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you want to have Mr. Crandall moved to another hospital, I'll be glad to make the arrangements for you and do whatever it takes to move him safely. I wouldn't advise that he be moved now, however."
    "Thank you, doctor. I appreciate your candor. I hope you appreciate mine."
    "I do."
    "And I don't think it'll be necessary to have him transferred."
    "That's gratifying to know."
    They smiled at each other. "Can I go in and see him now?"
    "Two minutes. By the way, I recommend that you catch up on your meals and start getting more rest. You look none too healthy yourself. Good night."
    He set off down the hall with a confident stride that belied his wet-behind-the-ears appearance. Schyler took comfort in that as she nodded a greeting to the nurse monitoring the life-saving equipment and stepped into the ICU. Despite the bright fluorescent lighting, the room was sepulchral.
    She tiptoed to the bed. Cotton's eyes were closed. A tube had been inserted into his mouth, held in place by tape across his lips. Smaller tubes had been placed in his nostrils. Wires and conduits and catheters attached to the various machines disappeared beneath the sheet covering him. She could only guess at their unpleasant functions.
    The only thing that was familiar was his shock of white hair. Tears blurred her eyes as Schyler reached out and ran her fingers through it. "I love you, Daddy." He didn't stir. "Forgive me for whatever I did." She used up the full two minutes before she kissed his forehead and quietly left the room.
    Only after the door closed behind her did Cotton Crandall open his eyes.

Chapter Five
     
    Tricia and Ken were in the throes of an argument. From the steps of the veranda, Schyler could see them through the parlor windows. An authentic Aubusson rug was their arena. They were squared off across its muted, pastel pattern. Their voices were muffled, so she couldn't distinguish individual words. She didn't have to. They were gesturing angrily.
    Stepping out of the wedge of light coming through the window, she went back down the steps. She didn't want to intrude or have them see her, especially if she were the source of the squabble.
    Surely Tricia hadn't seen Ken kissing her before she left for the hospital. Tricia wouldn't have stayed undercover, waiting until Schyler left to confront her husband. She would have charged out of the house immediately and challenged them both.
    The visit to the hospital had left Schyler emotionally drained. She didn't want to join the fracas going on in the formal parlor, so she left her purse and keys lying on the hood of her car and struck out across the lawn.
    Maybe the exercise would exhaust her enough to make her sleep. She had been tired every night since her arrival but had lain awake, thinking about Cotton, thinking about Tricia and Ken, thinking about them sleeping together in the room down the hall from hers. She hated herself for still caring about that. But she did.
    And because she did, it was curious that Ken's kiss hadn't affected her more than it had. For the last six years she had fancied herself still in love with him. The first kiss, after so long and heartbreaking a separation, should have electrified her, regardless that she was kissing her sister's husband. Yet all she had felt was a vague sadness, a sense of loss, which she couldn't explain.
    That was just one of the things troubling Schyler as she made her way across the wide lawn and entered the surrounding forest. The evening air was sultry, only marginally cooler than it had been at sunset. Her footsteps disturbed patches of mist that hovered above the ground. Ethereally, it swirled around her ankles and climbed her calves. It could have been a spooky sensation, but Schyler regarded these patches of fog as friendly.
    She followed the narrow path that paralleled the road for a few hundred yards before angling off to the left. From there, it meandered through the woods on a gradual decline until it reached the fertile banks of