Once Natalie had been securely locked out in the yard, screaming obscenities at a rhododendron bush, the atmosphere in the Salinger living room shifted from hysterical to conspiratorial.
Ella bustled back in from the kitchen with a fresh pot of tea, her earlier rage replaced by a manic, desperate hope. She set the tray down with a clatter, ignoring the fact that she had just thrown the last cup at her daughter-in-law.
"Here we are," Ella cooed, pouring a cup for Louise. "Chamomile. For the nerves. Lord knows we all need it after that performance."
She sat down, leaning forward, her eyes bright with calculation.
"Louise, darling, I can't thank you enough. David told us you spoke to Mr. Finch. You saved his job. You saved... well, everything."
She shot a dark look toward the patio door,
