1
Always Watching“Trees, they’re always watching.”
The officer stares at Marjorie, confused. “Have you been drinking, Miss Lennox?”
The cramped booking area of the station echoes with a clack of typewriters beneath rings of flickering light. Marjorie sits, her small frame lost beneath the folds of an oversized police shirt. A chestnut bob frames her wide eyes edged in smoky kohl. She watches as the officer’s expression fades from confusion and settles into the familiar judgment. She’s not drunk; she’s a dotty rich girl. A velvet brat, indulged by preoccupied parents. Marjorie quickly leans forward to object. “Officer, this is a misunderstanding.”
Halos of summer sweat bleed through the armpits of the deputy’s uniform. The wheezing fan perched on a chair in the corner brings no relief, just sways the sticky yellow flypaper dangling above the desk.
“A misunderstanding. Right.”
He reaches for his cigarettes, and Marjorie’s eyes dart to the open file folder on the desk. She spots the names of her three siblings, listed in a descending row. Oh, dear. Did the groundhog story travel? She looks at his name badge.
Foot.
There are many types of feet. Bare, socked, bunioned—and this man? Marjorie regards the officer and nods with quiet certainty. Socked. Wide and flat. Short toes. Practical more than philosophical. She must take that into consideration.
He exhales a ghost of smoke and resumes the conversation. “So, trees. Care to elaborate, Miss Lennox?”
“Yes, allow me to explain. Trees—they’re companions, a silent witness.”
“You’re not making a lick of sense.”
“Nature doesn’t make sense. It’s wild and expressive.”
“Well, what you call ‘expressive,’ the Hardwicks call indecent. Now see here, that artistic crap might fly downtown, but this is Grosse Pointe, not Detroit.”
A clap of commotion pierces the room as a woman enters the booking area.
“Chet!” exclaims Marjorie.
A young woman with unruly brown hair and a smear of peach lipstick yanks at the vacant chair next to Marjorie and sits down.
“This is my sister Chet,” says Marjorie.
“We’ve met,” mutters the officer.
“Yes, you called me a grave lurker.” Chet thrusts her arm across the desk for a handshake. “Charlotte Lennox. Good to see you again.” She surveys the desk and points to a paperweight. “Say, that’s new. I like it. It’s an entombed beetle, right? When you die, I’ll buy it at the estate sale. Your kids will need the cash.”
The officer sighs, shaking his head. “Ah, the Lennox clan. Titans of windshields.”
“Titans of glass,” corrects Chet.
“Right, the self-proclaimed dynasty of Detroit.” He glances at the file in front of him. “I met your brother—drunk in the fountain at the golf club. And now your younger sister. Is the entire family bat-crackers?”
“Depends on your definition.” Chet points to the officer’s cigarette. “You mind?”
“Help yourself,” he nods. “How many smart alecks are there?”
“Four siblings,” says Chet through a drag of smoke. “Technically, Marjie’s a half. But here’s a hot tip. Our oldest sister, Cecile, is a gangster in the making. Do the world a favor and ship her to Sing Sing.”
“Be nice, Chet,” sighs Marjorie. “It’s not Cecile’s fault. Every litter has a favorite.” She turns to the officer. “As noted, I’m a half-sibling. The youngest.”
“Yeah,” says the officer. “I was new on the force when the first wife died. Tragic puzzler.”
Chet stiffens. “We can skip the overture. Care to fill me in here?”
“It’s Helen’s birthday,” explains Marjorie. “Last month, a storm destroyed a beloved sugar maple in her backyard. As I was trying to describe to Officer Foot, the tree was her watchful companion, and she was absolutely bereft to lose it. So, as a gift, I wanted to replace her tree for a day.” Marjorie stands and throws the large police oxford from her shoulders. She’s covered in leaves.
Chet shrugs. “My sister’s here because she’s a tree?”
A sultry whistle sounds from across the room.
“She’s here not only because she’s pasted with leaves but because her breasts are exposed.”
