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So there was plenty there for Andy to process, but he hadn’t the luxury of time for reflection.

The reappearance—however brief—of Cyril Sirius was still another consideration. Another worry.

Trying to recall every detail of those weird moments before he realized Marcus lay on the other side of the door, it seemed to Andy that Sirius had been as startled and alarmed as himself. Sirius had not known ahead of time what was behind the door. Which meant Sirius had not killed Marcus.

It also seemed to support Quinn’s theory that Sirius was not working with the man Quinn had seen Saturday night trying to break into Time in a Bottle. A confederate would surely mention having killed someone in the commission of their crime?

Which meant Marcus’s killer could very well be that second intruder.

Or was he the first intruder?

The only real intruder?

Marcus was an intruder, though not after anything but Andy. And it was very hard to picture Sirius climbing through windows in the dead of night (or any other time).

The person Quinn had described—the tall, muscular male wearing a ski mask—thatwas most likely the intruder who had attacked Uncle C. and killed Marcus. The intruder who just wouldn’t give up. The intruder who kept returning again and again to Time in a Bottle to hunt for a valuable whatever-it-was he believed to have been hidden in the remaining snow globes in a small, dusty shop in a pseudo-Santa’s village smack dab in the middle of nowhere.

Except the valuable whatever-it-was that might or might not be hidden in the remaining snow globes was no longer at the shop.

Because the remaining snow globes were no longer at the shop.

They were where Andy had forgotten them that morning: sitting in a box on the floor of Quinn Rafferty’s living room.

Chapter Twenty

Cuthbert Allison looked like he’d already been laid out for the funeral.

But despite the significant bruising and lacerations, despite the fact that he was still on a ventilator—lungs rising and falling in mechanical rhythm—despite the fact that his spirit seemed to have already departed that frail, gaunt shell for parts unknown, the news from Dr. Waldo was unexpectedly encouraging.

“He’s showing signs of coming around,” Dr. Waldo told Andy. “We’re seeing increased reaction to external stimuli, which is always a good sign.”

“Does that mean he’s out of the woods?” Andy kept warning himself to keep his expectations realistic, but he was desperate for some good news.

Dr. Waldo bobbed his head in a maybe-yes-maybe-no. “It means we’re seeing promising indicators. But head injuries are tricky, and he’s not a young man. He’s suffered a severe shock and one heck of a beating.”

“But everything you’re seeing is hopeful?”

“All the tests we’ve run indicate normal brain activity. No flat lines in any area affecting either motor function or sensory perception. We’re not seeing anything contraindicatory to a full and complete recovery.”

“Thank God.” Andy could have cried with relief. He had been so afraid, so sure that he was going to lose Uncle C. too.

Dr. Waldo cautioned, “Of course, promising test results aren’t a guarantee. And things can change, particularly when we’re dealing with traumatic brain injuries in the elderly.”

“Right. But as of right now, it’s your opinion that Uncle C. will recover completely?”

“As of this moment in time and based on these test results, yes, that’s my opinion.”

“Do you have any idea of when he might wake up?”

The doctor shook his head regretfully. “No. There’s no way of predicting. And, remember, there’s going to be a lengthy recovery period. Some slight impairment, at least temporarily, is only to be expected, but I’m pretty sure Cutty’ll be up to full steam before you know it.”

Andy would have to take the doctor’s word for it. Uncle C. did not appear to have received the Full Recovery Expected memo.

As though reading Andy’s mind, Dr. Waldo reassured, “I know it’s alarming to see him like this, but what he’s doing now is resting, recovering. This coma is the brain’s way of insulating itself while it gets down to the business of healing. Destroyed brain tissue can’t be repaired or replaced, but this retreat into unconsciousness makes it possible for the damage to be minimized.”

Andy nodded. “Is it okay if I sit with him for a while longer?”

Dr. Waldo patted Andy’s shoulder. “Absolutely. Don’t be afraid to hold his hand or speak to him. Studies show that the comatose brain lights up at the sound of familiar voices. Tell him stories about the old days. It can stimulate the parts of the brain involved with understanding language and long-term memory.” His smile was kind. “Good for him and good for you.”