“It’s just like we thought. Send an ambulance, he’s hurt. We’ll get him patched up. He’s lucky to be alive. I’ll check in shortly. Right. Thanks, Jim.”

She put the phone in her pocket and gave Ethan a long look.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said finally.

“I don’t need an ambulance. But I do need to sit down. Want to come in and tell me what the bloody hell is happening? My head’s about to explode.”

“Brookes isn’t here?”

“Not that I’m aware of. I’ve only just woken up, you see. I had a run-in with a board or a bat of some kind, been out for a while.”

A police cruiser pulled up in front of the house with two officers in it.

“Stay right here. Don’t move,” she said, then walked back out the kissing gate. All three got in the car. They conferred for a moment, then doors were flung open and people scattered. One started around back, the other took up position on the front porch. Graham hurried Ethan back inside.

“What the hell is going on?” And then it came back to him, the phone call. “Sutton—”

“Mr. Montclair, I have a lot of information to share and not a lot of time to do it. Come and sit down. I’ll get you some ice.”

Ethan didn’t demur. He felt like he’d pulled five Gs straight into a wall, a crash test dummy whiplashed into being. He sat heavily at the kitchen table and accepted a Ziploc bag of ice and a kitchen towel from Graham. He applied these to his face.

“Talk. Please,” he said.

“Sutton is alive.”

“I know. She called me. I heard her voice, thought I might have been dreaming. And then it all went to pot.”

“Your wife is in Paris. Currently in police custody but they’re willing to discuss extradition.”

“Paris? Custody? What did she do?”

“The Paris police thought she killed two people, and arrested her. Sort of like we thought you killed Sutton.”

Ethan tried to wrap his head around these alien words. Sutton. Paris. Murder. It was too much. His head throbbed.

“Terribly sorry, but can you get me some Advil? Cabinet by the fridge.”

She retrieved the bottle, handed him two pills. He swallowed them dry, then said, “We’ve been set up, haven’t we?”

Graham set the bottle on the table, put her hands on her hips. “I think so, Mr. Montclair. Some of it has been proven, some is conjecture. But it looks like your good friend Ivy Brookes is out to get you.”

“She certainly knocked me out. Sutton called and Ivy attacked me. Which makes no sense, as she was in the process of trying to seduce me. I think. I’m a little fuzzy.”

“Well, here’s what we know—”