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patient’s family learns the terminology of disease. Within days of her mother’s ovarian cancer diagnosis, Brenna could speak with authority about cell migration and colon blockage percentages.
    â€œAt any rate, Mother had a terrible fall yesterday afternoon, into the ravine out past the back gardens. We’re still trying to sort out what happened. Dad says she was with him in the house one minute, and then gone the next. He didn’t think she’d go outside because of the rain, but she’d been very agitated—”
    Vincent Underhill stood up suddenly. “I’m sorry. If you’ll excuse me—” He turned to go, then turned back. “Very sorry.”
    Ford didn’t continue until his father was well into the house and out of sight. “We, ah, this thing has sort of kicked us all in the ass. We just can’t figure it. Never a hint that she was considering suicide. And the timing couldn’t have been worse for me—”
    â€œTen days before the goddamned spring primary,” Raskin said.
    â€œPhil, please,” Ford said. “I’d started to say how insignificant that is compared to what Dad’s going through. He’s blaming himself for losing track of her, and it’s really tormenting him. He’s just been—” His voice trailed off.
    â€œYou were saying about your mother?” Brenna prompted, waiting for someone to bring up the witness, or the crime lab’s apparent interest.
    â€œYes, she gets that way. Agitated. So many things upset her and there’s just no way to predict it.” Ford pointed toward the gardens, which covered at least two acres behind the house. “It drops off pretty abruptly out there near the gazebo.”
    Brenna squinted into the distance. The gardens ended in a clean line at the edge of the property. The ravine, she figured. A large filigreed gazebo sat on its edge like the top of some enormous wedding cake. Beyond the dropoff, she saw nothing but the gentle chop of forested western Pennsylvania hills rolling like a green ocean to the horizon.
    â€œAs I said, we’re still trying to understand what happened out there. But the short version is that Mother ended up at the bottom of a pretty sheer twenty-foot drop.”
    â€œShe’s how old again?” Brenna asked.
    â€œSeventy,” Ford said. “It’s remarkable she’s alive.”
    Leigh Underhill leaned forward. “A miracle, really.”
    Ford nodded. “Not surprising, in some ways. Before she was diagnosed six years ago, Mother used to talk about how she intended to die in the show ring at a hundred and five. So this little episode simply won’t do. Mother hates script changes.”
    Brenna pulled a legal pad from her briefcase and laid it on the table, then uncapped her Mont Blanc, a gift from Jim. This might be the one place she wouldn’t feel self-conscious using a $400 pen. She needed specific information, sooner rather than later. “What law-enforcement agency did you say is involved?”
    Ford reached for the pitcher of tea and poured himself a glass before answering. “Allegheny County Sheriff.”
    â€œDid you or anyone in the family speak to the investigators?” Brenna felt herself tense, anticipating the answer.
    â€œThey took statements from everyone who was on the property at the time,” he said. “Mother, too, down at the hospital. Like I said, she wasn’t much help. Everyone else answered their questions as best they could. We have nothing to hide.”
    Probably nothing to worry about either, she thought. Despite the crime lab’s interest in Floss’s fingernails, Sheriff Sherman Mercer wasn’t called “Sherm the Worm” without reason. The man’s whole career was made possible by the thick Pittsburgh accent that made him a favorite with the electorate and his willingness to serve as an obliging toady to Allegheny