That was the whole trick of it.”

I opened Rosalie’s notebook to check a date, and a photograph slid out from between the pages.

A square drugstore print of the dog on our porch, his ears blowing sideways.

I tucked it back in.

My phone buzzed once: the ICU charge nurse.

Dr.

Higgins wanted to try a breathing trial at seven tomorrow morning.

“The state calls Caroline Whitmore.”