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“She was French.”

What the hell? “Sloane doesn’t sound French.”

“How can you tell through text? Furthermore, people move and adapt, Hudson. Why is that so hard for you to believe?”

“You said she was traveling around New Mexico, though.”

“She traveled after the program.”

“At what age?” I asked, hoping we were finally getting somewhere.

Grandma paused with a pea pod open between her fingers. “Old enough.”

“Grandma.”

She looked offended by my tone. “I’ve known many people.”

I held up a finger. “I’m asking about one.”

“Yes, and I remember her perfectly.”

“Okay, what did she look like the last time you saw her?”

Grandma tilted her head back and studied the ceiling. “She had red hair and green eyes. She also spoke Spanish.”

I closed my eyes. “I thought you said she was French.”

She clicked her tongue. “European children learn multiple languages, Hudson.”

I rubbed a hand over my face.

Grandma patted my knee. “You don’t need to worry. She’s not related to you, if that’s what this is all about.”

“How do you know for sure?”

“Because we would have remembered.”

The confidence with which she said it almost convinced me.

A Carpenter aunt thought Sloane’s mother had been Grandma Ruth’s third cousin through marriage. Another cousin insisted she had come here after running away from a pack in Canada because she disagreed with their maple syrup laws. Jason said he had no idea who she was and didn’t understand why everyone pretended otherwise.

That was the most credible answer I received all day.

Eventually, against my better judgment, I asked Aunt Karen. She was pruning a flowering shrub next to her mailbox, even though the shrub didn’t need any cutting.

She narrowed her eyes when I approached. “What do you want?”

“Information.”

She waved me off. “Read more books.”

“No, I’m looking for information about Sloane.”

She stopped snipping. “What about her?”

“How is she connected to the pack?”

Karen continued cutting. “She isn’t a blood relative.”