“If you could just give me a moment,” Davis said.

“This is pointless. I know I don’t have any relatives in Vermont.”

“Is your father’s name Frank?”

Jenna shivered violently, her skin instantly clammy and her heart racing.

“Jenna?” Alice said. “You just went white as a sheet. What is it? Let me take this call.”

Alice held out her hand for the phone, but Jenna shook her head. She swallowed but her throat was so dry it hurt. “Yes, but that’s an awfully common name. I told you, I don’t know anyone in Vermont.”

“What about Lancaster, PA?” Davis asked quietly.

Jenna closed her eyes. “Not anymore.”

“We believe that Elizabeth Hardy is related to the Frank Hardy who lived in the Lancaster, Pennsylvania area, with a daughter named Jenna. Is that you?”

No. No, it isn’t me. Not anymore. I’m not her. Jenna had trouble catching her breath.

“Ms. Hardy?”

Jenna’s stomach finally won the battle over her willpower. Dropping the phone onto the bed, she clamped her hand over her mouth and looked desperately at Alice.

“Hold on, sweetheart.” Alice yanked open one of the drawers in the metal cabinet. She pulled out a plastic washbasin just in time for Jenna to empty the sparse contents of her stomach into it.

Gard pressed her phone against her ear, straining to make out the distant sounds. The entire call had been disjointed, as if she and the woman on the other end weren’t really speaking on the same frequency. She thought she detected someone moaning.

“Hello? Ms. Hardy? Hello?”

She stared at the screen—the readout informed her the connection had been lost. She pushed redial, got voicemail. Damn it, she’d handled that all wrong. She punched in Rina’s number, replaying the strange conversation with Jenna Hardy. The woman’s strained voice and stubborn denials left her feeling unsettled and uneasy.

“Rina, it’s Gard. I didn’t have much luck with the Jenna Hardy whose number you gave me. She swears she doesn’t have any relatives up here.”

“Well,” Rina said, “none she knows of maybe. But she’s the right woman. I’ve got a long paper trail to be certain of it. Besides that, I woke Sherm Potter up. Since he’s the only attorney in Little Falls, I figured he’d have the will.”

“Did he?”

“Yep. And Jenna Hardy is the only heir. The farm and everything else is hers.”

Gard sighed. “I’ll call her back.”

“Problem?”

“Not exactly. She wasn’t receptive to the idea of having a relative up here, though.”

“A lot of people don’t want to get involved, especially with a deceased who’s essentially a stranger.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Gard said, but what she’d heard in Jenna Hardy’s voice hadn’t been indifference. It had sounded a lot like fear.

Chapter Four

“Who was that on the phone earlier?” Alice asked.

“No one,” Jenna said without opening her eyes. Her stomach had finally settled, just in time for a short ambulance ride from the airport to Jamaica Plains Hospital. Now, at a little before ten in the morning, they were waiting for an emergency room physician to check her over. “Just a case of mistaken identity.”

“That was a pretty long conversation for a wrong number.” Alice sounded suspicious.

“It was nothing. Believe me. How long do you think this is going to take?”

“We’ve only been here fifteen minutes.”

“This day feels like it’s already been a year long.” Jenna risked cracking her lids a fraction, and when the glaring overhead fluorescents didn’t ratchet up the awful pounding behind her eyes, she kept them open. “It would be simpler for me just to see a doctor sometime this week. This is a waste of everyone’s time.”

“Let’s not take any chances. Maybe this is just a migraine, but you’ve never had them before. We don’t want to overlook anything serious.”

“All right. Fine.” Jenna resigned herself to a few more hours of misery. Alice was trying to sound casual, but she was wearing the speckles off the dingy gray tiles with her constant pacing. Jenna had never seen her display anything other than cool control and, occasionally, razor-sharp anger directed at some hapless individual who had dropped whatever ball Alice wanted carried. She must really be worried, and that realization stirred a wave of tenderness that had Jenna grabbing Alice’s hand as she passed. “Hey, I’m okay. Sit down. Stop fretting.”

“I’m not—” Alice grinned when Jenna raised an eyebrow. With a sigh, she leaned down to kiss Jenna’s cheek. “I just can’t have anything happen to you, now can I?”

“Nothing will. Sit. We’ll be out of here soon.”

As it turned out, an hour passed before a pleasant Indian emergency room physician assured Jenna she did indeed have a severe migraine, brought on most likely by stress and malnutrition.

“Malnutrition?” Jenna almost laughed. “That’s absurd.”

