An Alex Peres Novel

by Jessica Thomas

Copyright Â© 2010 by Jessica Thomas

Bel a Books, Inc.

P.O. Box 10543

Tal ahassee, FL 32302

Al rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper

First Edition

Editor: Katherine V. Forrest

Cover Designer: Stephanie Solomon-Lopez

ISBN 10: 1-59493-178-X

ISBN 13:978-1-59493-178-9

Acknowledgments

For John and Carol with the hope your neighbors forgive my peopling your scenic town with a bunch of kooks and crooks.

And to my editor Katherine V. Forrest for catching the bad spots and complimenting the good ones. See, Katherine, no unnecessary commas!

CHAPTER ONE

It may not have been the worst of times, but it sure as hel wasnâ€™t the best of times, either!

For a couple of years I had known that the roof on my house was working itself into replacement mode. Strong winds would bring down a shingle or two, and heavy rains or sleet left little streaks of grit at the bottom of

the downspouts. At that time, I had checked with the bank about getting a loan. The VP and CEO, Choate El is, was ever so gracious: theyâ€™d be happy to lend me the moneyâ€¦and if I wanted any other improvements or

repairs theyâ€™d be happy to lend me that money, too. They should be happy. Fishermanâ€™s Bank has held mortgages on every piece of property my family has owned for the last one hundred and fifty years.

I was living alone at the time and decided to take Choate up on his offer and add a second bedroom and splurge on a bathroom especial y for me. And I would spring for one of those walk-in showers that fired water at

you from every direction at any heat and any strength that pleased youâ€¦from drizzle to fire hose. It included everything but the compliant blonde to scrub your back. Oh, yeah. Dream on.

About that time, Cindy Hart came to town to head up the bankâ€™s new Personal Investments Department. She rented a smal cottage from my Aunt Mae, and of course, we met. We fel in love and discoveredâ€” voila!

â€” that we also liked each other. Final y, Cindy moved in with me.

But she also kept the cottage. It was our safety net, she said, for times when one of us wanted to be alone for a day or so; it was also our get-away when we both wanted to be unavailable to the world. It was a bit

strange to have a get-away only about a mile from our main residence, but we found great peace on the little deck overlooking a smal pond and the pine woods stretching beyond it. Wel s, our lovely, petite black-and white cat, enjoyed hunting in the reeds, and Fargo, our black Labrador retriever, took delight in leaping off the old dock to scatter invading ducks and geese. And we loved watching them.

Somewhere along the way, I sort of lost track of the roof.

Last month a whopping norâ€™easter brought a steady drip into the pantry, and I cal ed Orrick Construction. My brother Sonny had recommended them, reminding me they, too, had been around for a century or so. And Iâ€™d

gone to school with Bobby Orrick, who was now the main honcho of the company, so I felt at ease with him. He proved extremely helpful.

The Master Suite, as he referred to my idea for another bedroom and bath, would present no problems. He suggested we also run an enclosed walkway from the back door of the house to the side door of the garage,

thus providing not only shelter between the two, but also storage space so we could fit both cars into the garage.

While I was trying to guess what this would cost, Cindy pointed out that this walkway would make a smal U-shaped alcove when attached to the garage and the house. It would give that part of the yard protection from

the wind on three sides, so why didnâ€™t we put a deck outside the Master Suite (apparently she liked that phrase, too)â€”which would be completely private, so that we could enjoy it in our pajamas or whatever.

Bobby agreed it was a genius idea. He added that since that area would get the afternoon sun, we might want to consider a smal rock garden with a little fountain. This could be our own miniature Edenâ€”I never knew

him to be such a poetic type in schoolâ€”and when we had guests we could use the larger, more open backyard.

By now I had visions of a feature appearing in Better Homes and Gardensâ€¦about three days after we became bankrupt and homeless.

â€œLook,â€ I final y managed to squeak. â€œWe canâ€™t afford al this! My God, you two are planning the Taj Mahal!â€

Cindy patted my hand and laughed. â€œDarling, you forgetâ€”the house is also in my name now and, as I am an employee of the bank, we wil have a much better deal than they offered you last year, not to mention that

lovely rebate the government is handing out on income taxes. Relax. Enjoy.â€

I did neither. But I gave in, as we al knew I would.

