“You’ve been through hell! Oh. My. God. I just can’t imagine the trauma of seeing Cynthia on the lake on fire!”

“I try not to think about it.” Which was true.

“Oh right, right. Sorry. It’s just that I’m concerned.”

“I think I said I’m okay.”

“I know, but . . .” Then she caught the look in Harper’s eye and whatever she saw there made her voice trail off.

“Rhonda DeAngelo—er, Simms caught up with me when I left the police station the other day,” Harper said. “In fact, she was waiting for me.”

“She’s a pain. Remember how mousy she was in high school?” She didn’t wait for Harper to agree, just went on. “Well, you saw her, she’s definitely not a mouse anymore! More like a rat with fangs and fake boobs. Man, has that girl had some work done! I mean, really? How could she go from like a minus A to a double D?”

“Ouch! Harsh!”

“Who cares? It’s just the truth.”

“She said you told her that I was back in town.”

“No, no . . . she already knew that, but yeah, I guess I confirmed it. She had heard you were back, I don’t know how, maybe she has a leak in the police department or something and so she was going to visit you in the hospital and saw you getting into my car.” Beth shrugged. “No big deal, Harper. People are going to find out. But avoid her, if you can.”

“I will.”

Beth was already casting an appraising glance at the stairs and chandelier. “You know, if you want to sell this place, you really need to fix it up, make a few updates. Not too many, though, because the place has a certain charm.”

“Haunted house à la Transylvania?”

“No!” Beth laughed, ran a finger along the curved railing, and stared up at the high ceilings and the landing where the split staircase met. “More like one of a kind, authentic turn-of-the-century Queen Anne with original fixtures and incredible views.” She raised an eyebrow as she walked toward the back of the house, high heels clicking on the marble floor. “How many homes come with their own private island?”

“And their own unique, slightly macabre history?” Harper asked.

Beth reached the parlor and did a quick spin, surveying the room. “Well, we might not tell the buyerseverything, you know.”

“Hey, remember? I’m not sure I’m selling. I think I made that point when you drove me back from the hospital.”

“I thought you might be a little more clearheaded by now.”

“Not yet.” On one hand, Harper couldn’t get rid of this place fast enough; it held too many painful memories. But on the other hand, Dixon Island had once been her home and sanctuary.

“Well, I wouldn’t wait too long. Who knows where the market will go?” Beth said. Then, as if sensing Harper’s reluctance, “Okay, so let’s just assume you are going to sell,” Beth went on, peering into Gram’s bedroom, then the butler’s pantry, and even walking through the kitchen. Once back in the parlor she said, “First things first. If I were you, I’d deep-six the dolls. God, they’re everywhere and creepy as hell.” A pause, and then, “Oh, hello—seems like you’re already on my wave length.” She’d caught sight of Maude’s legs dangling out of the trash can. “See, that’s the idea. This is what you should do with all of them!”

Before Harper could stop her, she plucked the doll from the can. “Dear God, this one is pretty awful, but an antique, I guess.” She turned the doll over. “What’s this?” she asked, eyeing the message under Maude’s pinafore.

“Not really sure.”

Beth was shaking her head. “Nothing good. What does ‘ICU’ mean? Like you’re going to end up in the ICU? Shit, is it a warning of some kind?”

“Don’t know.”

“Tell me this,” she pointed to the red letters, “isnotblood.”

“Red marker, I think.”

Beth dropped the doll back into the trash, but her gaze was fastened to it, and she visibly flinched at the sound of Maude’s weak voice. “Who did that?”

“Again, don’t know.”

“Was it meant for you?”