“The house is named Morgade Hall after the family who lived in it,” Max told them. “Gerard Morgade was a newspaperman in the early part of the twentieth century. He made a fortune in the business—”

“As a writer?” Kellen could hardly believe that.

“Owner. Probably insider trading. Blackmail. He had a reputation as a ruthless businessman, universally loathed. He bought the island, hired a contractor who built the house using a fleet of boats and scores of workers, and moved his family here. The lack of anchorage kept them isolated while he traveled between the island and the mainland on his yacht. In the fifties, he died here, the last of his family.”

“His wife?”

“Died in 1948.”

“He had no children?”

“Four or five kids. None survived the forties. I know the oldest daughter got murdered by her husband in, I think, 1949.”

Kellen glared at him. Rae knew about Kellen’s first husband, about the abuse she’d suffered, and because of that, Rae worried about her mother and women in general.

He must have realized what he’d said, for he quickly continued, “People died earlier in those days. There’s a cemetery not far from the house.” He flew them west and showed them the small fenced and overgrown graveyard. “Living on this island, they might not have gotten the medical attention they needed when they were hurt or ill. Or maybe it was the war.”

“Why couldn’t they fly to the mainland?” Rae asked.

“Helicopters came into their own in the 1950s, so if there was a storm and their yacht couldn’t put to sea, they had to stay put.” Max glanced back at Rae. “In fact, that’s still a problem. Northern California has its share of big storms, mostly in the winter, but we could get stuck here.”

Rae confounded Kellen with her response. “In a storm? Cool.”

“I know you’re not afraid of storms, but you want to be stuck here?” Kellen asked.

“If I have to be stuck here anyway, I might as well have a good reason.” That sounded reasonable and only a little surly.

“If you’ve seen everything you want, I’ll land now.” Max didn’t wait for an answer, but brought the helicopter down fast enough to make Rae squeal and Kellen put her hand on her stomach. At the last moment, he pulled up and gently set the helicopter on the edge of the yard. He turned to her and grinned. “Like a roller coaster, isn’t it?”

Kellen grinned back. He hadn’t worried about whether the swift descent would cause her brain to hemorrhage or rattle in her skull or any of the things he had worried about and the doctors had assured him wouldn’t happen. He was like a mischievous man-boy, a husband who enjoyed teasing his wife, and she liked that. She liked it a lot. Maybe the run of Kellen’s Brain was almost over.