Two months had passed since she had last used her mind to formulate a strategy, map out a campaign, stock up verbal ammunition for a cause, and the mental mechanisms seemed as rusty as the gate she was hanging on to with white-knuckled fists. But the old wheels caught and turned, and the momentary panic that she had forgotten what to do passed, a tremor that was there, then gone.

"Come along, Laurel. We'll go in to supper." Caroline's voice sounded directly behind her, and Laurel flinched from nerves that were still strung too tight.

She turned toward her aunt, one of the few people in the world who actually made her feel tall at five foot five. "I've got to find out who owns that dog."

"After you've had something to eat."

Caroline reached out to take hold of her niece's hand, heedless of the rust coating her palms, heedless of the fact that Laurel was thirty years old. To Caroline's way of thinking, there were times when a person needed to be led, regardless of age. She didn't care for the obsessive light glazing over Laurel 's dark blue eyes. Obsession had landed the girl in a quagmire of trouble already. Caroline was determined to do all she could to pull her out.

"You need to eat something, darlin'. You're down to skin and bones as it is."

Laurel didn't bother to glance down at herself for verification. She was aware that the blue cotton sundress she wore hung on her like a gunny sack. It wasn't important. She had a closet full of prim suits and expensive dresses back in Georgia, but the person who had worn them had ceased to exist, and so had the need to care about appearances. Not that she'd ever been overly concerned with her looks; that was her sister Savannah 's department.

"I need to find out who owns that dog," she said with more determination than she'd shown in weeks. "Someone's got to make restitution for this mess."