“I think mostly she wishes I wouldn’t find bodies.”

“You can’t blame her for that. How would you feel if you daughter found bodies?”

“I wouldn’t hold it against her.”

He chuckled again and left me.

The operator put through my call immediately.

“Hello.” Anarchy sounded stronger. Still tired, but stronger.

“It’s good to hear your voice.” I couldn’t keep the smile off my face if I tried.

“Yours too.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

Fine. He’d been bitten by a venomous snake. There was no way he felt fine. He was hiding something from me. Well, I had a secret of my own. “I have a surprise for you.”

“You caught the killer?”

“No.” I took a breath. “Mother and Grace are on their way to see you.”

“What?” His voice boomed through the phone. “Now? Why?”

“They came to the club. But Mother needs doctors to bully, and I don’t want Grace anywhere near whoever killed Graham and Buffy.”

“So you sent them to me?”

“I’ll worry less if I know Mother is watching over you.” If there was any issue with his health, she’d wear down the doctors until it was solved.

“She’ll terrify the staff.”

“They might discharge you sooner.”

“Don’t pretend there’s a bright side.”

“I love you.”

He huffed. “You’re lucky you’re fabulous.”

“Am I?”

“You are. And I love you, too.”

I paused in front of Liz and Perry's cabin door and collected my thoughts. It wasn’t as if I could come right out and ask her if Willa and Thatch had killed Graham and Buffy.

This conversation needed delicacy and finesse. I was in short supply of both.

A twig snapped behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder.

Merit, who came from the direction of Sumner's cabin, gave me a half-hearted wave, and asked, "Do you know when the sheriff might let us leave?"

“He's interviewing the staff now.”

“We can leave when he’s done?”

“He may have follow up questions. “

She sighed her frustration. “This whole situation has been awful. We never should have come.”

“Why did you?”

She stared at me.

“It doesn’t seem as if you enjoy our company.”

“You gossip.”

“Everyone gossips.”

“I don't.”

“You can tell yourself that—”

“Because it’s true! You’re an artist, not some pandering prole. You should be above wagging your tongue.”

“Like you?”

She lifted her nose in the air.

“I want to know if someone’s daughter is getting married or having a baby. I can throw a shower. I want to know if someone is sick. I can send flowers or soup or the latest bestseller. I want to know if someone is having difficulties. I can be there for them.” Or ask Aggie to bake a Bundt cake.

“You make gossip sound benign. What about cheating spouses?”