The physician smiled softly. “I’m afraid you’re quite anemic and your serum protein level is below normal limits too. Both results indicate serious iron deficiency, an inadequate diet, and in all likelihood, a depressed immune system. The migraine might very well be the first symptom of a more serious problem.”

“What do we need to do?” Alice’s voice quavered and she looked as if she might faint next.

“I’m prescribing the usual vitamins and iron supplements, regular exercise, plenty of rest, a balanced diet, and”—the doctor looked pointedly at Jenna—“a reduced work schedule for a few months.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jenna exclaimed. “My work is not taxing. I’m a writer. I spend most of my days at a desk.”

“Do you think that exerting mental energy hour after hour is not draining? That the pressure of finding and tapping your creative resources does not produce stress and anxiety?” the physician asked gently.

Jenna felt trapped. By the doctor’s logic, by her rebelling body, by the dread in Alice’s eyes. She wanted out of the small sterile cubicle. She wanted to escape from the too-critical gaze of the physician and the anxious attention of her oldest friend. She didn’t want to be helpless. She was not this woman losing control of her own life—she was Cassandra Hart. Capable, confident, successful. Always one step ahead, always on top.

Jenna sat up. “Thank you for everything you’ve done, Dr. Singh. May I go now?”

“Of course. The nurses will give you an instruction sheet when you sign out. Please consider the things I’ve told you, and have a good day.”

As Jenna slipped into her pants and buttoned her shirt, she sent Alice, whose worry was like a third person in the room, an exasperated glance. “Stop. I told you, I’m fine.”

“It didn’t sound that way to me,” Alice said. “We’re going to need to take a hard look at your schedule and make some adjustments.”

“We’re going to do no such thing. My schedule is fine. I’m fine.”

“You heard what the doctor said. Today was a warning,” Alice said. “If you want to stay on top of the game, then you’re going to need to change a few things. You do want to hold on to your bestselling rank, don’t you?”

“That’s blackmail and you know it.” Jenna grabbed her briefcase. Out, she just needed to get out of the hospital. Away from Alice’s too-sharp gaze and well-meaning concern. She wasn’t about to change her routine, risk her career—risk her life, for a damn headache. “Let’s go.”

“I don’t want to play hardball,” Alice said with surprising gentleness, “but if that’s what it takes, then that’s what it takes.”

“We’ll talk about this later.” Just as Jenna jerked open the curtain enclosing the cubicle, her phone rang for the fourth time in the last hour. She’d ignored it each time previously. This time, she yanked it out of her briefcase and checked the readout. The same 802 area code number came up again. She pressed the accept icon and said tersely, “This is Cassandra Hart.”

After a moment’s silence, the husky alto voice she remembered from earlier that morning said, “I’m trying to reach Jenna Hardy. This is Dr. Gardner Davis.”

“Yes, Dr. Davis, I know. And my answer is still the same as it was—”

“Ms. Hardy?” Gard asked.

“Yes.”

“Our county sheriff—Sheriff Gold—has traced a number of records—birth, marriage, death certificates, that sort of thing—and they pretty clearly indicate that you are indeed Elizabeth Hardy’s direct heir. You’re named in her will, Ms. Hardy.”

“I don’t really see how that’s possible, but I’ll have my attorney contact—who should he contact? You? The sheriff?”

“Sheriff Gold would probably be the best one to help straighten out the legalities,” Gard said. “I know this is sudden, but we’ll need some instructions on how to take care of Ms. Hardy’s remains. There’s one funeral home in town that I can recommend.”

“This is insane,” Jenna muttered. How could she possibly make decisions about someone she didn’t even know? “You’re satisfied with their services?”

“Yes. Completely.”

“Fine. Then that place would be fine. What about in the will? Has she left any final instructions?”

“I don’t know. Usually the family has that information—”

“Well, that’s obviously not the case this time.” Jenna closed her eyes but the shards of glass spearing each eyeball kept right on stabbing. God, she just wanted a dark quiet room and no one asking her for anything. Solitude. Please, God, soon. “I’ll let my attorney know he’ll need to look into that. Give me the sheriff’s number.”

“All right,” Gard said, her tone stiff. “It’s—”

“Wait a minute.” Jenna really didn’t want to deal with any of this. Not now. Not ever. She half opened her eyes and dug around in her briefcase, finally locating a small pad of paper and a pen. “Go ahead,” she said, and wrote down the number. “If that’s all, I have other things to attend to.”