot about Roni, so there was no shortage of those, but the one piece of information that had caught his interest was about Roni’s grandmother. “Tell me, Roni. Did anyone investigate the mysterious circumstances of your grandmother’s supposed drowning?”

“I did. But it was a dead end. She must’ve become very good at faking her own death because the two other driving licenses belonged to dead women too.”

Turner leaned back in his chair. “Or, she might have used the names of recently deceased women to pull her new licenses.”

“They were issued before the women died, not after.”

“The recorded date of death could have been falsified.”

“Could be, but that doesn’t help me. Those are still dead ends.”

“Did you question your mother?”

“I haven’t talked to my parents since my escape. Not even before that. The less they know, the less they can reveal. Besides, what good would have it done? My mother doesn't know anything. She was a kid when my grandma drowned.”

Turner crossed his arms over his chest. “She might remember some things. Perhaps your grandmother talked about a favorite place, somewhere she would’ve liked to visit or to live. Or maybe she had an interesting hobby, like painting or photography. You never know where small details like that can lead you.”

“Well, it’s water under the bridge. I can’t contact them.”

“Maybe I can,” Sylvia said. “I can go in as a Tupperware saleswoman, ask my questions and then thrall them to forget they ever saw me.”

“No, baby. That’s too dangerous. Barty knows what you look like. If they have my parents’ house under surveillance, which they most likely do, they can follow you here.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I hadn’t thought about that.”

“I can take a look and see what I can find,” Turner offered. “But first, you’ll have to give me all the information you have on her.”

Roni leveled his gaze at him. “What can you possibly do in less than two weeks?”

“You’d be surprised.”