Orrickâ€™s began work two days later. From eight in the morning to five in the evening, except for the lunch hour, we were treated to hammers, dril s, saws, a smal backhoe, trucks and men with loud voicesâ€¦doubtless

compensating for hearing damage from the hammers and dril s. At night the house was covered with a large blue plastic tarp, which protected us from moisture and smal critters and flapped al night in the slightest of

breezes. And Orrickâ€™s worked a six-day week in order, we learned, to get Bobbyâ€™s crew to the next victim on schedule.

The animals suffered most. Wel s took up residence under the bed, where she hissed and slapped at any attempt to get her out before five fifteen p.m. Fargo barked himself hoarse every day by nine a.m. He had to

be taken out on lead, even when the men had left for the day, because he had stolen several smal tools and probably buried them somewhere, dug an artistic addition to a trench that was ready to have a foundation

poured and chewed through an extension cord, which was thankful y unplugged.

I was pretty wel undone most mornings by ten. And I was trying to get my work set up for summer, which could be hectic. My work? Wel , Iâ€™m a private investigator and my name is Alexandra Peresâ€¦but please, please,

cal me Alex. My work varies greatly, from checking out potential employees to checking up on spouses who are thought by their mates to have forgotten that famous little clause, â€œforsaking al others.â€

I also investigate employees who are thought to be cheating on their employers in some way. I occasional y look for teenage runaways, although I duck those painful jobs if I can.

Andâ€”the biggest part of my job: I investigate visitors to Provincetown who are filing personal injury claims against a B&B or motel, restaurant, store, etc. Several insurance companies retain me to handle their

Provincetown customers, and it keeps me busy during tourist seasonâ€¦which seems to get longer every year.

It also keeps me entertained. Some people are nothing if not clever in their efforts to have a profitable vacation, and some are incredibly dumb. Last summer, for example, after his wife was startled by a bird and

stumbled backward into a large rose bush, the husband sued the B&B where the two of them were staying. Not for her injuries themselves, which were briefly painful but medical y minor, but because he was denied his

conjugal rights for over two weeks. Assuming the fel ow would be thought mad, the insurance company let the case go to court. They lost.

In another instance, a rather athletic woman staged a spectacular fal down a flight of stairs, due, she said, to a tear in the carpeting. Unfortunately, the scissors she had used to make the tear fel out of her handbag on

the way down, and were immediately visible to an honest witness who happened to be standing at the foot of the stairs.

Anyway, I was busy updating the list of clients that my clients represented. I was making sure I had the seemingly hundreds of various new forms I needed and tossing out the old ones.

And I was also busy at my second jobâ€”one which I hoped would someday replace my first one. A few years back I had gotten into nature photography as a hobby. I had become good enough to be doing it

professional y, with several wel -respected art gal eries in Ptown and a couple of adjacent towns handling my photographs. It meant not only taking photos, which took Fargo and me on hikes that we loved, but also

numbering and matting them and placing them in simple wood frames. I then took them to the gal eries to see which new ones they wanted to show, and how many older ones they wanted to re-order. And, how many

copies they wanted of each.

Sudden loud noises did not help me in any of the above endeavors.

Cindy had the best of it, missing al but an hour of the activity in the morning and another hour in the evening, plus Saturdays. Of course, the water might be abruptly cut off for unknown reasons at any hour, or strange

men might go up a ladder outside our bedroom as she dressed, or a sudden hammering might begin just as she applied mascara. None of us was having it easy.

We spent as much time as possible at the cottage. The quiet, the rejuvenated pets, the ability to say and do what we wished when we wished without benefit of a sudden audience restored us to some form of sanity.

But even the cottage began to show its imperfections as we spent more time there. Closets were tiny, the bed was a double, not a queen, and Fargo and Wel s seemed to take up more than their share of space in it. The

kitchen was not built for two and there was no dishwasher. There was a clothes washer and dryer slightly younger than I am and slightly less noisy than the Orrick crew.

But the main problem seemed to be around Cindyâ€™s clothes for the office. She had ninety percent of both closetsâ€”my usual daily attire this time of year consisted of jeans, shirt, sweatshirt or light jacket, crew socks

and loafers or sneakersâ€¦al of which could be stored most anywhere. Somehow, though, her clothes problem seemed in her mind to be my fault.

This morning, for example, I was out on the deck enjoying my coffee in the unusual y warm April sun and watching Wel s and Fargo on their morning patrols.