“Oh,” nods Chet. “I didn’t notice.”
“Of course you didn’t,” says Marjorie. “They’re mushroom caps on the trunk of the tree. And—with all due respect, Officer—I’m not ‘pasted’ with leaves. I’m wearing a tailored tunic, ‘covered’ in leaves. I created it myself.” She sits down.
“My sister’s an aspiring designer,” nods Chet.
“Well, the Hardwicks feel she’s an aspiring nudist and the charge should be indecent exposure.”
“Charge?” says Marjorie.
“Yeah. And you have priors,” says the officer.
“Priors?” Marjorie’s eyes flash. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Prior incidents. Prior complaints to the police,” says the officer. “How do you think I know about your family?”
“That’s ludicrous,” laughs Chet. “I’ll wager your paperweight that you have nothing.”
“Oh, yeah?” The officer lifts the file folder. “Let’s see. Your beloved sister was reported for riding a pony through the front door and up the interior staircase of an estate on Lake Shore Road.”
Marjorie nods. “Of course I did. Judith was very ill, bedridden, and missed her pony. What are friends for, right, Chet?”
“You have to understand,” says Chet to the officer. “Marjie is a very loyal friend. I just wish her ‘friends’ were as loyal to her.”
“Well, the animal wasn’t loyal either. Judith’s parents filed a report that the pony dropped a gift on their prized Persian rug,” says the officer.
“Oh, please,” says Chet. “They needed paperwork for an insurance claim.” She gives a wave of her hand. “You have nothing.”
The officer looks at the two women. “Oh, yeah? What about this one—the calamity with the Detroit Institute of Arts.”
Chet winces. Marjorie looks to her lap. “Oh, the Peter incident. Poor Peter.”
Peter. Yet another misunderstanding.
Marjorie takes a breath and slowly raises her gaze. In misunderstanding her, they underestimate her.
A voice calls across the din of the police station, summoning the officer. He rises, gesturing with the file. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.” The women watch, craning their necks to see the silhouette of the officer speaking to a tall, dark figure behind a milky glass window.
Marjorie stares at the shape of a man behind the glass. Her brows arrow. “Who’s he talking to?”
“I don’t know,” replies Chet. “You’re lucky I was home when you rang up. And Gramps was there too. It’s probably Gramps out there.”
“No. It’s too tall and slender to be Gramps.” Marjorie wrings her hands in her lap. Her voice dims. “My dress. It’s just a tunic, Chet. I thought it would make Helen happy.”
“How can you consider Helen a friend? She allowed her parents to call the police.”
“Does my mother know?”
“No, Lilah was still at tennis when you called. But this is bad. After the pony and Peter incidents, Dad’s been ranting that his tolerance tank is empty. He claims you need discipline and structure.”
Marjorie rolls her eyes and plucks the cigarette from her sister. “I’ve explained repeatedly that I’m not college material.”
“Not college. A convent.”
“A convent! That’s noble, but they’d never take me. I look ghastly in black, and life without champagne sounds positively unholy. Oh, Chet, our father mustn’t find out about this—about my mushroom caps. I can be structured and disciplined. It’s just terribly boring.”
“Speaking of boring, tonight’s the annual ‘June boom’ dinner at the club.”
Marjorie grimaces at the thought. Lobster thermidor laced with argument.
The dark figures shift behind the glass. The door opens and the officer’s head appears. “Miss Lennox. You’re free to go.”
“See? Dynasty of Detroit!” shouts Chet to the officer. She stands. “Well, Gramps must have pulled his strings.”
Marjorie takes a slow breath, looking toward the hallway for her grandfather. But the retreating figure she spots isn’t Gramps. She could swear it’s . . . No. Impossible. It couldn’t be him. Could it? He hasn’t been seen in more than a year. But if so, it might explain the mysterious item that recently appeared in her bedroom. A thrill stirs within her. The figure disappears, but like a drop of sap from bark, something else emerges.
Hope.
Copyright © 2026 by Ruta Sepetys. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
