“They are coming up to the ward to do a welfare check.”

“Give me two minutes,” I said.

“I’m switching back to my mother.”

I pressed the flash button on the receiver.

“Diane,” I said, my voice cold.

“Did you talk to them?” Diane asked.

“Are you going to be smart, Rachel?”

“You told me Grandma Margaret was dead,” I said.

“We had a service for her five years ago.”

“We had a memorial,” Diane corrected, her tone turning dismissive.

“Your father had to make arrangements.”

“She was losing her mind, Rachel,” she continued.

“She needed round-the-clock care that we couldn’t afford.”

“So you hid her?” I asked.

“We found a quiet place for her,” Diane said.

“An assisted living home out in Ocala.”

“It’s private,” she added.

“No state inspectors, no government red tape.”

“Just people who take care of her.”

“You mean an unlicensed facility,” I said.

“They take cash,” Diane said.

“And they don’t look too closely at the signatures on her pension checks.”

“Your father manages all of it.”

“You are stealing her pension,” I whispered.

“We are keeping her alive,” Diane snapped.