Not long after the Linwoods had left, Zoe slipped in with a steaming mug of herbal tea. She was dressed all in black today. She scrutinized Annie. "You look terrible. I'm recommending essential oil of rosemary. Five drops in your tub, a dot on your head, and you'll perk right up."
Annie groaned. "I don't want to perk up, I want to go to bed and sleep for days. This has been the most bizarre week of my life."
"Including the week your cottage was swept out to sea?"
"That wasn't bizarre. That was the result of an act of nature."
"Well, rosemary's the trick. I've got about five minutes for you to tell me everything. My assistant's in, but she'll need my help. We've been incredibly busy—spillover from you and your scandalous goings-on, I take it. You've really been in touch with Sarah Linwood all this time?"
Annie nodded, sinking into her tall chair, numbed.
Zoe made a face, mock insulted. "Shame on you for not telling. Not that I didn't know you were holding back, because I did. I tell my kids I always know. So. Sarah Linwood's back in town, she hired you to buy the painting she did of her niece, Vic Denardo's looking for her, Garvin MacCrae's looking for Vic Denardo, and here we are."
"You're not in any danger," Annie told her.
"Did I ask?"
"No, but—"
"Never mind, then. What about the break-in?"
Annie gave her the details of what had happened last night. But not only Zoe Summer's nose was sensitive. She studied Annie, any breeziness gone out of her manner. "Garvin MacCrae," she said knowingly.
"What about him?"
"Don't demur, Annie. It doesn't suit you. Sparks flying between the two of you?"
Annie shifted in her chair. She felt like a squirming twelve-year-old under Zoc's steady scrutiny. "I guess you could say that."
Zoe frowned. "Is this a good thing or a bad thing?"
"To be honest, I don't know. Garvin'd do anything to get his hands on Vic Denardo. I'm not saying he's using me—"
"But he would if he had to."
Annie felt her eyes burn with fatigue. She remembered last night, his passion, his tenderness. But a part of him remained locked up, out of her reach, in some dark, forbidden place.
Zoe sighed, pushing off toward the door. She jabbed a finger at Annie. "Rosemary. It'll do the trick. It won't change Garvin MacCrae, but at least you'll be able to deal with him with a clear head, which you'll need, I'm afraid."
She scooted through the door before Annie could summon the energy to thank her. Essential oil of rosemary. She rummaged through the drawer where she'd tossed various vials Zoe had brought her in thanks for "borrowing" her nose. One was marked rosemary. She unscrewed the cap and sniffed. Smelled minty to her. Well, maybe it would do the trick. Just to be sure, she brewed herself a cup of coffee. Caffeine she trusted.
Thirty minutes later, Garvin called. "Everything's fine," he said. "I just wanted to let you know that Otto's settled in. He seems to be in a tolerable mood. I think he'd love it down at the marina. He and Yuma would get along." He hesitated, a rarity for Garvin MacCrae. "There's just one thing. I don't know if it's the blow he took to the head or just an Otto thing, but does he—has he ever slept in the bathtub?"
Annie grinned in delight. "I should have warned you. Otto loves sleeping in the tub. That was his favorite place back in Maine, especially when he was feeling hot. Gran used to go crazy. I don't have a tub in my apartment. He must be thrilled."
"Then this is a good sign?"
"Absolutely. Oh, and I can bring him his bowling ball. If he's feeling better, he'll want something to play with. It might ease his mind after such a trauma. But if he gets restless, you can give him a two-by-four or something."
"Whatever happened to dog biscuits?"
"They don't last long with Otto. He won't really chew on the two-by-four, just swing it around. And if he does get up and around, watch your refrigerator. He can open most models. He once cleaned mine out, mustard jars and all. Ate my leftover spinach lasagna, a half pound of roast turkey."
Silence.
Annie chewed on the corner of her mouth. "He might not have the energy to get into your fridge. Really, I wouldn't worry."
"A rottweiler swinging around a two-by-four and carrying off the contents of my refrigerator is not high on my list of worries. But you are, Annie. How are you doing?"
She told him straight off about her call from Vic Denardo; but he also wanted to know about her gallery and Zoe and her visit from the Linwoods and how she was managing without Otto there. She told him everything. Maybe even more than she should have.
"Then last night," he said, and was silent a moment. "You're all right after last night?"
"Yes." She realized she had a tight grip on the phone. "You?"
She could feel his smile. "Nope. I can't seem to stop thinking about tonight."