Joy leads the way through the crowded hotel lobby, Sam and Lucifer only a few steps behind her. There's no evidence of a pageant-or any event, for that matter-in the lobby that she can see. Just the usual tourists and businessmen that make up the hotel guests. If she hadn't personally gotten the address from Gabby, Joy might have thought they went to the wrong hotel.

She gives the concierge a cool stare, showing him her badge. "Hi, we need to speak to whoever is coordinating the Miss Malibu Beauty Pageant."

He barely looks up from his computer. "I'm afraid Ms. Greenwood is very busy, would you like to…" He blinks at Lucifer. "Mr. Morningstar."

Lucifer smiles. "Hello, Marcus. How about we call in that favor you owe me and you fetch this Ms. Greenwood, hm?"

For a minute it looks like the concierge is going to go so far as to bow. "O-of course. Give me just a second." He bolts into the back room.

Lucifer beams at her. "Well, this should be easy."

She hears Sam cover up his laugh with a fake cough.

Because a small part of her wants to laugh too-the look on the concierge's face had been pretty funny-she makes a point of frowning at Lucifer. "What did you mean by a favor?"

Lucifer opens his mouth, but it's Sam who answers. "About half of the people in L.A. owe Dad for some sort of favor he did for them." He smiles flirtatiously at a few women clustered in the corner, causing them to giggle.

Joy raises her eyebrows at Lucifer. "So now you're not only the Devil, you're the Godfather?"

"I was granting favors long before that movie came out." Lucifer informs her. "In fact, it was one of my favors that got Brando that role in the first place."

Joy stares at him. She never knows what to say when he makes those kinds of comments.

Thankfully at that moment the concierge returns, followed by a tall, elegant woman dressed in a business suit.

"Hello, I'm Erica Greenwood." She greets them. "I'm the pageant coordinator. You wanted to speak with me?" As to be expected, the coordinator of the beauty pageant is a gorgeous woman with a waterfall of rich, caramel hair that frames her face in an effortless style that would take Joy hours to accomplish. She's wearing less make-up than Joy would expect, just enough to highlight her hazel eyes and full mouth.

Joy sneaks a peek at the woman's hands, clutched around a clipboard, and notes the expensive French manicure.

Greenwood's gaze falls on Lucifer and Sam, who have moved in to flank Joy, and her face lights up with avarice. "Is this about the judge position? Because we have a spot open-"

Before Joy can correct her, Lucifer says, "Well, if it's a replacement judge you're after, then I'll be more than happy to offer up my services." He smiles charmingly at the pageant coordinator.

"Why do automatically assume that you get to be the replacement judge?" Sam asks his father indignantly.

Joy shoots them both a quelling look while holding her badge up for the coordinator to see. "Actually, we're here to investigate the death of Benjamin Gray." She tells the woman firmly. "Seeing as it's the reason you now have an open spot on the judging panel."

"Oh, yes. Poor Ben." Ms. Greenwood wipes her eyes-taking care not to smudge her mascara. "I heard what happened. He was such a nice man."

"How well did you know him?"

"Not well." She shakes her head. "I only met him once, after he was hired. My assistant Hanna was the one who interviewed him." She shrugs. "I wasn't keen on hiring a first timer, but she insisted."

Joy raises her brows. "First-timer?"

"Most of our panel is made up of former pageant queens or judges-people who have done this sort of thing before." Greenwood explains. "Ben had never even seen a beauty pageant before being hired here." Irritation briefly flickers across the woman's face.

Joy inclines her head. "We're going to need to speak to Hanna, if possible."

Sam speaks up. "And your contestants, as well. Where exactly are you hiding them?" He makes a show of looking around the lobby, as if expecting one to pop up from behind the counter.

"We have a block of rooms set up for the girls to change in." Ms. Greenwood says tentatively. "But I'm afraid this isn't a good time. They got rehearsal-"

"We'll be sure not to take up too much of their time." Joy says with deceptive mildness. "And Hanna would be…"

Greenwood waves a hand in the general direction of the hotel corridor. "She makes a point to stick close to the girls, in case they need anything. Water, fresh clothes, make-up-"

"We get it. Could we also get a list of all the people associated with the pageant?" Joy asks.

Ms. Greenwood's eyes widen. "You don't think...someone here…"

"We just like to be sure."

The pageant coordinator shifts uncomfortably, her face pale. "All right, I'll, um, get you the list." She says, and scurries off.

