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golddigger? This conversation was becoming as demoralizing as everything else today.
    “What were you looking for?”
    “Huh?” Bonnie cocked her head and crossed her eyes slightly, blowing the look of stone-cold gorgeous.
    “In Aunt Amelia’s room before, you were asking her where something was. What were you looking for?”
    “Oh. Um…yeah. She wanted her reading glasses. I was trying to find out where they were, but she didn't understand me. It was a little frustrating, but I think the sleep medication was already doing a number on her.”
    “Look, Bonnie,” Sara said. “I hope I don’t sound rude, but I’ve been up since the crack of dawn. I have to get some sleep.”
    “Sure thing, hon.” Bonnie pulled a notepad and pen out of her briefcase. “Are you staying at the Chase Me Inn?”
    “No. I’ll go out to Aunt Amelia’s.”
    Bonnie gave her a dubious look, but how was it any of her business? She’d already moved in on Aunt Amelia quite enough, thank you. Sara didn’t have to explain that she’d been longing to see Turtledove Hill for years, and she wasn’t going to miss the chance now.
    “I have a key.” That came out more defensive than she’d intended.
    Bonnie wrote something on the notepad. “I usually visit Amelia in the mornings around nine. We could meet at the rehab tomorrow and get a late breakfast after.” She handed the note to Sara. “This is me. Call if you need anything.”
    “Could we make it lunch instead?” Sara said. “I want to sleep until I wake up naturally. No alarm.”
    They left the bookshop together. Bonnie’s car was parked closest, a red convertible Lexus. Sara watched the Realtor—with a capital R, Bonnie had informed her—drive off with a wave. She was friendly. Helpful. Cared about Aunt Amelia.
    Sara didn’t like her.

    SHE DROVE SOUTH OUT OF the village onto Highway 1 and stuck in her earpiece to call Bram, but a call came in from him first.
    “Thanks for picking up,” he said. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
    “I’m in Pelican Chase,” she said. “Aunt Amelia is worse.” It was so easy to ignore the Big Issue, to catch him up on Aunt Amelia’s condition and tell him about the bad cell connection at the house. As if nothing had happened.
    Then there was silence on the line, but she wasn’t going to help him out. Finally he said, “I think it’s good you’re away for the weekend. Give you some space to think.”
    Oh, so now she was the one who needed space. “What do you want from me, Bram?”
    “I don’t know,” he said.
    Wrong answer! I want your forgiveness , he was supposed to say. I would crawl over coals to beg you to take me back .
    “I guess the real question,” Bram said, “is what do you want from me?”
    Better.
    “I don’t know either,” she said. “Let’s talk again in a few days.”
    “I’m sorry your aunt isn’t doing so well, babe,” Bram said. “Let me know if things get worse. Hey guess what? Hot Heat was the ENT book of the day today. It landed in the top hundred.”
    “That’s great, Bram,” Sara said. She didn’t know what ENT was, but landing in the top hundred sounded good. “I’m really glad.”
    She turned east onto Turtledove Hill Road and passed the fork that branched off to the vineyards, now paved. She smiled at the memory of a dilapidated old truck. A cute, flirty farmhand. The wind in the eucalyptus, wild snowdrops, a brass bell with no clapper. The man on the stairs. Her spirits lifted. She couldn’t wait to see the house.

- 6 -
Dreaming
    T URTLEDOVE HILL WAS EVEN better than Sara remembered. On that first visit, twisting bare brambles had covered it as if guarding Sleeping Beauty’s castle. Now late spring’s green leaves, blue wisteria, and white lilacs climbed, covered, and hung from the walls and eaves, lovely and inviting.
    She drove around to the courtyard and parked at the back porch. The house was built in the early 1900s, old but wonderful, if a bit dingy. The exterior wood