The screen door slammed, and, startled, I stood up and turned around. Cindy stood before me, mouth a straight line, hands clenched at her sides, her almost-Roman nose wrinkled in displeasure. This was unusual.

Most mornings Cindy met the world with her gamin smile and her gray eyes on bright to see what the day held in store.

â€œWould you just look at this mess!â€ She shook her head in disgust, undoing most of her efforts to control her wonderful dark curls.

I looked more closelyâ€¦and fought down a laugh. She had on a pale green skirt, a rather bril iant lavender blouse, a burnt orange blazer and blue pumps. I understood the shoes. She had worn a blue dress to work

yesterday, and they were probably the only dress shoes she had here. The rest of it was a mystery to me. Usual y, when Cindy was dressed, she was ready for a photo in the fashion pages of the New York Times

Magazine.

â€œItâ€™s very interesting,â€ I said neutral y, and then the laugh got away from me.

â€œItâ€™s not funny!â€ she snapped. â€œNow Iâ€™l have to go by the house with those thugs peering through the window while I change. Iâ€™l be late to work. How could you do this to me?â€

â€œMe? How do you figure itâ€™s my fault?â€

â€œYou picked up the cleaning yesterday.â€

â€œI nearly always pick up the cleaning,â€ I answered reasonably. â€œI do not pick out what you wear to work.â€

â€œYou could have cal ed me and told me everything you picked up clashed.â€

â€œDarling, I never even look at what I redeem from that bunch of thieves. I just pay their ransom and bring the stuff home. If I phoned you in the middle of a workday to tel you what portions of your wardrobe I had in the car,

youâ€™d think I had lost my mind.â€

â€œWel ,â€ she answered weakly, â€œnow is different, with al this shit going on!â€

My eyebrows went up. Cindy rarely swore, and almost never scatological y. I stil tried to be reasonableâ€¦I thought. â€œLook, Iâ€™ve got a clean white shirt in the bureau, and your light blue jeans are hereâ€”that should do it.

Itâ€™s dress-down Friday.â€

â€œItâ€™s not that dress-down, and anyway, Iâ€™m not going in there wearing a too-big shirt, probably with a frayed col ar. Alex, youâ€™re just impossible!â€

â€œNo.â€ At this point I was a little snappy myself. â€œI am not impossible, Iâ€™m just trying to be helpful. Anyway, where are al your clothes that were here the other day? Isnâ€™t there something you could wear?â€ I didnâ€™t mention

that this mindless discussion was making her ever later for work: that would dawn on her soon enough.

â€œI took them home. The closets were getting so crowded.â€

â€œCouldnâ€™t you have left just one or two outfits and some shoes? That way I wouldnâ€™t need to be your personal dresser and try to figure out what youâ€™d like to wear every time I get your cleaning.â€

â€œYou donâ€™t have to get snotty andâ€¦â€

â€œGirls, girls! For heavenâ€™s sake, I heard you al the way in my house.â€ My Aunt Mae came up the stairs onto the deck, looking like a troubled pouter pigeon wearing glasses slightly awry. Her stil -pretty round face belied

her late fifties ageâ€¦even if she had put on a pound or ten. Always soft-spoken, this morning her voice had a bit of a low-pitched edge to it. Had she real y heard us al the way up the hil ?

â€œNow,â€ she said quietly, â€œI know workmen around a house are noisy and inconvenient, but you are both behaving like children. Here, Cindy, this light tan blouse of mine should fit you pretty wel , and go with your blazer

and skirt, and these tan shoes should get you through the day. Run inside and change before youâ€™re good and late. You two would stil be at it at lunchtime.â€ She shoved the clothing into Cindyâ€™s arms and pushed her gently

toward the door. Cindy went.

â€œGoodness, I hate to hear you two quarrel.â€ Raised voices were not in Aunt Maeâ€™s repertoire. â€œYouâ€™re both strung out with al this repair and remodeling, but you shouldnâ€™t take it out on each other. I hope you donâ€™t do this

often.â€

â€œYouâ€™re right Aunt Mae.â€ I was embarrassed that she had heard us al the way up the hil . â€œWe rarely quarrel, honestly. I guess we are just feeling put upon or put out or some damn thing. Even Wel s and Fargo are

grumpy.â€

â€œWel , they have some excuseâ€¦they donâ€™t understand whatâ€™s going on. You twoâ€¦â€

â€œâ€¦have no excuse whatsoever,â€ Cindy completed for her. She came out looking reasonably wel put together if not quite her perfect self. â€œI should probably move under the bed with Wel s and we could hiss and scratch

together. I am sorry for my operatic performance.â€ She kissed us both on the cheek and started off the deck to her car.

