“We’re so sorry. We didn’t know you were there,” Niall apologizes to the stunned woman.
“I came to find out if there’s any news about Cynthia,” she says.
“The vet told us to put the Elizabethan collar on that hairy mongrel first thing this morning. Then we were going to call the hospital, but all hell broke loose,” Niall says.
“Please come in and join us for breakfast,” Libby invites. “I’ll call now.”
“Thank you. I’d like that.”
After putting his apron on, Niall starts pulling items from the refrigerator.
Fran watches as he removes eggs, tomatoes, yellow peppers, mushrooms, a block of cheese, bacon, and sour cream.
“My stomach just growled. What are you making?” Fran asks.
“I call it ‘The Farmer’s Daughter.’” He smiles. “It’s Libby’s favorite. She loves avocados, so I finish it off with thick slices on top.”
“Did I hear my name?” Libby asks, stepping back into the kitchen from the phone call.
“Yes. Niall says he’s making ‘The Farmer’s Daughter,’” Fran replies.
“That’s my favorite,” Libby says with a smile.
“That’s just what he was saying. What’s the news on Cynthia? Is she okay?”
“She is. In fact, they’re releasing her this afternoon. I think it would be nice if we all went in the van to pick her up. After I clean up the mess in The Ink Well, I’ll head over to Austen cottage to see if Emma wants to join us.”
Hemingway smells the delicious scent through the kitchen windows. Never one to pass up food, he barks at the mudroom door.
Pulling the lower half of the Dutch door closed behind her so he can’t get into the kitchen, Libby lets Hemingway in. His paws are mud-caked, as is the bottom edge of the Elizabethan collar.
“I’m sorry, big guy, but the sooner your wounds heal, the sooner we can take that awful contraption off your head. If we remove it now, you’ll just lick the salve off your stitches.”
Laying down on his mat, Hemingway lets out a resigned harrumph and does his best to prop his head on top of his massive front paws.
While snipping bits of fresh parsley onto dollops of sour cream, Niall clears his throat and asks, “Ladies, do you really think Cynthia would want all of us there to pick her up?”
“Yes. Absolutely!” they say in unison. And with that, two battle-ready women launch into the merits of having all of them along.
A smart man, Niall knows to choose his battles. Clearly, this isn’t one he’d win.
“I’m stuffed. Thank you for such a lovely breakfast. It was delicious,” Fran says. “What time should I meet you at the van?”
“Cynthia’s going to be released after the doctor makes her one o’clock rounds. They suggested I call again before coming to make sure Dr. Zimmerman doesn’t change her mind for any reason. I’ll call the hospital at one-thirty, then ring you at Dickens cottage after I’ve confirmed her release.”
“That sounds great,” Fran says, patting her stomach. “In the meantime, I’m well-fueled and will write until you call.”
Libby turns to Niall. “If you clean the kitchen, I’ll take care of The Ink Well. Deal?”
“Deal.” Niall smiles.
It’s not nearly as bad as it could be, Libby thinks. A couple of furniture pillows are tossed from overstuffed chairs, and a few books are knocked off the shelves. The crash they’d heard was from Hemingway knocking over an oak stand as he bulldozed his way through.
Once righted, Libby picks up the Pines & Quill journal and lays it flat, open to the most recent page. She smiles when she notices a fresh entry, delighted that one of this month’s guests has written something.
Grabbing a pair of cheaters from the fireplace mantle, she reads the tight, precise script. Look in the mirror and what do you see? An eerie reflection that looks like me. It was signed, Andrew Berndt.
Foreboding wipes the smile off her face as if she’d been slapped. Heart-pounding alarm raises the hairs on the nape of her neck.
Libby recognizes the name from the newscasts and newspapers she’d watched and pored over after Mick’s accident. Andrew Berndt is one of the ringleaders who was arrested in conjunction with the drug heist on the night of Sam’s slaying. He was found hanging in his prison cell.
The other ringleader, his fraternal twin, is still at large.
CHAPTER 20
“In order to see a book through to the end, you have to have discipline, so carve out time every day—no excuses. When you get ready to write your novel, outline it first. There’s nothing worse than getting halfway through and realizing you’ve painted yourself in a plot corner.”
—JANET EVANOVICH
Mick is halfway to Pines & Quill when Libby’s ringtone jangles in his jeans pocket.
“Hey sis, I’m just heading back from talking with the police team on the bluffs. I’m going to swing by Austen to see Emma—”
“Mick, come straight to the main house. It’s urgent.”
Not pausing to question the dread in his sister’s voice, he bolts.
As she looks toward the mouth of the cave, Emma sees that day has just been born. With still-young light, she can just make out the shadowy shape of her wheelchair.
Nodding toward it, she asks Jason, “May I?”
It takes him a moment, but he finally responds. “Hmmm. I was thinking no, but since you asked so nicely, yes you may. I use positive reinforcement for training dogs. The look of astonishment when you inflict pain after a reward is extremely satisfying.”
Sickened, Emma keeps her tongue in check and drags herself across the guano-covered, rock-strewn ground.
Reaching the wheelchair, she assesses it carefully, sets it to rights, locks the wheels in place, and begins the difficult task of pulling herself up and into the seat.
Hearing soft applause, she turns to see Jason’s eyes locked on hers.
“Brava,” he says, feigning interest in her accomplishment. “You seem to have quite the upper-body strength.” Tapping his temple with his index finger, he says, “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”
“May I ask you a
