“MARGOT?” LAURA’S VOICE rang out from the other side of the bathroom door. “How are you today?”

I coughed a few times, then forced myself to stop. My throat was raw from all the coughing and throwing up I’d been doing.

It was day four of my illness, which seemed to be some kind of stomach flu. Even Laura, with her time-tested nursing skills, seemed a little squicked out by my never-ending ability to produce vomit.

“Okay,” I said. My voice was on the verge of giving out. I opened the bathroom door and Laura came in with a clean set of towels and washcloths.

She sighed when she saw me. “Goodness, you’ve been through it, haven’t you?”

I nodded. I wasn’t above a pity party. Lay it on me. If the devil himself wanted to give me sympathy, the door was open.

“Better than yesterday?” she asked. “You want to try breakfast?”

“No,” I said. “Just something to drink, please.”

“Got it,” she said. “Already on your nightstand.”

I’d been surviving on orange-flavored energy drinks, although I’d skipped the last couple because I was starting to feel like I was made from sugar. So I stuck with water and dry toast, eaten in narrow strips, one every fifteen minutes.

“Is John coming home today?” I asked.

Laura put her hands on her hips. Her voice was affectionate and exasperated. “It’s so sweet, how you look forward to his return. But the case he’s working on requires his presence in the city. He won’t be home for quite a while. It’s just us girls for now.”

It was the same answer she’d given me every day. I didn’t know why it seemed important for John to come back, but it did.

“If you’re feeling better, there’s something I’d like to show you,” she said.

I FOLLOWED HER down the hallway and through the doors to the green wing. Laura opened the double doors with a key.

A shadow of worry passed over my heart.

Calm down, it’s just a hallway. I’d been here before. So when she held the door open, I went in.

“I mentioned to you once that I have a hobby . . .” I followed her to the first door on the right—the sickroom. “Do you like the scented soaps and lotions that I’ve given you?”

“Yes,” I said. “They’re very nice.” Now my heart was thud-thudding. My spidey sense tingled. What was happening?

She pulled a small bottle from her pocket. “Oh, try this, it’s lovely.”

What? I took a small sniff, and the spicy aroma of cinnamon hit my nose.

“I’ve been thinking about my autumn scents a little early,” she said. “My mother and grandmother always did spiced apples and cranberry, but that seems so old-fashioned, doesn’t it? Every candle store in the country does spiced apples and cranberry.”