â€œYou know what?â€ Aunt Mae cal ed after her. â€œYou both need a vacation. Leave the carpentry to the carpenters and go away somewhere. Iâ€™m serious.â€

â€œAnd probably right,â€ I agreed.

â€œAh, Paris in the spring!â€ Cindy sighed.

â€œChestnuts in blossom,â€ Aunt Mae added.

â€œDo you think the Louvre would like some of my photos?â€ I asked.

Neither of them answered.

CHAPTER TWO

I had returned to the house and was just wrapping up the spring cleaning activities in my office when the phone rang. Fortunately, the Orrick boys were working on the other side of the house, and I could actual y hear my

cal er.

â€œAlex? Ralph Ryder here.â€ Ralph and Becky Ryder ran a B&B down in the East end, and their insurance company was one that kept me on retainer to check out personal injury claims. They ran a tight ship, one might

say, and I didnâ€™t recal ever dealing with a claim against them. In fact I hardly knew them.

â€œAh, yes, Ralph, what can I do for you?â€

â€œWel , weâ€™ve got a spot of trouble here, and I thought I should ring you up.â€

Then I remembered: Ralph had moved here from England when he was about three, but held doggedly to his accent, tweedy clothes, pipe and, probably outmoded, British slang.

â€œCould you take a run over for a recce?â€ he asked.

â€œCould you tel me what the problem is? I hate to walk in blind.â€

â€œOne of our guests came barefoot out of his bathroom and whacked his middle toe against a leg of the chest of drawers. You know those things hurt like the deuce. And heâ€™s limping badly. Since hiking â€™round the pine

woods and the beech woods are his main reasons for coming, heâ€™s not got much reason to stay, what?â€

â€œProbably not,â€ I answered, â€œbut you didnâ€™t push him into the furniture, either, did you?â€

â€œNo. Of course not. I wouldnâ€™t dream of doing that!â€ He sounded shocked, and I remembered that a sense of humor was not his main characteristic. â€œBut that furniture leg was sticking out a bit,â€ he added. â€œProbably

pul ed away from the wal by one of the maids in cleaning, and not pushed back where it belonged.â€

â€œThat changes the picture, Ralph. I guess Iâ€™d better stop byâ€¦howâ€™s now?â€

â€œPerfect. Couldnâ€™t be better! Ta-ta.â€

â€œYou bet.â€

I went to my safe and took two brand-new hundred-dol ar bil s from a smal stack of ten, which I kept for situations like this. Over time I had discovered that sometimes a crisp bil or two would eliminate lawyers and a

plethora of formsâ€”or vice versaâ€” so I usual y took some with me, just in case . Next I traded the sweatshirt for a blouse and blazer, considered myself properly dressedâ€”with no histrionics, I might addâ€”and left, with

Fargo hard at my heels.

As we drove down Bradford Street, I saw that Ptown was aware spring was coming. Many of the B&Bs showed new or cleaned awnings and glistening windows and neatly trimmed shrubs. Even Evansâ€™ Market had a

man out painting the yel ow lines in the parking area.

We found the Ryders in the living roomâ€¦along with the injured guest, whom they introduced as Mr. Wil iams. He looked like a grandfather direct from Central Casting: wispy white hair, pale blue eyes, a slight paunch

and a sweet smile. The only sour note was his left foot: wrapped in a large towel, which I assumed contained some crushed ice.

He seemed embarrassed by al the attention, and insisted he was not badly injured. I agreed that he probably wasnâ€™t seriously damaged, but that it probably hurt like hel . I had experienced that type of injury a couple of

times, I mentioned, and had felt as if amputation were quite possible.

Wil iams gave me a smile and admitted to some pain, although he figured al anyone could do was to tape the damaged toe to the next unhurt one and try to stay off it as much as possible.

It was the â€œstaying off itâ€ that bothered him most. â€œYou see,â€ he explained. â€œI come up every spring to watch the returning birds pairing off and starting their nests, and that requires considerable walking.â€ He sounded so

sad, Fargo had walked over to comfort him, earning himself a friendly scratch behind the ears.