Joy waits until she's out of earshot before turning on Sam. "Could you at least pretend to take this seriously?"

Sam stops his perusal of the lobby "What makes you think I'm not taking this seriously?" He asks, affronted.

"I don't know," Joy says sarcastically, "maybe it's your constant search for the pageant contestants? It makes you look desperate, you know."

Now he's really offended. "I'll have you know I am anything but desperate." He retorts. "And I wasn't looking for the beauty contestants. Well, not the whole time." He admits when she scowls at him. "I was checking out the security cameras." He points to the upper corners of the lobby.

Joy glances up and spots black security cameras at each corner. Slightly mollified, she murmurs, "We'll need to get a copy of the security footage for yesterday. Maybe we'll spot our victim."

"I already sent Dad off to fetch them from Marcus." Sam's tone is smug. "And the ones showing the corridor in front of the girls' dressing room. See?" He spreads his hands out in a conciliatory gesture. "I know what I'm doing."

Joy's lips curve upwards. "You do, do you? Then you want to tell me where your dad has run off to?" She points to the concierge, who has returned to his place behind the desk. There is no sign of Lucifer.

Sam blinks, momentarily thrown off his stride. Then he huffs. "Give you two guesses where he's gone." He strides down the hallway that Greenwood indicated, Joy right behind him.

The dressing room for the pageant contestants is in one of the hotel's suites, with a spacious living area and separate bedroom. When they walk in, Joy notes that every available surface has been covered with make-up, hair supplies, and other various toiletries. Hung around the room are twenty dress bags-the contestant's evening gowns. Through the French doors that lead to the bedroom, Joy can see the bed is laden with even more pageant necessities; hair rollers, straighteners, buckets of bobby pins and fashion tape. It was like the girls had decided to combine their resources and just unpacked all their stuff for everyone to share.

All twenty contestants are in the living area. They must have been in the middle of getting ready, because some are in silk robes, others in tank tops and pajama pants with their hair pulled up. But no matter what stage of dress they are in, Joy notes that each and every one is extraordinarily beautiful.

And right in the middle of the group, lounging in a chair like the king of his own personal harem, is Lucifer.

The contestants are scattered around him in chairs or on the floor, so enraptured that they haven't even noticed Joy and Sam's arrival. The room is filled with their delighted chatter, Lucifer looking quite pleased with himself as he basks in all the attention.

Joy hears a low chuckle and sees Sam with one arm braced against the wall. He leans his head on it as he observes the scene, his free hand tucked into the pocket of his slacks.

One of the women turns away from the group and notices them-or more specifically, notices Sam.

"Oh, is this your son?" She asks breathlessly, her eyes raking over Joy's partner. "Wow, the apple didn't fall far from that tree."

Lucifer and Sam both grin with delight, as if the woman made a particularly clever joke.

Distracted, the women all turn in their direction. Sam favors them all with a slow, devastating smile, one designed to make a woman's toes curl.

Not that hers are, Joy assures herself. Though she hears several longing sighs amidst the group of women.

"Apologies, ladies." Sam flavors his voice with just a hint of an accent. "We didn't mean to interrupt. We know you have rehearsals soon."

Joy's torn between amusement and impatience when a few of the women's eyes glaze over. Before she can break in and question the women herself, she hears a clatter from the hotel's hallway, followed by a muttered curse.

Leaving Sam and his father to their flirting, she wanders back out into the hall and finds a dark-haired woman leaning down to pick up the bottles of water she accidentally dropped.

"Sorry," the woman says, shoving her hair behind her ear. "I'll be out of the way in just a minute. I swear, I'm so clumsy…"

"Don't worry about it." Joy crouches down to give her a hand, studying the other woman as she does. Pretty, she thinks, not like the women in the dressing room, but in a wholesome way that immediately warms Joy to her.

Joy hands her one of the bottles. "Here."

The woman gives her a grateful smile. "Thanks." She grabs the bottle and throws it into the box at her side. "I have to get these to the ballroom before rehearsals start, otherwise my boss will have my head."

Joy angles her head at the woman. "Are you Hanna?"

"Yeah, that's me." Hanna replies curiously. "Have we met?"

Joy takes out her badge. "No, but I wanted to talk to you. Detective Joy Roberts. I'm investigating the death of Benjamin Gray."

Hanna's brown eyes widen. "Oh, um…" She squirms. "I don't know if I have permission…"

"We already talked to your boss." Joy assures her. "She told us you were the one who interviewed Benjamin for the judge position?"

