Before she left the hospital, Evie made a copy of the signed checklist with her mother’s wishes and left it for the doctor. The rain let up long enough for Evie to sprint through the parking lot to where she’d parked Mrs. Yetner’s car without getting soaked. But as soon as she got in, a brilliant flash of lightning and a clap of thunder made the steering wheel vibrate. Raindrops came down like ball bearings.

Ginger had invited her to come home with her and stay overnight in Connecticut, and Evie wished she could have accepted. It had been a long, hard day, and she really didn’t want to be alone. But Mrs. Yetner was expecting her car back, and there was so much to do at the house.

Evie turned on the car and cranked up the defrost. The wipers, thunking back and forth at top speed, could barely keep up with the rain sheeting down the windshield. Carefully she backed out of the space and pulled out of the parking lot.

She had to concentrate to keep the car on her side of the road. The white lines that divided the lanes were nearly invisible on the wet pavement. Ordinarily she would have pulled over and waited out the storm, but today it was good to have something other than her roiling insides to focus on. Fortunately, Sunday traffic was light, and it took only a bit longer than the usual ten minutes to drive back to Higgs Point.

After she’d backed the car into Mrs. Yetner’s garage, unclenched her hands from the steering wheel, turned off the ignition, and set the emergency brake, Evie sat there in the dark, keys in her lap, listening to the engine tick. She could have closed her eyes and gone to sleep right there. Instead, she got out, locked the car, and hurried through the rain to Mrs. Yetner’s door. Rain dripped down the back of her neck as she stood under the porch overhang, ringing the bell. A pungent, sweet, burning smell hung in the air. Like someone was barbecuing. In the rain? Not likely.

Evie knocked and waited some more, but there was still no answer. Maybe Mrs. Yetner was napping. She pushed the keys through the mail slot and ran back to her mother’s house. She was starting up the front steps when she realized that her mother’s garage door was raised and the light was on.

Evie ran to the garage and ducked inside. Mrs. Yetner was scooping kitty litter from a giant bag and sprinkling it on the floor where the car had leaked gasoline. An open umbrella was dripping on the floor beside her.

Mrs. Yetner looked over at her and waved the scoop. “A gas leak. Imagine that? Car’s not even five years old.” It was nearly ten years old, but Mrs. Yetner had a point. “There. That should take care of it. Let that sit, and then sweep it up in a few hours.”

“Thanks.”

Mrs. Yetner peered at Evie, her eyes magnified through her glasses. “What’s happened? Is your mother all right?”

“She’s the same, really.” Evie forced a smile and tried to swallow. There was no point pretending that everything was fine. “She’s dying. I guess it’s just starting to hit me.”

Mrs. Yetner looked sad, but not surprised. “I am so sorry.” She dropped the scoop into the bag and looked hard at Evie. “Have you eaten?”

“No. I’m sure that’s part of the problem. I’ll go in and make myself something to eat.”

“Would you like me to—”

“No. I’m fine. Really.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Mrs. Yetner went to pick up the bag of cat litter.

“Here. Let me.” Evie picked it up.

Mrs. Yetner turned back and clicked her tongue at the pile of cat litter. “One spark and the whole garage could have gone up in flames. Could have jumped the driveway and heaven knows what.”

Evie remembered watching from the sidewalk, so many years ago, as fire shot through the roof of this very house. It had never occurred to her how terrified her neighbors must have been that the fire would spread to their houses, too. She followed Mrs. Yetner across the driveway and up to the front steps of her house. The rain had turned to barely a drizzle.

“Fire,” Mrs. Yetner said, pulling open her storm door. “Funny how that odor sticks in memory. It’s almost as if I can smell it right now.”

That same smell was stuck in Evie’s memory, but the sweet burning she smelled at that moment wasn’t in her imagination. “Hang on,” she said, setting the cat litter on the bottom step. “Let me.”

She nudged Mrs. Yetner to one side and eased open the front door. A smoky haze filled the entryway.

“Oh dear.” Mrs. Yetner’s hand flew to her mouth. She stood there, stunned for a few seconds. Then, before Evie could stop her, she hurried past her into the house.

Evie grabbed the handset from the rotary phone on the table in the front hall and dialed 911. From the kitchen she heard a crash. Water running. A loud hiss and the smell of steam.

The 911 operator had answered and Evie was about to give her the address when Mrs. Yetner came out of the kitchen, her face bright pink. “It’s all right. It’s under control.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, yes.” Mrs. Yetner waved away her concern.

The operator was asking for the address again when Evie interrupted with, “Never mind. Sorry. My mistake. No emergency after all.” It took her a few more assurances to allay the operator’s concerns. When she hung up, she asked Mrs. Yetner, “What happened?”

“It’s nothing. Really.” Mrs. Yetner smoothed her hair in place and took a breath. “Just some chicken I left on the stove.”

“Can I help you clean up?” Evie asked, wondering if this was another one of Mrs. Yetner’s “little mishaps” that her nephew had been going on about.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Mina turned down Evie’s offer to stay and help clean up. It was the last thing the poor girl needed after the day that she’d been through. Besides, Mina was far too embarrassed by what had happened.

With all the windows and doors open, the smoke began to clear, though the odors of burned chicken and tomato were still pungent in the air. She scraped what she could into the garbage. Filled the pot with hot water and a few squirts of dishwashing liquid. Maybe it was salvageable. She stood there, staring into suds that rapidly turned black. Maybe not.

How could this have happened? She always, always, always set the burner to low when she made chicken cacciatore. But when she’d fought her way through the smoky kitchen to turn off the burner, she found the dial cranked well past medium.

On top of that, despite thick smoke, the alarm hadn’t sounded. Hadn’t it gone off yesterday when her teapot went up? Wasn’t it supposed to reset itself automatically? Mina took out a broom and jammed the end of the stick up into the smoke alarm’s test button, expecting to hear the shrill alarm sound. But nothing happened.

Maybe the battery had run down, though that made no sense either. It was supposed to at least chirp for a while before it died. She was sure she had a replacement battery, and she knew exactly where it was in the storage closet in the bag where she kept lightbulbs. But even standing on her kitchen step stool she wasn’t nearly tall enough, never mind steady enough, to reattach the wires and replace the battery. Tomorrow, she’d get someone—Brian or Finn—to give her a hand.

She wrote a reminder on a Post-it and stuck it to her refrigerator door. Then, wearily she took down her calendar and continued the list she’d started, writing more items in today’s block:

5. Burned chicken

6. Smoke alarm dead

She hung her calendar back on its hook. Maybe it was just as well that she’d broken down and agreed to visit nursing homes with Brian. She hated the idea that she’d end up in one of those places, but at least there she wouldn’t be burning down the neighborhood.

Back when Annabelle was still lucid most of the time, Mina had taken her to visit several nursing homes that took care of people with dementia. Annabelle had chosen Pelham Manor. True, it was a bit shabby, but it was clean and well run, and she’d wanted to be nearby, so Mina could get there easily. Annabelle had been fortunate to have had particularly kind caregivers.