I now had my answer to the problem. â€œI understand, sir, and I have a suggestion.

â€œThere wil , of course, be no charge for your stay so far, and the Ryders wil happily treat you to a stay in June. And if you donâ€™t mind, my dog Fargo and I wil join you on one of your hikesâ€”weâ€™re bird lovers, too. And by

June we should get a good laugh at the fledglings making fools of themselves learning to fly.â€

The Ryders didnâ€™t look terribly happy, probably because by June they could be renting his room at ful summer rates. But Mr. Wil iams, I was sure from his pleased and relieved expression, would not be filing any

lawsuits, and a long free weekend seemed the least he deserved. The Ryder B&B was clean and comfortable, and served an adequate breakfast, but it was a no-fril s operation. Wil iams probably would be staying

elsewhere if his wal et were heavy.

He gave the Ryders that sweet smile, and they both broke down and smiled back, although Mrs. Ryderâ€™s was doubly strained. She kept looking at Fargo as if he were likely to bite her, urinate and dig a hole in the

carpet at any moment.

â€œNow,â€ I concluded, â€œMr. Ryder wil run you over to the clinic to get that toe taped, courtesy Pilgrim Insurance. Pilgrim is also aware of the current gasoline price of about a dol ar per teaspoon, and we wouldnâ€™t want you

to be out anything for making the extra trip from home and back, so-oo...â€ I handed him one of the two crisp hundred dol ar bil s.

â€œOh, no, I canâ€™t accept that!â€ He handed the bil back to me.

â€œSure you can. Otherwise, you and I could not sign this terribly official insurance form in triplicateâ€”you know how insurance companies are.â€

He signed it. I gave him his copy and firmly handed him the money, gave the Ryders their copy and stood up. â€œMy work is finished here. Hereâ€™s my card. Cal me in June, sir, and we have a date.â€

He blushed as if Iâ€™d asked him to the prom and shook my hand about six times. I gave the Ryders a brisk nod and left, feeling righteous.

I was also feeling thirsty and hungry, and since it was noon-ish, my thoughts turned natural y to the Wharf Rat Bar. Fargo and I would treat ourselves to lunch as reward for a job wel and neatly done.

I lucked into a parking space right up the al ey from the Rat. Even in early April there was considerable traffic on Commercial Street. It was a good thing the sand dunes were part of the National Seashore, with very

limited access, or I guessed people would be skiing down them in January.

Fargo hunkered down beside the big old anchor half-buried in front of the Rat, and I arranged his leash to give him a choice of shade or sun. â€œLuncheon wil be served shortly,â€ I reassured him, and went in.

The Wharf Rat Bar never changed regardless of season. Tables and chairs were unmatched, wal s were hung with lobster pots and old wooden buoys, fishnets and oars. In one dim corner stood a shipâ€™s telegraph

taken from a ferry long gone to some phantom crossing in the sky, the indicator frozen on dead slow asternâ€¦I thought it a fitting motto for the Rat. Taking a seat at the bar, I greeted Joe, the owner/bartender and added,

â€œThanks, Joe,â€ for the cold Bud he placed in front of me. â€œHis Nibs is out front and would like a super-rare hamburger, plain, and some water. What would I like? What is Bil ieâ€™s triumph du jour? â€

â€œA lobster salad thatâ€™s going fast. I better put your order in.â€ He turned for the kitchen. I didnâ€™t argue. Anything Bil ie made was always good. It was talking with her that was sometimes a problem. Her conversation could

be a little hard to fol ow.

After serving the careful y cut-up hamburger on a plastic saucer and a bowl of water with an ice cube afloat in it, I returned inside to find my own luncheon sitting on the bar and Joeâ€™s wife, Bil ie standing behind it. â€œThis

seems to be sel ing good and I think the tourists like it, too. I wanted your opinion on it, whether or not I put in on the regular menu. Not that they would know it. You and your Mama know good foodâ€¦though she ainâ€™t here

today. How is she? Itâ€™s what they cal labor intensive.â€

I took a sample bite, using the time to sort out Bil ieâ€™s comments. â€œMomâ€™s fine, and this is delicious! Itâ€™s also beautiful y served. Iâ€™l have to send her by to try it. Wil you have it on the menu tomorrow?â€

â€œFor Jeanne I wil . Not for the hoy old boy.â€

I thought for a minute; then I got it. Mom would be glad she was not considered one of the hoi pol oi. â€ I smiled. Bil ie smiled and returned to her kitchen, a tal , spare, rather colorless woman whose food needed no

makeup and no lessons in syntax.