Hanna switches the box of bottled water to her other hip. "Yeah, that was me." She admits. "Erica doesn't have time to do the interviews, and most of the other judges have done it a few times, so there's no real need to interview them. Benjamin was the only one on the panel who had never done it before."

"Did he have issues with any of the contestants?" Joy jerks her head to the room behind her.

Hanna's eyes widen. "No, not at all. Look, I know what people think when they think of beauty contestants." She says quickly. "Everyone thinks they must be catty or self-absorbed. But really, all the girls are very sweet. I can't picture any of them hurting someone."

A bit put out-the contestants had the clearest motive-Joy tries again. "What about the rest of the staff? Have you ever seen him arguing with anyone?"

Hanna shakes her head. "No, I don't think so. He was incredibly nice." She frowns. "I'm guessing you guys know he was religious."

Joy nods. "Yes, we talked to his pastor. Do you know why he was interested in judging a beauty pageant? That kind of seems…" She trails off, unsure of how to phrase the question without sounding rude.

But Hanna senses what she's driving at. "Like a sin?" She finishes, smiling a little. "Yeah, I asked him that too. He said that judging a beauty pageant was no more sinful than judging a flower competition-and he knew plenty of his fellow parishioners who participated in stuff like that. He said that a beauty contest was simply a celebration of God's creations." Hanna shrugs. "Honestly, it sounded innocent enough, and being a pageant judge isn't rocket science. I thought if anything, being religious meant we could at least rely on him to be fair."

"I think my father might disagree with you, there." Joy starts when Sam appears at her elbow, beaming a smile at Hanna. "Hello, darling. Why aren't you inside getting ready with the other contestants?"

Hanna flushes. Apparently, Sam's charm extends to all women.

"Oh, I'm not a contestant." She babbles. "I'm just an assistant. I'm not nearly beautiful enough…"

"Nonsense." Sam waves away her comment. "There's a thing called natural beauty, and believe me, you have it in spades." Sam motions to the box Hanna's fumbling with. "Here, why don't I help you with that." He doesn't seem to notice Hanna's avid stare-or if he does, he's too busy enjoying it.

Joy sighs through her nose. "Hanna, this is my partner, Detective Decker." She quickly gets the conversation back on track. "Why did you hire Ben, if he's never been a judge in a pageant before?"

Hanna shifts from foot to foot. "Well, to be honest…" she lowers her voice. "I thought it would help with the rumors."

"Rumors?"

Hanna links her fingers in front of her. "Last year, there were rumors going around that somebody was bribing the judges. You know, paying them to sway the final decision. Nothing was ever proven…"

"But you thought hiring Benjamin would help keep the pageant clean." Joy finishes for her.

Hanna nods. "I thought, being religious and all, Benjamin wouldn't be so easy to corrupt."

Sam's gaze is almost pitying. "Anyone can be corrupted, Hanna. Especially the religious ones." He tells her.

"Did Benjamin know about the rumors?" Joy cuts in.

"Yeah, I told him. I was hoping he could help me find out who it was." Panic flares in Hanna's eyes. "Oh my God, did I get him killed?" Her voice shakes.

Joy's heart goes out to the poor woman. She was just trying to do her job, trying to keep everything fair.

"No, Hanna. This was not your fault." Joy says gently.

"She's right." Sam agrees. "Regardless of why you hired him, it was still Benjamin's choice to take the job. We are responsible for our own actions." He murmurs in Joy's ear, "Why don't you get that list of names from Greenwood? I'll help Hanna with this and we'll head back to the precinct. We may have found our motive."

Joy nods. She spins around, intending to track down Greenwood, when Sam calls her back.

"Oh, and Joy? Could you please pick up the security tapes from the concierge?"

Joy leans over the table in Gabby's lab, looking through the list of names that Erica Greenwood gave them.

"Ok, so if Hanna hired Gray because she wanted him to help find whoever was bribing the judges, then he must have figured it out. Maybe whoever it was killed him to cover it up." She says, tapping her fingers thoughtfully on the table. "I get that. But what I don't get is why bribe the judges in the first place? I mean, it's a beauty contest."

"The grand prize is pretty sweet." Gabby informs her. "Not only do the winners get a cash prize of ten thousand dollars, they also get about five grand's worth of free swag; a year's supply of make-up, a photoshoot with one of the top modelling companies in L.A. and an all-expense-paid vacation to Milan."

