“Right. Never mind.” She rubbed her arms. No matter what Mark Lewiston did or did not do, the thought of him still made her skin crawl. “But let’s change the subject. Where’s Earl, anyway? I thought the painting was his job?”

“He had to pick something up from the boat.”

“The big boat?”

“Dunno. I guess.”

“Okay. I’ll check on Donna and let you get back to work.”

Kevin picked up his paintbrush and wagged it at Annie. “Let me know what you think, okay? About her . . . condition?”

“You’ll be the first,” Annie said, her stomach suddenly knotting. She paused, took a deep breath, then went downstairs and outside, striding across the terrace with false confidence, heading down the sloping lawn. Which was when she saw Earl at the cottage, struggling to maneuver a large box up the front steps.

“Need a hand?” she called.

He looked up and smiled. “Or a forklift, if you have one.”

She scooted down the hill; she saw that the box was actually a wooden crate, standing upright, strapped to a moving dolly.

They tipped it to one side, then the other, and managed it up to the door.

“What the heck is in here?” Annie asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he grunted.

That’s when Annie saw a label with Donna’s name and Annie’s address. Below that were block letters stenciled in black: 15.4”h x 33.9”w x 15.7”d. L. VUITTON.

“Your mom asked me to pick it up at the boat. She said it’s something she’s going to need.”

“But she didn’t ask Kevin to get it.”

“Nope. And she asked me not to tell either of you before I got it here. Don’t ask me why. I learned from Claire that when a woman is doing the asking, it’s usually better for me to just do what I’m told.”

They angled the thing through the doorway and into the cottage. How curious, Annie thought. Then she took over, wheeling it to the sofa, unstrapping the crate, and sliding it off the dolly. She supposed it wouldn’t be right to crack one of the slats and peek inside. Even though Donna wasn’t in the room.

Which led Annie to wonder where the heck she was. Had she been sleeping since last night? It was nearly two o’clock—shouldn’t she be awake?

Glancing into the bedroom, Annie saw that Donna was, indeed, in bed, nestled under the white comforter.

“Donna?” Annie whispered. When there was no reply, she said, “Mom? Are you awake?”

Still, no reply.

She tiptoed closer, not wanting to startle her, but convinced it was past time for her to rise and shine. Sleeping all day could not be good for her condition, whatever it was.

“Mom?” Annie said again as she touched Donna’s shoulder.

There was no response.