TWENTY-EIGHT 

“Me too,” I said. “How long will she be out?” Brenda glanced at Liza, who nodded toward me. Brenda whipped out a bright red pocket knife and cut the plastic securing me to the chair. I brought my arms back into their natural position, which was painful enough—I was no yogi—but my wrists hurt more. The grooves in my skin were deep and raw. But I couldn’t think about that now.

“Don’t know,” Brenda said. “Depends on things like weight and body chemistry. Let’s not take any chances.”

“Where are the cops? The EMTs?” I stood, then went to Liza and put my arm around her to help her to her feet.

“Tim Arquette is down at the docks. He caught a guy acting suspicious and trying to leave. They ended up getting into it, but Tim’s got him in cuffs right now. The EMTs are tending to them, then they’ll be right up.” She put her Taser into her pocket and picked up the gun. “Go find your mom. I’ll deal with this one till the cops come.”

I turned to Liza. “Do you want to stay here or come with me? Any idea where Melanie and Caitlyn are?”

Liza leaned against me. “Brenda’s got this under control. I’ll . . . be no help to her. I’ll come with you.” We made our way to the door.

The hallway stretched in both directions, with a half-dozen doors on each side. “Should we just start opening doors?”

Liza nodded. “This is the servants’ wing, where my seasonal help stays, at least in the summer.” She coughed, then took a deep breath as she opened the first door.

“Melanie and Caitlyn first got sick, what, like a week ago? So who’s had access to your food during that time?” The first room was empty. We moved on to the next.

“Since it was just a few of us, I’ve been doing all the cooking. I blame myself.” She stumbled and I caught her.

“Stop that right now,” I said. “You’re not to blame. And I’m pretty sure you haven’t been monitoring your kitchen twenty-four/seven. So who’s been working around here?” I hated the next thought that popped into my head but I said it anyway. “Steve Murdoch?”

Liza’s expression was horrified. “No. It can’t be.”

Unfortunately, it could. The pieces fit. Lydia Ames must have had at least one more accomplice. Steve had reasons to hate Jim MacNamara, both personally and professionally. Could he be working with Lydia? Had she played him, knowing he was vulnerable over his wife’s infidelity? Helping Lydia would be a way to stick it to both Jim and Jennifer. Steve had access to every building on this island. It would have been nothing for him to open the refrigerator door and add the poison to whatever drinks, or soup, or even salad dressings he found there, day after day.

And I knew what Liza was thinking, without her having to say a word. She was kicking herself. She’d been taken in before by a pretty face and a tool belt, and people had paid with their lives.

“No.” Liza shook her head. “It’s not Steve. I won’t believe it.”

We went to the next room. “We have to consider the possibility,” I said as gently as I could. “Who else has been here?” Honestly, I didn’t want it to be Steve either. I liked him.

“I’ve only got two people on the payroll right now. They don’t stay over. They come from the mainland every day and go home before it gets dark.” The next room was also empty.

“Who are they?” I pressed. Why weren’t we finding Melanie? She and Caitlyn could be anywhere in this place. My heart rate, which had slowed to somewhere approaching normal when we left Lydia in Brenda’s capable hands, was ticking up again. This was taking too long. Lydia had said that the fatal doses had not been administered. But just like a Taser, poison must affect different people in different ways. My mother and her assistant might already be dead.

“Brandy Gates cleans for me.”

Dolly’s daughter. Russ Riley’s sister. Oh no. This would kill Dolly. It would kill me. I trusted Brandy. We opened another door.

“And the only other one is Pru. Prudence Patton. This was her first summer with me. I kept her on to help with closing up.”

Another empty room. Prudence Patton. The name jogged something in my memory, though I was fairly certain I’d never heard it before. Liza was clearly exhausted, moving slower and slower, and leaning on me more and more as we approached the last door on this side of the hall.

“What does Prudence look like?”

“Can we stop, for just a second?” We paused. “Mid-twenties. Tall. Slim. Long blond hair. Not a native, but she’s living near Bonaparte Bay somewhere now.”

I used Liza’s resting time to paint a mental picture of the woman and pair it with the name. Prudence Patton. I knew a woman who looked like just like that. Except she called herself Piper Preston.

“What do you know about her?” I asked. “Can you go on?”

By way of answer to my second question, she put her hand on the doorknob. “Not much. But she gave Angela Wainwright as a reference.”

Angela Wainwright. The door swung open and we entered. This room was a little larger than the ones we’d been in, containing three oak dressers and three narrow beds.

In each of the beds lay a figure. None of them were moving.

I went to Melanie first. Her platinum blond hair was unmistakable against the white linen of the pillow. “Melanie? Melanie, it’s me. Can you hear me?” I grabbed her wrist. She had a pulse. I held my hand a couple of inches from her mouth. She was breathing. Her bare face was still, though. Even though she was only just short of sixty, without her customary heavy makeup, she looked . . . old. Small. Fragile. She’d lost weight she didn’t need to lose and was now painfully thin. My heart swelled. In spite of everything she’d put me through, abandoning me when I was just out of high school, and generally annoying me every day since she’d been back in my life, she was still my mother. And always would be. I raised her bony hand to my lips and gave it a soft kiss before laying it back under the covers. “Help’s on the way,” I said. She gave a tiny nod.

Caitlyn Black, my mother’s joined-at-the-hip assistant, lay in the center bed. Liza looked at me over Caitlyn’s head. “She’s alive,” Liza said.

Caitlyn shifted. “Where’s my phone?” she said thickly. “I need my phone.” I hated to tell her, so I didn’t, that she and Melanie would be putting their business and social engagements on hold until they recovered, so her phone wouldn’t do her any good. But that was Caitlyn. Ever efficient, even though she was barely conscious.

Liza and I looked at each other. There was a third bed in the room, and it was occupied. Lydia must have drugged and/or poisoned the nurse as well. But Lydia had said she was going to finish off four people after she made it look like Liza had killed me. There were only three here.

I stared at the figure in the third bed.

No. No, no, no, no. It couldn’t be. She wasn’t even home from Greece yet. I raced toward her. Liza must have been right behind me, because she appeared at my side.

The figure in the bed had her back to me. But I’d recognize that dark head anywhere, anytime. I’d given birth to it, in a smaller version. Tears spilled out of my eyes as I sat on the edge of the mattress and put my hand on the shoulder, giving it a little caress. “Callista,” I whispered. “Honey, I’m here.”

She rolled toward me. “Mommy,” she said groggily. “Surprise.”