“Here. Eat.” I plunked a plate of pancakes in front of her and Derek passed her the warm syrup-and-butter mixture I’d made. Comfort food. She stared at it for half a minute, then began to eat as though it had been a week since she’d last bothered. Which could be true. She was, after all, the sister who tended to skip meals.
“I had a nightmare,” she said, once the pancakes were gone and she came up for air. “I dreamed that Baxter was still alive in the kitchen when I walked in and pulled the knife out. He looked into my eyes and said, ‘You killed me.’”
Derek reached across the table and grabbed her hand. “Listen to me carefully. You did not kill Baxter Cromwell.”
“That’s right, damn it.” I shook my finger at her. “You are innocent and we are going to prove it. We’ll find the person who did it and they will pay.”
“We?” Derek repeated softly, but I ignored him.
“I know you don’t want to talk right now,” I said. “But once you get home, if you remember something else about last night, any little detail at all, please call me or Derek.”
“I will.” She rubbed her face with both hands and the weariness in her voice tugged at my heart. “I’m so tired. And I still can’t believe that someone I know might’ve killed him.”
I leaned closer. “Sweetie, why don’t you go back to bed for a while? You can leave in another hour or so.”
“No, no. I’ve got to get home.”
“Let me call you a driver, then,” Derek said. “We were all up much too late last night.”
She smiled as she pushed away from the table and picked up her plate. “Thank you, but it’s not necessary. I’ll be fine. Thanks so much for breakfast. And the pep talk. I appreciate both.”
“I don’t want you to worry,” I said, following her into the kitchen.
“Once I’m back at work, I’ll be fine.”
I didn’t believe that for a minute. After all, Baxter had been killed in his restaurant kitchen. If anything, her going back to work at her own restaurant could freak her out even worse. But I wasn’t about to plant that thought in her head, so I kept quiet.
Because Savannah was still a little wobbly, Derek rode down in the freight elevator with her and walked her to her car. Then he took off for work and I was left alone in my studio.
I’d made Savannah promise to phone me when she got home. But knowing she might forget or, more likely, deliberately avoid talking to me, I called out the big guns: Mom and Dad.
“Hi, sweetie,” Mom said cheerily. “Your father just left for the winery.”
“That’s okay. I called to ask if you’d keep an eye on Savannah for the next few days. Maybe stop by the restaurant later this afternoon and see how she’s doing.”
“Why? What’s going on?” She was instantly on red alert.
Too late, I realized my strategic error. Knowing that she would find out eventually, I went ahead and filled her in on what had happened to Baxter last night. The conversation went downhill quickly.
“No!” Mom cried. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so worried about you. Are you okay?”
“Me?” I held the phone out and stared at it. Was she not listening? “Mom, Savannah’s the one who found Baxter. She’s the one who pulled a bloody knife out of his stomach. She’s the one having nightmares. Not me. I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not,” she insisted. “How can you be? You were there! You found your sister with a dead body. Good grief, what are you up to now? Ten bodies? Twelve?”
“But who’s counting?” I mumbled. “Mom, this isn’t about me.”
“Of course it is.”
“No, it’s—”
“Let’s get real here.” Mom lowered her voice as though she was about to share a deep, dark secret with me. “We both know Savannah can pump ice water through her veins when she needs to. And I’m saying that with love. She might be a little flipped out right now, but she’ll be fine in a few days.”
“I guess so, but—”
“It’s all to your credit that you’re so concerned about her. But, Brooklyn, you’re the one who’s on the edge of gory here. I don’t want to see you fall into the abyss.”
“I think it’s the edge of glory, Mom.”
“See? You don’t even know what edge you’re on. That’s not good. Why don’t you drive up here for a few days? I can work one of my spells on you. I’ve got a new one that’s a real crackerjack.”
I almost groaned out loud. “No way.”
“Fine, if that’s how you feel. But you should still come up here. You can get a massage at the spa. Drink wine, relax. Your father would love to see you.”
“I’d love to see both of you, but I—”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you!” she said, forging ahead. “I’m taking a workshop on exorcism. I think you’re going to love the results.”
Oh, sweet Jesus, I thought. What next? At least she hadn’t suggested I try an espresso enema this time. I loved my New Age mother, but she was the original wackadoodle flower child. I took a deep breath. “Mom, I just called because Savannah needs—”
“Brooklyn, sweetie, don’t worry,” Mom said, sounding reasonable again. “I’ll look after Savannah.”