“WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?” PETER GRABBED MY shoulders and shook me.

“Let go!” I snapped. “This isn’t the way-”

“Answer me, damn you!” He was hoarse, his face swollen with fury.

I tried twisting from his grasp-I didn’t want to fight him-but he dug his hands deeper into my back. I kicked him on the shin, hard. He yelped, more from surprise than pain. His hold on me loosened, and I backed away. He lunged for me, but I ducked and moved farther back, rubbing my shoulders. My uncle was almost seventy, but his fingers still held the strength he’d gotten on the slaughterhouse floor in his teens.

The two dogs were making ominous noises in the back of their throats. Still gasping for breath, I put a hand on their shoulders: Easy, Mitch. Easy, Peppy. Sit. They had caught my anxiety and were yawning and mewling in worry.

“There’s no call for you to carry on like that.” Mr. Contreras had risen to his feet when Peter attacked me. He was an old man himself, close to ninety, but he was ready to fling himself into battle. “Vic here would never put your gal in harm’s way. You can take it from me.”

Considering that Mr. Contreras had flung accusations of his own at me when I reported Petra’s disappearance, I was grateful that he was willing to support me in front of her parents.

“You, whoever you are, mind your own damned business.” My uncle was happy to have a fresh target to attack.

“Peter, yelling, this anger, it isn’t going to help.”

Rachel spoke from the shadows behind the piano. Peter and Mr. Contreras and I were all startled. In the rage of the moment, we’d forgotten my aunt was there.