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us, and we all ran across the stable yard.
    A cluster of people had already gathered outside a stall door. By the way they were bumping into each other and rushing around, I could see something was very wrong. There was shouting, and someone called for an ambulance. Libby shoved through the crowd, dragging me with her. Someone tried to bar our way, but Libby gave him a push and he gave up. We blundered inside the stall.
    A knot of people were bent over a figure in the fresh straw.
    On the other side of the stall, Emma lay flat out, her booted legs spread at a vulgar angle, her clothing dirty, her beautiful face completely blank and very white. Blood smeared her hands and jeans.
    "Oh, God," I said. "Please, no."
    I don't remember how I reached her body, but I went down on my knees in the straw and felt for her pulse. Her head lolled away from my hand. Spike jumped out of my handbag and seized Emma's shirtsleeve in his teeth. He began to yank. Behind me, Libby went into hysterics.
    With probing fingertips, I found a pulse in Emma's throat. When I called her name, she did not respond. Spike let go of her sleeve and began to yap.
    Inches from her hand in the straw, as if dropped when she had passed out, glittered her silver flask. Libby snatched it up. The cap was missing. The flask was empty.
    "She's not dead," Libby prayed above me. "She's not dead, she's not dead."
    Farther away in the straw lay Emma's riding crop. She had taped the handle to fit her grip, and I recognized it. The leather looked wet and dark.
    Suddenly, Tim was there. He shouldered me aside and knelt in the straw, reaching competently to help my sister. He called her name and smacked her cheek with enough force to make me gasp. But I thought I saw Emma's eyes roll back in her head. I put my hands on her shoulders and shook her. "Em!"
    Over Libby's sobbing, I heard other people arrive. Someone pulled me to my feet to give Tim room to work. A voice began talking to 911 on a cell phone, and the stall started to spin around me. The air was very hot and hard to breathe.
    Thomasina Silk came over, agitated and very white. "Tim. Tim, it's Rush Strawcutter. I think he's dead."
    I tried to draw a breath and couldn't.
    "Tim!" Thomasina tried again. "Did you hear me? There's blood everywhere. He's been hit in the head. I think Rush is dead."
    Still bent over Emma, Tim said, "Then I can't do anything for him."
    "What about Emma?" I said.
    Tim looked up at me, but he seemed to telescope to a distant place. "Hold her," he said to someone far away. "She's fainting."
    A black wave slammed over me and I was swept away.
    Chapter 3
    At the hospital, the ER staff immediately whisked Emma into a treatment room. Libby and I were escorted more slowly to another cubicle, where a young nurse and a doctor with a goatee fussed over me. While they tried to determine the cause of my faint, a patient-care representative brought frequent updates on Emma's condition. Alcohol poisoning was the most serious concern.
    "They're pumping her stomach," was the first report.
    "She's coming around a little."
    Then, "The doctor's with her. She's awake and talking."
    And finally, "Your sister's quite a handful, isn't she?"
    I felt as if I'd been hit by a truck. The weight of calamity was so heavy it made me dizzy, and I could barely sit up. Surprising the hell out of me, my sister Libby pulled herself together first and spoke firmly to my doctor.
    "She faints all the time. It's nothing new and nothing serious."
    "Any loss of consciousness is serious."
    "Not with Nora. She's very tenderhearted. It's all emotional. I'm emotional too, of course, but my constitution is stronger. I had a baby just a few weeks ago, and you don't see me looking wan, do you?"
    "Certainly not."
    The doctor had an earring as well as the neat goatee. He had slender hands, too, and he toyed with a Cross pen as he contemplated the state of Libby's health. He said, "You're vibrant."
    "Vibrant!" Libby smiled, and her hand strayed