Eenie, meenie, miney . . . She took a breath, held it, and opened Mo. It was a lucky guess. There, on top, were some of those cans. Most of them were surprisingly clean, and she had to pick through to find one with a few crusty clumps stuck to the bottom. She carried it over to the edge of the porch and set it on the ground. As she stood waiting for Ivory to come investigate, the last glow of amber and pink sunset disappeared from the sky. It really was beautiful out here. Why had Evie never appreciated it when she was growing up?

At last the cat poked her nose out from under the porch and slunk forward. Evie crouched. Nudged the can a little closer to the cat. Waited until the cat had sniffed, sniffed again, and finally settled, licking at the inside of the can before Evie grabbed her.

Ivory squirmed and tried to wriggle free as Evie carried her around to the front of Mrs. Yetner’s house. At Evie’s knock, Brian opened the door again. He took the cat from her arms with a grudging thank-you and closed the door.

Evie went to throw away the can and close up the garbage bag. This time, she’d drag all five of them to the curb. But as she was tossing the can into the open bag, she noticed a familiar-looking jar with a green-and-white label right on top. She lifted it out. NaturaPharm. Vitamin C. She shook the container. Pills rattled inside.

Trying not to inhale, Evie dug around until she found a second NaturaPharm container. Vitamin B₁. The rest of her mother’s cache of vitamin pills that had disappeared from her medicine cabinet after the break-in were probably in the bag, too, but Evie wasn’t about to scrounge around for them. But what were they doing in there? Who had taken them from the medicine cabinet, and why take them and then throw them away?

Evie took the two containers inside and set them on the kitchen counter. She opened the vitamin C. Shook out a large white oval tablet into the palm of her hand. One side was scored for easy breaking. Imprinted on the other side was the code L484.

She opened the container of B₁ vitamins. The pills inside were the same size. Same shape. Same L484.

It took Evie just a moment to Google the number on her phone. L484 was the pharmaceutical industry’s code for acetaminophen.

Moments later, Evie had dug from her purse the card from the police officer investigating the earlier break-in. Sergeant Bruce Corday. He’d said to call if she discovered anything else, and now she most definitely had.

When he called her back an hour later, he listened. Said he’d come to the house first thing in the morning, and that he’d be bringing a detective with him.

Chapter Fifty-four

When Mina finally woke up, it was dark in her bedroom, but bright strips of sunlight bled from between the window shades and sills. Her clock ticked quietly, but she couldn’t see the time. She put her hand out, feeling for Ivory. But the spot where the cat liked to sleep was cool and empty.

She had no idea how long she’d been out. She struggled to turn over, but it was as if her muscles didn’t want to respond, and to make matters worse, the sheets were twisted around her legs. She reached down to free her legs and realized she wasn’t caught up in sheets but rather a long nightgown. Light cotton. She felt the neck. A lace collar. It had to be Annabelle’s. While she’d been asleep, Dora must have gotten her up and changed her clothes. Her face burned with shame at the very idea of it.

She had to get out of bed. Now. She couldn’t let herself fade the way Annabelle had, so rapidly once she was installed in that nursing home and no longer had to do for herself. All that lying in bed—meals being brought to her, a bedpan if she wanted and diapers if she didn’t—had quickly atrophied Annabelle’s muscles until her arms and legs were nothing more than twigs, and she couldn’t even stand on her own. Just a few weeks later, ghastly raw areas formed on her backside, bedsores that eventually oozed and wept infection. She’d been too weak to even cough, so when she’d gotten a cold, it had quickly turned into pneumonia, the illness that doctors called “the old person’s friend” because at least it pulled the plug. Now there was an expression Mina detested.

Even after all that, Mina hadn’t been ready for Annabelle to go. And she was tortured by the likelihood that Annabelle’s slide would have been more gradual had she been able to keep her at home. Kept her active. But there’d been no choice.

Mina pushed back the covers and sat up. She was stiff and achy, and her mouth tasted like old rubber tires. Her head felt like a big empty metal drum that was being hammered at from the inside. And she had to go to the bathroom.

She edged herself to the side of the bed, expecting the walker to be there waiting for her. But it wasn’t. She stretched out her toes and felt around for her slippers but she couldn’t find those, either. Never mind that. She pushed herself to her feet. Leaning against the wall, she felt her way to the door to the downstairs hall. The minute she opened it, Ivory slipped in, meowing and rubbing against her.

“Shoo,” Mina said. The last thing she needed was to trip over the cat.

She paused, listening. The house was quiet. No more construction going on upstairs. The hall was dark, and she shouldn’t have had any trouble navigating the few steps to the bathroom, but soon after she started inching her way along, she hit a roadblock. Stacks of bundled papers and bulging garbage bags lined the hallway.

What in heaven’s name was going on? “Brian!” she called. No answer. Was Brian even there? And what about Dora?

Mina squeezed past the debris. At least the bathroom door wasn’t blocked. It wasn’t until she was sitting that she noticed the smell. She gagged. Her bathroom had never smelled this bad before. Had Ivory’s litter box had been moved in here? Why hadn’t Dora taken care of it? Wasn’t that part of what Brian was paying her to do?

That’s when Mina heard scritch-scratch from behind the shower curtain. Sounded as if the litter box was not only there, but in use. How had Ivory managed to slip past her? She’d have to tell Dora that the bathtub was no place for the cat box. It didn’t take much cat litter to clog a drain. It solidified in there like cement.

She washed her hands, then pushed back the shower curtain. Sure enough, the litter box was a dark rectangle against the white of the tub. Ivory’s white fur looked like quicksilver as she did a figure eight and then settled. But—Mina squinted, not sure if she was imagining things without her glasses—was that another Ivory perched motionless in the corner? And could that quick movement be another alongside the litter box in the tub?

A knock on the bathroom door startled her. “Wilhelmina?” Mina actually felt relieved to hear Dora’s voice. “Are you in there? Are you all right? You were supposed to ring the bell I left for you.”

Bell? Mina opened the door. “Why are there so many cats?”

“Cats?”

“There are at least three of them in here.” Mina pointed to the tub.

“Of course there are.” Dora tugged the shower curtain closed before taking Mina’s arm and leading her from the bathroom. “And they’re all white just like Ivory, aren’t they?”

Mina knew all about that strategy—she’d seen it used plenty with Annabelle. Her caretakers called it entering into the delusion. “I suppose you’re going to tell me that I’m seeing double. And that all this junk stacked out here”—she jabbed a finger toward the piles as they sidled past—“is a figment of my imagination, too.”

“Certainly not. It’s just part of the construction work.” Mina was about to ask how stacks of newspapers constituted construction, but Dora was too quick for her. “They’ll have them out of there in a day or two, and you’ll be able to move upstairs to the new room. You’ll see. It’s so much nicer. And the new bathroom is lovely.”