Yesterday morning in the office. She was on a tear because the lab messed up some tests, but that was typical Mara." The tests had involved blood drawn from Todd Fiske, one of Mara's favorite four-year-olds. Paige would have been angry, too. She hated drawing blood from a child. Now it would have to be drawn again.

She couldn't imagine telling Todd and his family that Mara was gone.

She couldn't imagine telling anyone.

"Oh, Mara," she whispered again. She needed to be away from this horrible place but couldn't seem to leave. It wasn't right that Mara was staying, not when she had so much yet to do.

Mara's family back in Eugene, Oregon, greeted Paige's news with a silence that told none of their thoughts. Mara had been estranged from them for years. Paige was saddened, though not surprised, when they asked that she be buried in Tucker.

"She chose to live there," Thomas O'Neill said tersely. "She lived there longer than anywhere else."

"What kind of arrangements should I make?"

Paige asked. She knew that the O'Neills were devoutly religious, and though Mara hadn't been, Paige would have respected any request they made, especially one that showed caring.

There was no request, just a short, "Use your judgment. You knew her better than we did."

Which saddened Paige all the more.

"Will you come?" she asked, and held her breath.

There was a pause, during which she felt an incredible pain on Mara's behalf, then slowly, finally a reluctant, "We'll come."

Angie looked dumbfounded. "What?"

Paige repeated herself, all the while reliving her own disbelief. Mara O'Neill was full of life and energy. The concept of death didn't fit her.

Angie's eyes begged her to take back the words, and Paige wished she could. But denial was absurd, given what she had seen in the morgue.

"My God," Angie murmured after an agonizingly long and helpless minute.

"Dead?"

Paige took a shuddering breath. She had been the one to introduce Angie to Mara. They had become friends to the extent that rarely a weekend passed without Mara stopping at Angie's, if not for Sunday brunch then for an afternoon to argue politics with Ben or sneak hot-fudge sundaes to Dougie.

Dougie. Paige's heart went out to him. Angie shielded him from life's dark side, but there would be no shielding now. Death was absolute.

There were no halfway measures, no reprieves.

Angie was on the same wavelength as Paige.

"Dougie will be crushed. He adored Mara. Just last Sunday they went hiking on the mountain."

She looked uncharacteristically rattled, but only for a minute, which was how long it took her to order her thoughts. Then she questioned Paige on the hows and wheres of Mara's death. Paige related what she knew, which was far too little for Angie's peace of mind.

"What about the whys?" she wanted to know.

"Suicide is the first thing that comes to mind when a person is found dead in her car in a closed garage with the engine running, but suicide doesn't fit Mara any more than death does. It might have been an accident. Mara's been looking tired. She might have fallen asleep without realizing the engine was on.

But suicide? Without a cry for help? Without letting any of us know that she was even near the breaking point?"

The absurdity of it frustrated Paige, too.

She prided herself on being observant, but she hadn't seen a thing to suggest Mara was on the edge.

Angie barreled on. "What about her patients?

They'll have to be told. Most will hear about it through the grapevine and call us for confirmation. Should we let Ginny handle it from the front desk?"

Ginny was an able receptionist, but juggling the appointment book was a far cry from grief counseling. Fortunately Paige didn't have to point that out. Angie was already shaking her head.

"We'll have to talk with them ourselves. Mara was their champion.

They'll need help dealing with her death.... Her death. My Cod, that's awful."

Leaning against the edge of Angie's desk, sharing the pain with someone competent enough to help with the decisions, Paige could be weak as she hadn't been since she had found Norman in her office earlier that morning. She touched her throat. The vividness of Mara's death was choking her.

Annie gave her a hug. "I'm sorry, Paige," she said softly. You were closer to her than I was." She drew back. "Have you told Peter?"

Paige shook her head. She forced the words out. "He's next on my list. He'll be as stunned as we are. He thought Mara was tough as nails." She made a self-deprecating sound.

"So did I. Never in a million years did I imagine she would . . . she would . . ." She couldn't say it.

Angie hugged her again. "Maybe she didn't."

"Without violence, what else could it be?"

"I don't know. We'll have to wait and see."

"Wait and see" implied the future. Catching a glimpse of it, Paige felt a deep inner pang.

"The practice won't be the same without Mara.

It's been an incredible foursome. Each of us different, but meshing into a great team. The group worked."

Paige was its common denominator. She had known Mara from college, Angie from a year-long overlap as pediatric residents in Chicago.

Angie had taken time off to have Dougie, was living in New York and ready to return to work, when Paige connected with Peter, a native of Tucker with the kind of leisurely small-town practice that appealed to the others. Given the promise of the small community hospital nearby and the fact that none of the four pediatricians was out for big bucks, they pooled their time, effort, and expertise in a way that enabled them to offer high-quality medical care while working reasonable hours.

Angie's pragmatism was a foil for Mara's dynamism, Paige's business sense countered Peter's provinciality. They complemented each other and were friends.

"Mara was a good doctor," Angie said in tribute. "She loved kids, and they loved her because they knew she was on their side. Her shoes will be hard to fill."

Paige could only nod in agreement. The sense of loss she felt was devastating.

"Will you be making the funeral plans?"

Angie asked.