“No,” I said. “I mean, yes. Everything is fine. I just—I was wondering—do you have anything I could take for a headache?”

“A headache?” Her eyes narrowed in concern. “Oh, goodness. It must be a bad one for you to come down so early.”

“Um.” I closed my eyes. “It’s okay. It’s just . . . I just woke up with it.”

“Oh, dear. Come with me.”

She led the way to the kitchen and then pulled a small key ring from her pocket and unlocked a cabinet in the corner.

I tried to hide my surprise—she basically had a full-fledged pharmacy. Every shelf was lined with neatly organized clusters of medicines: pill bottles, liquid bottles, even some syringes.

“It looks like a lot,” she said, smiling. “But most of it is basic stuff—for colds, allergies—because it’s hard to find those things in town sometimes.”

That made sense, although I kind of wondered what the rest of it was. I knew Agatha took a lot of pills, but this couldn’t all be for her.

She pulled down a simple white bottle and shook a couple of small brown tablets out of it, then held them out to me.

I stared at her open palm.

“It’s ibuprofen,” she said. “I buy generic. Would you rather take just one? If it’s a bad headache, you should take two.”

“It’s not so bad,” I said, handing one back. Then I got myself a cup of water and, because Laura was watching me, swallowed the pill.

“Why don’t you go back to bed?” she asked, locking the cabinet. “Get some more sleep and come down when you feel better.”

I’d gotten plenty of sleep, so obeying her would mean staring at the ceiling until enough time had passed that I could pretend to feel better.

But it was too late to back out now, so upstairs I went.

Agatha sat up and looked at me in alarm as I came in.

“It’s okay,” I said. “Your mom will be up in a minute. I’m just going to rest for a while.”

She kept watching me.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

I walked closer to her bed. “Ags, are you all right? Are you worried about something?”

Her gaze remained intent on my face.

“About me? Don’t worry about me. I’m okay. Are you okay?”

No answer.

“You were trying to talk last night,” I said. “You said I. I what?”

Behind me, the sound of the door being decisively opened.

Then, sharply, Laura said, “Margot, get away from her!”

I was too confused not to jump back, and then I stared at Laura, thinking something was wrong.

Something was wrong. It was me.

Laura stared me down. “Did I, or did I not, ask you to come upstairs and get in bed?”

“Yes, but Agatha seemed—”