“Cindy climbed back into the other bed. The curtains blew out from the open windows. I felt safe with the two of them. I went to sleep again, dreaming of Blackwood Manor, dreaming of Tommy living with us, dreaming of Mona, dreaming of so many things, but never bad things, never ghosts, never evil spirits, never darkness, never disaster, never death.

“Had Petronia really been there? Was it a spell? I’ll never know.

“But let me bring to a close the story of our happy wanderings. Because it did come time for us to go home.

“Aunt Queen could go no farther. She was simply too weak; her blood pressure was too high. She had sprained her wrist, and who knew when an ankle sprain would more severely hamper her? She was also battling some form of arthritis and her joints had begun to swell. Her exhaustion was defeating her. She could not keep up with her own pace. She was angry with her own weakness.

“Finally, Cindy, the nurse, became adamant. ‘I love these grand hotels as much as anybody,’ she said, ‘but you belong at home, Aunt Queen! You’re going to take a bad fall! You can’t go on like this.’

“I joined my voice to Cindy’s and so did little Tommy, who was by this time a pretty tall twelve years of age, and finally Nash chimed in with a solemn declaration: ‘Mrs. McQueen, you’ve been valiant, but it is now time for you to retire to Blackwood Manor and reign in state as the irrepressibly entertaining steel magnolia which we all know you to be.’

“We were in Cairo when the decision was reached, and we flew on to Rome, where our adventure had begun, for a last few nights at the Hotel Hassler. I knew by this time that I had been negligent in not proposing the return because I had not wanted to be accused of self-interest in my love and longing for Mona.

“And I was anxious about Mona. She hadn’t answered my E-mails for over two weeks.

“As soon as we were checked in—I was in a huge suite with a very long broad terrace, right below Aunt Queen, who had the penthouse with Cindy—I tried to reach Mona by phone and got a taciturn, somewhat solemn Rowan.

“ ‘She’s in Mayfair Medical for some tests, Quinn,’ she said. ‘She’s likely to be there for several months. She won’t be able to see you.’

“ ‘My God, you mean she’s taken a turn for the worse!’ I said. ‘Dr. Mayfair, tell me the truth. What’s happening to her?’