"Seriously?" Joy can't help but be a little impressed.

Gabby stretches out her arms over the table. "Yep, lucky for them, I am way too busy to enter. Otherwise, those girls would be crying right about now." She winks at Joy.

"Most of the contestants aren't in it for the money." Sam says as he uses Gabby's computer to look over the security footage. "For them it's a stepping stone to fame; a lot of winners go on to find modelling or acting jobs." He frowns at the computer screen. "No sign of Benji in any of these videos."

"The judges weren't allowed on the hotel property." Lucifer explains. He's sitting in Gabby's chair, one ankle crossed over his leg. "They were kept separate from the contestants at all times. The girls didn't even know that a judge had been killed when I talked to them."

Sam leans around the computer to stare at his father accusingly. "You couldn't have told me that before I spent ten minutes looking through video footage?" He complains.

"Wait," Joy holds up a hand to stop Lucifer's retort. "You mean to tell me you were actually working while you were in that dressing room?" She hadn't gotten the impression that Lucifer was taking this seriously.

Lucifer rises up in his seat. "Of course I was. I'm a professional, Miss Roberts." he says with injured dignity. "I assure you, I was there for purely investigative purposes."

Sam leans back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. "The girls didn't know anything about the broken nail or missing shoe, either." He adds. "I think we can rule out the pageant contestants. They all seemed to be really close to one another. If one of them was lying, the others would have known and said something to me or Dad."

Joy thinks about this. "I think you're right." She says, pushing the list of names aside. "Whoever is bribing the judges must be doing it without the contestant's knowledge. But then why do it?" She asks the room in general. "Only the contestants stand to gain anything from it."

"Not necessarily true." Lucifer tucks his hands in his pockets as he stands up. "When I make a deal with someone, I don't always collect it right away. Sometimes I'll wait until they have something I want. Like with Marcus." He reminds her.

Joy purses her lips. "Blackmail. They make the winner an offer they can't refuse."

"Right. But your Brando impression could use some work." Lucifer tells her loftily.

She glares at him. She hadn't even been trying to mimic Brando.

Sam interrupts. "Only whoever is doing this doesn't wait for the contestant to come to them, like Dad does. They probably suss out which of the girls is the easiest target, and rig the contest in her favor. After she wins, that's when they tell her they bribed the judges." He straightens up and pulls a packet of Skittles out one of his pockets.

"Why don't they say anything, though?" Gabby asks. "That's kind of a sucky way to win a contest." In the easy way of two people who have known each other for almost all their lives, she helps herself to some of Sam's candy.

Joy watches the two of them with a pang of regret. She had never had a lifelong best friend-or any close friends, really.

"It may be sucky, but it's still winning." She answers Gabby's question. "If the winner told everyone the judges had been bribed, she would probably have to forfeit the title-and all the cushy rewards that come with it."

Sam pops a few more Skittles in his mouth. "Whoever is bribing the judges probably makes sure to remind her of that, too." He says once he swallows. "I'd say our most likely candidate now is Hanna, but I don't think that's right. I took the liberty of checking her nails while I was helping her." He responds to Joy's curious expression. "I doubt she's ever even seen a manicurist-which is a shame, because she needs one. Nail-biter."

Joy feels a sense of relief. Though she knows better, she had truly liked Hanna. "Greenwood said something interesting when we talked to her." She says, tapping her own fingers on the table thoughtfully. "She said a lot of the judges had done this sort of thing before."

Sam studies her. "You think one of them was on last year's panel."

"Perhaps they were even one of the judges who was bribed to sway the decision." In lieu of candy, Lucifer takes out his flasks and sips from it.

"Meaning they might know who it is." Joy leans around Sam to look at their forensic scientist. "Gabby, could you check into the backgrounds of the judges, see if any of them worked at the pageant last year too?"

"Anything for the dream team." She says cheerfully. Her fingers fly over the keyboard as she starts her search.

"If they were bribed last year, maybe they were upset when Gray started asking questions." Joy tells Sam and Lucifer. "They didn't want the money train to stop…"

"So, they killed him." Sam agrees. "Makes sense. Benny certainly can't look into the bribery accusations if he's dead."

"I am still willing to go undercover as a judge." Lucifer tells them both with complete sincerity. "The pageant's tomorrow-it might be the quickest way to get to the bottom of all this."

