When she pulled into the driveway at the Inn, she wondered when she should stop thinking about it as an Inn and start to face reality. It was Friday—four weeks to the day before their guests were due to arrive. Before their account would have money coming in instead of going out, or, as was the case now, before it would come in instead of inching closer to maxing out Earl and Kevin’s American Express accounts. They didn’t need to share the numbers with her for Annie to know that disaster was imminent.

As she parked the Jeep, she decided to sleep at the cottage again that night, before Donna came back. But first she would do the laundry and give the whole place a good scrubbing, which would be nice for Donna, not to mention that the activity might help boost Annie’s mood.

With renewed purpose, Annie hauled the groceries and the other bags out of the back seat and made her way to the cottage. Just as she reached her front door, her phone rang. Juggling her purchases, she fished in her purse, pulled out her keys with one hand and the phone with the other, assuming that the caller would be John. So she didn’t bother to check caller ID.

“Annie? Larry Hendricks.”

She stopped. She squeezed her eyes shut. Next to Mark, Larry was the last person she wanted to talk to. Ever again. She almost hit the END button, but then remembered the skull and all the people that the outcome would affect.

“What?” Her tone was angry; she could not seem to help it.

“First, I’m sorry Mark was with me. But whatever stupid thing he did to you, he’s still my friend. He’s often mentioned trying to find you, so . . .”

“Is that why you called, Larry? Because if so, I am not interested. Not even a little.”

Silence hung in the late day air. Annie unlocked her door and snapped on the light. The place was tiny, but so homey. It was who she was now. She was no longer the person she had been when she’d been with Mark. Thank God.

“I’m also calling about the skull,” he said. “It’s a man. But really ancient. More than a century old.”

Before her legs could give out, she dropped into the rocking chair, her bags sliding to the floor. A giant sigh escaped her lungs. “Jonas,” she said.

“What?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. Thank you for the information. Do they know if it’s Native American?”

“Not yet. I’ll keep you posted. And again, I’m sorry about Mark.” And then Larry hung up as quickly as he’d called.