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“Maybe you should talk to her,” Ophelia said slowly to the detective, ignoring Ravinia’s smirk of achievement.
Savannah followed the two Colony women back inside Catherine’s room and gazed over at the woman who’d been so tough and in control just days before. Now, lying on her back, her eyes closed, Catherine looked older and more fragile than her actual fifty-plus years.
“Aunt Catherine?” Ophelia said quietly, placing one of her hands over one of Catherine’s.
It took two more tries before Catherine’s eyes fluttered open. Savvy had just opened her mouth to say that maybe it was better to wait when Catherine’s gaze centered first on Ophelia, then Ravinia, then Savannah.
Ravinia said, “The detective was here at the hospital and wanted to see you.”
“Savannah Dunbar,” Savvy said, reintroducing herself.
“I know who you are,” Catherine said in a voice that sounded dry and rusty. She cleared her throat and added, “Ophelia?”
“Earl brought me. Isadora’s at the lodge with the others.”
Catherine nodded her understanding. She seemed to collect herself with an effort, and when she spoke, it was to Savannah. “You . . . found out about . . . my question?”
Catherine clearly didn’t want the other two to know about the knife, so Savannah answered obliquely, “I was at the hospital because I had my baby last night.” And my sister died, she said to herself silently. The real reason she’d ended up at Ocean Park.
“Is he all right?” Catherine asked instantly, a look of concern on her face, and Savvy saw that she’d inadvertently telegraphed her feelings about Kristina.
“He’s fine. Better than fine. Great, actually.”
The older woman relaxed a bit. “What did you name him?”
“Uh . . . he’s not mine to name.” Another wave of sadness caught at the back of her throat. “I was a surrogate for my sister and her husband. The last I heard, she and Hale were thinking of naming him Declan, after his great-grandfather, but I don’t really know if—” She cut herself off at Catherine’s swift intake of breath.
“Aunt Catherine?” Ophelia asked with concern.
“Excuse me. I’m sorry.” Catherine touched a hand to the side of her head, where an ugly bruise had formed near her temple. “Did you say you were a surrogate for Hale St. Cloud?”
“You know him?” Savannah asked.
Ravinia had been gazing at Savannah with laserlike intensity, but now she turned to her aunt. Ophelia looked a little startled, like she either wasn’t following the conversation or was surprised by where it had turned.
“I know of him,” Catherine said, ignoring both of her nieces. “You grow up around here, you know everybody. Girls . . . do you mind leaving me with the detective for a moment?”
Ravinia said, “Why? What can’t we hear?”
“I just need a little privacy.”
Ophelia hustled the resisting Ravinia toward the door. “Can I get you anything, Aunt Catherine?” she asked over her shoulder. “Something to drink?”
“A cup of tea would be wonderful,” Catherine said.
As soon as Ravinia and Ophelia were out of earshot, Savvy said, “I followed up on your request. The knife’s being tested now.”
“Take a seat, Detective,” Catherine said. “You look . . . tired.”
Savvy did as suggested, sinking gratefully into one of the two straight-backed chairs in the corner. “But I put it through as a possible homicide investigation, not as a private request,” she added.
“That’s not what I asked for!” Catherine said sharply.
“I’m sorry, but you think someone killed your sister. That’s what I’m getting from you, and it may come to an exhumation—”
“My sister’s remains are not to be disturbed. I just want to know if there’s any blood, other than Mary’s, on that knife.”
“Well, that’s the problem,” Savvy stated flatly. “You said she was stabbed, so it’s up to the ME to determine whether it was accidental or intentional.”