"Nice try." Sam's eyes dance as he surveys his father. "But with all the unrest happening at the pageant now, it's likely that whoever was bribing the judges last year will want to keep a low profile."

"I'm willing to take that chance." Lucifer protests, but Gabby barges her way in between them.

"Got it. Caitlyn Summers" She slaps a picture down on the table. "Miss Malibu of '98, Miss Hollywood Hills of 2000, and Miss California of 2014. Worked as a judge at the last three Miss Malibu pageants."

The picture must have been taken at one of her many pageants, Joy thinks. Summers is dressed in a pale blue evening gown, a bouquet of flowers in her hands. A silver tiara glitters in her sleek, platinum hair.

Joy pulls the picture closer. "Sam, look at this." She points to the hands gripping the bouquet of flowers. Hands whose fingertips had been professionally manicured with bright, red nails.

"You may not get to be one of the judges, Dad," Sam comments, his gaze sharp as he studies the picture. "But at the very least, you'll get to meet one."

They discover that Caitlyn Summers lives in a fancy high rise in Beverly Hills, all the way on the top floor. Joy notes the modern decor of the inside corridor, the expensive granite flooring, and wonders if this is how all pageant winners live.

Sam knocks on the door. "Ms. Summers?"

They wait for a beat, but there is no sound from inside.

Joy frowns. "Maybe she's out?"

"Out where?" Sam bangs on the door again. "The pageant is tomorrow. The way it works is if you've been bribed to change your vote, you have to stick around if you want your money." He tilts his head, listening. "Nothing. All right, Plan B. I'll pick the lock."

"Can't we just call the super?" Joy asks doubtfully, but Sam has already pulled out two thin metal picks from his jacket and is kneeling in front of the doorknob. "Where did you even learn to pick locks?"

"Aunt Ella taught me all sorts of useful things." Sam says easily. "How to hotwire a car, how to lockpick, how to recite the full Gettysburg address in Klingon…" He glances up at Joy and Lucifer, who are staring at him. "Granted, that last one hasn't been entirely applicable in my line of work." He mutters sheepishly.

"Didn't you used to be faster at this?" Lucifer says, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

"Can't hear the tumblers with you nagging at me." his son retorts. There's a faint click, and Sam hisses with satisfaction. He nods for Joy to go in first.

Drawing her gun, she nudges the door, which opens with a creak. "Ms. Summers?" She calls into the airy living room. "L.A.P.D."

Joy narrows her eyes when she spots two feet on the other side of the coffee table. Perhaps the woman fell, and hit her head? She gestures for Sam to approach on the other side.

"Ms. Summers?" She leans over the table.

The woman from the picture is lying prone on the floor, a silver tiara jammed into her right eye.

"You know, Dad, I can't help but be a little disappointed in you." Sam drawls as he studies the former Miss Malibu. "All those bedtime stories, and I don't remember a single one ending with 'and then she took a tiara to the face.'"

Growing up, Sam hadn't gotten the typical children's story fare. Instead, his father liked to recount various personal exploits or cases, much to Sam's mother's dismay. Sometimes, if Sam was lucky, his father would even forget to edit out the racier parts.

"This is certainly a first." his father agrees. "I didn't know you could kill someone with a tiara."

"Stabbed it in the right spot." Gabby points to the murder weapon. "Sterling silver is a pretty tough metal, and whoever did this jammed it straight in her eye." She clicks her tongue as she examines the tiara now permanently stuck to the woman's face. "Based on the angle, I'd say whoever killed her was taller than our victim by a few inches."

"Or wearing high heels." Joy comments. She's across the room perusing what looks to be Caitlyn Summer's trophy shelf. Framed pictures of Summers in various evening gowns, newspaper clippings, and winner's sashes are all arranged on one long buffet table in the corner. Her tiaras each have their own special place on individual wooden blocks, the dates of each competition carved below.

Joy taps the one wooden slab that does not appear to have a tiara. "Weapon of opportunity. Just like with Benjamin Gray."

"I think it's safe to say Ms. Summers here is no longer a suspect." Sam crouches down next to Gabby to examine the victim. "Whoever killed Benny went after her, too."

"Trying to cover up the bribery scandal." His father suggests. "Though they're going about it all wrong. Bribery's one thing, but murder is just bad press." He tucks his hands in his pockets.

"No sign of a break in-another break in." Joy says, with a dry look at him. "Summers knew her killer well enough to let her in."

