John stood at the foot of the stairs, dressed in tan slacks and a green sweater. He looked better today than the day before—happier. Maybe the stress of having lured me here had worn on him, and now that the hard part was done, he’d managed to sleep it off.

“I’m sorry I missed dinner last night,” he said, pausing to wait for me as I came down the steps. “Was the food all right? You don’t have any allergies, do you?”

“It was great,” I said. “Um . . . I’m allergic to eggplant, but that’s it.”

“Really? Eggplant? I’ve never heard of that.” He smiled. “I mean, I’ve heard of eggplant, but not of being allergic to it.”

“It helps that I hate it,” I said.

“I hate it, too. Spongy, you know?” He was downright jolly. “Are you headed to breakfast? You look nice. Did you bring those clothes with you?”

“Yes—to breakfast,” I said. “And no, I didn’t bring them. Laura gave them to me.”

“Good, good. Like I said, we’re happy to provide whatever you need. Talk to Laura about it and she’ll arrange everything. She’s a world champion in arranging things.”

“She’s been very helpful,” I said.

He was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, the carefree happiness had drained from his voice, leaving in its place a bleakness that made me realize it was all an act. All the hey-ho and good-humored compliments and small talk were part of a mask that hid something else. Something darker.

“She’s a very caring woman,” he said. “And her heart has been broken—more than once, I’m afraid.”

And that’s when I realized that my happy face had been a mask, too.

“But I don’t have to lecture you about that,” John said quietly. “I imagine you know all about it.”

“I’LL BE RIGHT downstairs if you need me,” Laura said for the eighth time. “Just open the door and—actually, I’ll leave the door open. Give a yell and I’ll come right up.”

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” I said. In spite of the dread I felt at being left alone with Agatha (John’s idea, and apparently when John had an idea, we all went along with it), Laura’s nervous energy was on the verge of making me laugh. What exactly did she think was going to happen? Agatha, the cause of all this anxiety, was currently sitting in her chair and staring placidly out the window. Today she wore a sage-green dress with softly ruffled cap sleeves. Her hair, so perfect it could have been a wig, fell over her shoulders in bouncing layers.

Finally, Laura had no choice but to retreat down to her office (“the morning room”) and leave Agatha and me to deal with each other.