“I disagree,” Sam said, pleased when her eyes narrowed in response.

“I wasn’t aware I required your agreement regarding my own medical treatment,” she said, and probably would have gone forward from there if Benedict hadn’t stepped forward.

“Mrs. Webster,” he said, bowing smoothly. “I do apologize for my brother, but he does tend to get rather stubborn about things like these, and I’m afraid that if we pause to debate the point he’ll keep us arguing in this room until nightfall. Perhaps, in this one instance, a strategic retreat?”

Alva’s lips compressed, but she nodded. “Forgive me, Dr. Moore,” she said. “Of course I’m honored you would come all the way up here to examine me. Unnecessary though it may have been.”

“Perhaps you’ll let me be the judge of that,” Benedict said, ousting Sam from the chair and taking his place. “What was the nature of the accident?”

When no one answered him, he looked back at Sam. “If you expect me to be useful, you’re going to have to give me the facts.”

“I know,” Sam said. “It’s just … I don’t think you’ll believe me.”

“Try me.”

“Alva was haunted.”

Benedict stared at him, no change in his dry expression. “I see,” he said. “Are you concerned that she’s hallucinating, or that the ghost has somehow addled her mind?”

“Neither,” Alva said. “I’m perfectly sensible.”

“The latter,” Sam said, drawing an outraged gasp from the bed.

“In what way did this haunting manifest?”

“We were at the house,” Sam said. “Alva collapsed. She was unconscious for at least two minutes, her muscles were rigid, and her eyes weren’t tracking.” An echo of panic came back at the memory, and he pushed it away. Alva didn’t need panic; she needed someone with a clear head watching out for her. “When she came to, she reported visions that she was convinced were given to her by a ghost.”

Benedict frowned. “Are you epileptic, ma’am?”

“No,” she said. “And I know his story sounds bizarre. But it’s … I do believe I was briefly possessed by a supernatural presence.”

“You’ve never had seizures before today?”

“Never,” she said. “Do you think … Could it be some disorder of the mind?”

Benedict held up a pen and passed it back and forth in front of her. “What do you think?”

She paused. “I was haunted.”

“You don’t strike me as a fanciful woman, Mrs. Webster.”

“I’m not,” she said, speaking slowly, and nodded. “I’m not.”

He reached into his bag and removed a stethoscope. “Breathe in. Again. All right. My brother is the kind of person who holds fifteen different impossible ideas at any given time. In the thirty-some years I’ve known him, more of those impossible ideas have become possible than not. I’m not thrilled ghosts are one of the select.”

“Me neither,” Alva agreed emphatically.