"And the killer knew enough to lock up before they left." Sam rises to his feet. "Considerate of them." His gaze scans over the spacious living room, the tasteful but expensive furniture. "Maybe we were right, and Summers was paid off at the last pageant. Maybe she threatened to expose it to the media."

"And like Gray, they killed her to keep her quiet." Joy's eyes narrow in thought. "But who else was part of the scam? Summers was the only judge who was also on last year's panel."

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam sees his father lean over to pick up a fancy glass orb from the side table. Gabby lets out a resigned sigh-as usual, his father did not bother to put on gloves before touching things at a crime scene.

But it gives Sam an idea. "Tiara's an odd sort of weapon, isn't it?" He points to the orb in his father's hand. "I mean, that would make a far better choice. One sharp blow to the back of the head-" He mimes the motion. "And it's all over."

"Perhaps they wanted her to see if coming." His father deadpans. Gabby snickers.

Hiding his own smile, Sam continues "There are plenty of heavier objects around here; why not use one of them? Why go for a tiara of all things?" He thinks about the two killings, about the punishment their killer enacted on both victims. "The shoe was a weapon born from panic-they didn't have time to go looking for a knife or a gun."

"But they had the time here." Joy catches on. "They could have easily gone into the kitchen and grabbed a knife, but they didn't. The tiara means something to them." She gestures to the shelf filled with trophies. "Maybe they were in a beauty pageant before, but lost?"

His father tosses the glass orb high in the air, catching it with the flair of a master juggler. "There goes our drag queen theory."

Sam doesn't bother to point out to his father that he had been the only one invested in the drag queen theory.

"We should go back and cross reference all the staff who are working at the pageant, see if any of them were in a pageant themselves." He suggests to Joy. His phone buzzes, and he pulls it out of his pocket. "How fortunate. We're being summoned back to the precinct." He can't keep the annoyance from his voice.

Joy smiles a little. "The lieutenant?"

Sam and his cousin Charlie normally got along, but ever since his cousin got promoted and ostensibly became his boss, it was difficult for Sam not to take every phone call or text as a personal attack. It didn't help that Charlie already had a habit of bossing him around. Now it was like he was getting paid for it.

"Yes." Sam replies sourly. "Apparently he needs us to leave our crime scene because he is just too busy to deal with whatever is happening at the precinct." That wasn't exactly what his cousin had said, but he could paraphrase. It wasn't the same as lying.

Joy folds her arms over her chest. "Or, you know, it could be a lead in our case." She reminds him mildly. Her tone makes it clear she finds his behavior childish.

Well, she hasn't had to deal with Charlie as long as he has. She'll learn.

"Nope. Pretty certain it's the first thing." He shoots back. He snatches the orb his father's playing with out of the air and sets it down on the coffee table. "Come on, Dad, we'll get you another toy when we get back."

"Or you could just get me a gun." His father offers hopefully. Ever since Sam brought him back to consult, his father had been pushing to get his own service weapon-probably because Sam's mother never let him have one.

"We've talked about this. You don't need a gun. You're immortal, what would you even use it for?"

His father stares at him like Sam has just suggested he and God join a doo-wop group. "To shoot people!"

Sam shakes his head and turns to Gabby. "You good here, Gabs?"

"Yeah, I just need to dust for prints." She eyes the glass orb ruefully. "I'll be right behind you."

He gallantly steps out of the way so that Joy can leave the apartment first. He steps forward to follow her but halts at the brooding expression on his father's face.

"Something on your mind, Dad?" He asks, keeping his voice low. Gabby is humming to herself as she pulls out the special powder used to pull prints off of surfaces. "Look, if you really want a gun…"

"No, it's not that." His father waves him off.

Sam feels a momentary sense of relief. He can only imagine the chaos his father could inflict on the rest of them if he had a gun. "Then what is it?"

A crease appears between his father's brows. "Miss Roberts hasn't come over to play piano in a while."

Figures it would take a few weeks for that to sink in. His father may be a lot of things, but perceptive is not one of them.

"It's only been a couple of weeks." Sam reminds him. "But yeah, she hasn't come to Sunday dinner at Auntie Linda's in a while, either." He shrugs. "Maybe she just needs time. Our family can be…" He glances at Gabby, who is dusting in rhythm to whatever song she's humming. "Strange."

He claps his father on the shoulder. "I wouldn't overthink it."

This makes his father smile. "Don't overthink it" might as well be their family motto.

"Now come on, before Joy leaves us to walk back."