As I ate the saladâ€”large chunks of tender lobster mixed with chopped black olives, celery hearts, a caper here and there, a bit of cilantro and very little mayonnaiseâ€”al put back in the shel and served with two

miniature biscuits and corn muffins, I found myself relaxing after the rather hectic morning.

Idly, I watched Joe mixing drinks, pouring beer, as he served other customers. He and Bil ie were a strange couple. Joe was shorter than she and muscular, as if he might have been a boxer in his youth. And he wore a

little mustache across his upper lip as so many short men do. He liked the ladies, and rumor said some liked him back. But I always wondered how he escaped the eagle in the kitchen.

Soon, I recognized a familiar greeting.

An aroma of fried fish, onions and beer announced the arrival of Harmon, winner by an easy length of the title Town Character. He had been lunching at the large round table in the front of the Rat, sharing it with a group

of part-time fishermen whom Joe had dubbed The Blues Brothers, because of their continuous chorus bewailing the quotas on fish, the paucity of fish, the incursions on their fishing grounds by foreigners and even

swordfish-hunting Floridians and the outrageous cost of fuel it took to go after the fish in the first place.

Harmon was a Blues Brother in good standing but, even more than he despised poachers, he hated drug dealers. And he saw them on every street corner every hour of the day. According to Harmon, Provincetown

dealt more dope than Colombia could supply. In Harmonâ€™s program, local fishing boats took heavy loads off mother ships far out in the Atlantic. By other accounts, private aircraft landed it boldly at our airport, and

seaplanes splashed down in our harbor, with wives and children acting as covers for their true cargo. Tour buses delivered dealers by the dozen and private pleasure boats didnâ€™t bear examination.

It would have been a harmless obsession had Harmon merely kept these tales for his front-table confreres. Unfortunately, he insisted on reporting every new discovery to my brother, Detective Lieutenant Edward J.

(Sonny) Peres of Provincetownâ€™s finest. Sonny, although fond of Harmon, had developed many ways to dodge him, which meant that Harmon sent many of his messages to Sonny through me. I wasnâ€™t good at dodging,

andâ€”anywayâ€”I wouldnâ€™t have hurt his feelings for the world. He was honest, kind, gentle and a marvelous handyman. In Ptown nowadays, one does not knowingly estrange a good handyman.

â€œHel o, there, Harmon, howâ€™s life treating you?â€

â€œNot bad, Alex, not bad, but I need to get hold of Sonny, and at the police station they donâ€™t seem to know where he is. I wondered if you did.â€

I shook my head. â€œNo idea.â€ I moved my hand in a circling motion, and Joe set a beer in front of each of us. I nodded my thanks and pushed some money across the bar to cover the beers and my lunch. â€œCan I help you

with anything?â€ I knew heâ€™d ask me anyway.

with anything?â€ I knew heâ€™d ask me anyway.

â€œCome to think of it,â€ Harmon replied, â€œIâ€™m sure you can. Cassieâ€™s a friend of yours, and Iâ€™m afraid she may be in serious danger.â€

I suddenly lost interest in the plate before me and turned rapt attention toward Harmon. Cassie Deane had been my close friend for years. She owned Outer Cape Charter Aviationâ€”which had a fleet of one lovely,

sleek twin engine Beechcraft. Cassie was CEO, pilot, mechanic, receptionist, skycap and business manager of the firm.

The thought of Cassie in danger had me ready to go get my Belgian Browning .32 automatic out of my safe and dash to the airport.

â€œTel me, Harmon. Whoâ€™s after Cassie, and why?â€

â€œDruggies. Three of â€™em.â€

â€œOh, come on, Harmon, Cassie isnâ€™t into drugs, never has been.â€

â€œI know that. Itâ€™s her plane they want, and if she wonâ€™t rent it to them, theyâ€™l hire her to fly it and then kil her when they get there.â€

â€œStart at the top,â€ I snapped. â€œYouâ€™re not making sense.â€

â€œOkay.â€ He frowned, and I could almost see his mind working back to where he should start his latest drama.

