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“Why didn’t she ‘get’ him, too? She acts like she could get anybody, any man. She seemed to think . . . Oh. He’s the D.!” Ravinia thumbed through the journal again and read the second entry. “‘C., I can take D. from you. Don’t think I can’t. Be smart about him, or I’ll prove my power to you. Give him up now, before you make me do something I don’t want to.’” Ravinia lifted her gaze to Catherine’s obdurate face. “She was talking about Declan. Your lover. She wanted you to give him up, or she would take him from you.”
Catherine didn’t respond, but she didn’t deny it, either.
“What happened to Declan?” Ravinia asked.
“I gave him up,” she said with forced lightness.
“Where is he now?”
“He’s alive and well and running Bancroft Development with his grandson, Hale St. Cloud. He was a widower, and . . . your mother and I were both attracted to older men. I saw him on the beach and . . .” She left the thought unfinished.
“You shouldn’t have given him up,” Ravinia said.
Catherine turned to glare blindly at her. “Your mother was a powerful force. She had a sexual energy that she could lasso men with. I couldn’t have her do that to Declan. Couldn’t. I wouldn’t.” She blinked several times. “Oh, there . . . there . . . I’m beginning to see again,” she said in relief. “But none of this matters, don’t you see? It’s just a piece of Mary’s past. It doesn’t have any bearing on anything! Get me Isadora. Please. Ravinia. I need her. And Earl,” she added as an afterthought.
“Why did Earl come to the gates?”
Her aunt eyed her carefully for several moments, but then she said, “Because he saw a fire on Echo Island, when no one should be there.”
Ravinia’s lips formed “Who?” but she didn’t utter it.
Catherine, however, answered her as if she had. “The man from the bones.”
Nurse Baransky caught up with Savvy while she was looking through the window at the babies in the neonatal center. “Ms. Dunbar, we have further information we need to get from you. Mr. St. Cloud gave us as much as he knew last night, but we need your insurance card, and also there are some practical considerations that need to be addressed, as well.”
Savannah had zeroed in on Declan, but her mind was in a fog. Kristina . . . God, Kristina. “Uh-huh?”
“Are you planning on breast-feeding?”
“Uh . . . no . . .”
“Then you will want to stop your milk from coming in. You’ll need to have a shot.”
Savannah turned to stare at the nurse. Kristina hadn’t wanted her to breast-feed; she’d been leery of Savannah bonding too much with her baby, though she hadn’t said as much in words. But breast-feeding was better for the child; everyone knew that.
“Maybe you should go back to your room,” the nurse said kindly as she witnessed fresh tears entering Savannah’s eyes.
“No, no. I’m okay. I do want to breast-feed,” she said now. “I do.”
“You’ll be giving the baby colostrum first, and it’s very important,” Nurse Baransky assured her.
Savvy nodded, unable to speak. How would Hale feel about it? she asked herself, then, as she followed after Nurse Baransky, decided she didn’t really care. She would ask forgiveness rather than permission. Maybe Kristina hadn’t wanted her to breast-feed while she was alive, but she also believed that her sister would want what was best for her child no matter what.
Hale drove carefully over the heavy snowpack on his way north from the hospital toward home. He had cleaned out his car somewhat at the hospital the night before and planned to do a better job later, but for now he just wanted to go home and sleep. He had some of Savannah’s clothes still in the vehicle, too, but it was the sight of her wearing Kristina’s pink blouse this morning that seemed burned on the back of his retinas.
He’d wanted to stay with her, but she’d pulled away from him upon learning about Kristina. He got it—she needed her space—but he felt like he could have held on to her forever. Now, as he drove the final miles, he was weighed down with exhaustion, his adrenaline store tapped out. The hospital was keeping both Savannah and his son till tomorrow at the very least. He needed to go home and get some energy back.
He’d expected Kristina to survive. He really had. He’d never imagined she would really die. She was resilient and tough and so alive. Once Savvy and Declan were safe, he’d been ready to fight for her and make their marriage work, no matter what it took. He’d been on such a high after seeing the birth of his son! Helping save him and Savannah . . . he was Superman! And Superman could fix the problems he and Kristina faced.
But now he was drain
ed, untethered, completely at sea. How had this happened? How could Kristina have died?
“Crime scene,” Officer Mills had said.
What the hell did that really mean? Who had killed her? Was it just random bad luck, her being inside the house at that time? Had Kristina run into a psychotic vagrant or thief at the Carmichaels’? Or stumbled into someone else’s rendezvous?
But why was she there in the first place? Why crawl in through a window?
