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one I’m familiar with is used for medical purposes—it temporarily paralyzes the patient. Some patients react to it afterward with muscle twitches, especially when awakening. It’s one of those things you observe as a nurse, and I observed it with you.”
    “Did you tell that to the police?”
    “When you were here, the police were interested only in what the first responders and doctors had to say, not a lowly nurse.” Andy met Tristan’s eyes. “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
    Tristan nodded slowly as he realized what this information meant. “That I might have been given a drug that would keep me from running or swimming to safety, a drug that would prevent me from fighting back.” A chill swept over him. “That this thing that landed me in the hospital, it wasn’t just an argument that got out of hand or a fight between two drunk guys. It was premeditated murder.”
    “And the person who tried it the first time,” Andy said, “might try it again. Be careful.”
    Tristan heard the soft beep of Andy’s pager.
    The nurse ignored it. “Do you have a safe place to go?”
    “Yes,” Tristan lied.
    “You’re sure?”
    “Yes.”
    The beeper sounded a second time, and Andy glanced at it. “Sorry. I’ve got to get upstairs.”
    “Are you going to tell the police you’ve seen me?”
    “What do you think?”
    Tristan stood up, picked up his coffee, and swirled it around in the paper cup. “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t report being contacted by a murderer.”
    Andy nodded. “And I don’t understand why, on one morning, I was given two patients with strange medical histories, a guy who still can’t remember anything about the killer he is supposed to be, and a girl who should have been dead on arrival but left the hospital with barely a scratch. I truly don’t understand it. But twenty-three years of nursing have taught me to respect miracles and simply do what I’m trained to do—heal.”
    “Thank you.”
    “However,” Andy added as they parted, “I might report the stolen robe.”

Seven
    “GO AHEAD! REALLY, I MEAN IT. I CAN FINISH THE BEDS,” Ivy told Dhanya and Kelsey at two o’clock that afternoon, shooing them down the inn’s second floor hall. After serving breakfast, she, Kelsey, and Dhanya had vacuumed rooms, wiped out sinks, and changed towels, while Will took care of the suites in the barn. Now Will was outside with Beth, finishing up the yard work. Ivy wondered if Aunt Cindy had noticed Beth’s strangeness and purposely assigned her niece a job that kept her away from the guests.
    “I’m not in a hurry. I can handle what’s left,” Ivy said.
    “But I thought you were going with us to Chatham,” Dhanya protested.
    “Another day,” Ivy replied. “Promise.”
    Kelsey dumped a load of folded sheets in Ivy’s arms. “C’mon, Dhanya, we’re wasting time. Gather ye daisies while ye may.”
    “It’s rosebuds , Kelsey. Gather ye rosebuds,” Dhanya told her friend. With one last glance at Ivy, she followed Kelsey down the back steps.
    It had been nine days since Tristan had escaped arrest. Ivy felt as if it was getting harder rather than easier: the not knowing, the creeping fears that something had happened to him and she would never know. She preferred work to lying in the sun—she preferred any activity to sitting still and thinking.
    Ivy had just begun to separate the clean sheets for today’s check-ins when Aunt Cindy called to her from the stairway landing.
    “Ivy, would you come downstairs? Ms. Donovan’s here.”
    Aunt Cindy never called Rosemary Donovan “Officer.” Perhaps , Ivy thought, to keep guests from worrying about a maid continually being checked on by the police . And the young police woman often came before she began her shift, dressed in casual clothes. Ivy suspected Officer Donovan was attempting to develop a trusting relationship with her in the hope of catching “Luke.”
    “I’m finishing the beds,” Ivy said,