â€œOkay,â€ he repeated. â€œYesterday I was at Ms. Lynnâ€™s place, paintinâ€™ her picket fence out in front of the houseâ€¦and you know there ainâ€™t nothing gives you more time to think about somethinâ€™ else than painting a picket

fence!â€

I laughed. I had one myself and so did my mother, and Harmon was dead right.

He grinned at me and continued. â€œWel , there was three fel as come along and sat down on one of them benches the town has put up along the sidewalks here and there for the tourists to take a rest from spendinâ€™

money on stuff they donâ€™t need. They started talking, and I kind of half painted and half listened to what they had to say. Now, Alex, itâ€™s going to be one of the biggest drug trades Provincetown ever seenâ€¦I kid you not!â€

I should have guessed. â€œWel , how about that!â€ I shook my head. â€œAnd just how is Cassie involved?â€ My worries about my friendâ€™s safety were waning fast.

â€œIt seems like these big dealers ainâ€™t satisfied with shipping drugs down to Connecticut and New York no moreâ€”these men were talking about a shipment to some little town way out near Pittsburgh! I tel you, weâ€™l be

supplying the whole country soon. They want to rent Cassieâ€™s plane in early May and fly themselves and what they cal ed their â€˜cargoâ€™ out to this little townâ€¦one of the men apparently has a pilotâ€™s license. But Cassie, she

wasnâ€™t buying. She told them she goes where the plane goes.â€

â€œYes,â€ I agreed. â€œShe doesnâ€™t trust a soul but herself with that plane. You canâ€™t blame her, itâ€™s her livelihood. And anyway, she loves it.â€

â€œI know, Alex, I know. Anyway, this one guy, he says he donâ€™t want to get involved with no woman pilot: if she donâ€™t crash them, sheâ€™l set â€™em down somewhere in Alaska. The other guy says he hears sheâ€™s a super-good

pilot and shouldnâ€™t have no trouble with a night landing in a unlit field, but if she does the flying, what do they do with her once they get there?â€

That sounded strange to me. If the charter were legitimate and Cassie had no return passengers, theyâ€™d have to get her some motel room overnight and, of course, pay for gas and time on her trip home. And what was

this about an unlit field? I took a sip of my beer, lunch now pushed aside, and lit a cigarette. It was my third of the day. If I exceeded five, Iâ€™d give my wrist a good hard slap.

Harmon drained his bottle of beer, wiped his mouth daintily on his sleeve and went on. â€œThe fat guy says you can always just fil up her handbag with the cargo and send her home; that ought to make her happy. They al

laughed at that, but the hard-to-please guy says, â€˜You got to do more than that, and you know it. You canâ€™t leave that plane in the middle of your pasture, Frank, half the town would be climbing al over it. And what about her.

Sheâ€™s bound to tumble to whatâ€™s up, and lots of people donâ€™t exactly love people like us. Then weâ€™d have to take care of her some way.â€™ Thatâ€™s exactly what he said, Alex. And that donâ€™t sound good to me.â€

It didnâ€™t sound good to me either. Apparently one man was fat. One was cal ed Frank. And that was al we knew except they were taking â€œcargoâ€ to a pasture somewhere near Pittsburgh and would have to do something

with the pilot after they landed. It would be virtual y impossible to track them down here in townâ€”and they might not even be staying in Ptown. Wel , they had to be in contact with Cassie. Sonny could put a cop on her and

find out what this cargo was.

â€œHarmon, it sounds downright bad to me. Iâ€™l chase Sonny down and have him contact you. You may remember something else they said and what they looked like or maybe the name of the town. I donâ€™t want Cassie

kidnapped or something worse. Thanks a mil ion for being bored with your fence!â€

â€œTel Sonny Iâ€™l be at Ms. Lynnâ€™sâ€¦painting the back fence. Thanks for the beer.â€

He patted my shoulder and left.

I went back to my lunch, but I finished the salad, more to keep from hurting Bil ieâ€™s feelings than from any great appetite.

CHAPTER THREE

I knew exactly where my cel phone wasâ€¦for a change. Usual y my phone cal s were not crises and could wait until I got home or to a pay phone without causing a problem. Sonny insisted that someday a bear would

be coming through the front door, and Iâ€™d be asking myself where I might have left the cel phone. I told him I would simply exit through the back door and leave the bear with the house, the bowl of porridge, the just-right bed

and the cel phone if he could find it.

