“Gross,” Ashley groaned in disgust behind Joe’s back. “You’re kissing again.”

“Yeah,” little Hope said. “Gross.”

I wasn’t surprised the two of them had come in together. Hope hero-worshiped her ten-year-old cousin, and I was thankful Ashley didn’t seem to mind. Not all preteen girls would be thrilled to have their nearly three-year-old cousin hanging on their every word and following them like a shadow. There were times Ashley got tired of her, but usually only when she had friends over, and even then, she let Hope spend a little time with her and her friends before sending her away.

Joe sat back up, laughing. “Unfortunately, for me, I wasn’t kissing her when you walked in, but thanks for the suggestion.” He made a production of leaning over and giving me a big chaste kiss on the lips, and the girls squealed in protest, although I knew Hope was only protesting out of solidarity with Ashley. She always liked it when Joe kissed me.

I sat up and got a closer look at my daughter. “Hope, what are you wearing?” She had dressed in a pair of pink shorts that she’d outgrown months ago, paired with a brown turtleneck sweater.

Asley shook her head. “I told her she couldn’t wear that to school,” she said with the ancient wisdom of a near-ten-year-old.

I opened my mouth to tell Hope she should change, but Joe slid out of bed and scooped our daughter into his arms. She broke into a fit of giggles.

“I think you look beautiful just the way you are, princess,” he said, then kissed her forehead.

“Joe,” I said carefully. “Your daughter is wearing booty shorts.”

He glanced down at her and pressed his lips together. “On second thought, while Daddy’s so proud of you for dressing yourself, how about you and me go pick out something else to wear to preschool?”

“But I like this shiwt,” she said, glancing down at her round tummy.

“You can keep the shirt,” Joe said, “but how about we change your bottoms so your legs won’t get cold? It’s still March, baby girl. It’s not summer yet.”

“Good idea, Daddy,” Hope said, then wrapped her arms around his neck as they headed down the hall to her room.

Ashley remained in the doorway with an anxious look on her face.

“Hey, Ash,” I said softly. “Everything okay?”

She moved closer to the bed, standing next to Joe’s side, twisting her hands in front of her.

“You can talk to me,” I said encouragingly. “About anything.”

She made a face. “I don’t want Uncle Joe to be mad at me.”

My brow shot up, and I patted the bed. She slid onto the mattress and kept her gaze in her lap. “Why on earth would Uncle Joe be mad, Ashy?”

She lowered her voice so I could barely hear her as she said, “I got in trouble at school yesterday.”

I wouldn’t have been more surprised if I’d heard the pope was converting to Judaism, but now that I thought about it, she’d been quieter than usual during dinner and bedtime the previous evening.

Joe had been the Fenton County Sheriff for less than a year, and since it was an elected position, sometimes he was forced to do some gladhanding. The night before, he’d attended a townhall meeting, leaving me to deal with four children on my own. Needless to say, the night had been chaotic, but I still felt terrible for not noticing that she’d been upset. “What happened, sweetie?”

She picked at the cuticle on her thumb. I could tell she’d been picking at it for a while because it was beginning to bleed. Goodness! She was so much like her mother! Violet used to do the same thing when our mother was on a rampage. You could tell when she was being extra mean because Violet would have multiple Band-Aids on her fingers and thumbs.

Also like her mother, Ashley was the perfect child at school. She never got in trouble. I couldn’t imagine what she could have done. The only time Violet had ever gotten in trouble was when she’d tried to protect me. Was Mikey somehow involved?

I covered her hand with my own to stop her from picking at her skin. “Ashley, I promise you that if Uncle Joe gets upset, he’ll quickly get over it. What happened?”

She tucked her chin to her chest, her tangled blond curls falling next to her face. She mumbled something unintelligible.

“I couldn’t hear you, sweetie.”

Tears fell from her eyes onto her lap. “I don’t want to say it.”

My heart began pounding, not because I believed she’d done something awful, but because something had deeply upset her. “How about you whisper it in my ear, okay? Then we’ll figure out what to do about it.”

Nodding as she lifted her face, she cupped her hand around my ear and whispered, “Oliver said my daddy was a dirty criminal who worked with a bad, bad man.” She leaned back and looked up at me with tear-filled, cornflower-blue eyes. “My daddy’s not a dirty criminal,” she said defiantly, but then fear filled her eyes. “Is he?”