Actual y, I knew Sonny was right and once again promised myself to keep the damned thing in my pocket or purse, if I were carrying one, which was rare. I was pretty sure the phone was on my bedside table, and I

hated to go home. It was only two oâ€™clock. And the Orrick crew would be at ful afternoon volume. I decided to see if my mom were home and start my Sonny search from there.

Theoretical y, Sonny lived with Momâ€¦for the third time since childhood. He was now twice divorced, with only one ex-wife remarried and two kids approaching the expensive teen and then col ege years. So he was on

a tight budget, and Momâ€™s midget rent included many meals. She drew the line at laundry, however. If he could drive a car, she opined, he could run a washer and dryer.

His current girlfriend, Trish, was a smart and successful young lawyer here in townâ€”too kind, I thought, for her own good. Fortunately, neither she nor Sonny seemed to have marriage on the mind. For which our family

â€”and doubtless hersâ€”gave frequent thanks. Sonny did, however, spend numerous nights at her apartment.

Anyway, Mom might know his schedule for the day. At least I could use her phone to have Nacho at police headquarters track him down.

As I turned into her driveway, I noticed Momâ€™s car in the garage, so probably she was home. And it was stil home to me, too, in a way. I guess the house you were raised in is always home, no matter where you spend

your adult years.

The house today looked much as it had when I was a kid. Like most old Cape homes, it was set close to the street, with a smal front lawn and the de rigueur white picket fence.

The house itself was a cheerful yel ow with maroon shuttersâ€”if it had ever been painted anything else, it was before my time. The backyard was sizeable by Provincetown standards, with several flower beds and a very

smal vegetable garden that grew an amazing crop. Mom said her success was due to placing the plants so close to each other, there was no room for weeds. Iâ€™ve never figured out if she were serious about that or not,

but it seemed to work.

The lady of the house was in residence, busily washing down the outdoor furniture, which had spent the winter in the basement.

â€œHel o, darling!â€ She turned the hose away and presented a damp cheek for a kiss. â€œI donâ€™t know how I always seem to get more water on me than on the tables and chairs,â€ she grumbled.

â€œItâ€™s because you have a secret wish to return to childhood and play in the water,â€ I replied.

â€œAnd just how do you know that, Dr. Freud?â€

â€œBecauss, I do ze same thing myself, you zil y voman.â€ I laughed and gave her a hug, water and al .

At that moment Fargo felt neglected and jumped against Mom with muddy paws, and began to slurp a drink from the hose she held. â€œMy, God,â€ she squealed. â€œItâ€™s endemic! Get down, you beast!â€

She turned to me. â€œWel , dear, did you just stop by to raise havoc, or is there some other reason for this very welcome visit?â€

â€œActual y, Iâ€™m looking for Sonny.â€

She shook her head. â€œYou wonâ€™t find him this afternoon unless itâ€™s truly a matter of life and death. He and Mitch are checking auto repair garages al the way down Cape, trying to come up with the car that played hit and-run with old Mr. Alves yesterday. It cost him a leg, you know, and al sorts of lesser injuries.â€

I shook my head. â€œI hadnâ€™t even heard about it. And I was just at the Wharf Rat. Whatâ€™s happening to our jungle drums? Is he going to be okayâ€¦I mean as much okay as possible?â€

â€œI donâ€™t know. Last night he was critical, but stable, whatever that means. Come on in, I could use a coffee break, not to mention some dry clothes.â€

We went inside. While Mom changed clothes, I wiped Fargo down with a clean, dry rag which rapidly became no longer clean or dry. He then sat down and stared up at the canister where Mom kept his treats. I fished

one out. â€œYou donâ€™t deserve this, but itâ€™s easier than watching you melt away from starvation.â€ He accepted it graciously.

I remembered to say thank you for the coffee, after Mom returned and we sat at the kitchen table. And I accepted the chocolate chip cookie graciously. After a sip or two of coffee and a bite or two of the cookie, I told

my mother essential y what Harmon had told me.

She held her cup in front of her and frowned at it as if it were withholding valuable information.

â€œYou know,â€ she said, â€œthe problem is that itâ€™s Harmon who overheard the conversation. If it had been anyone else, weâ€™d be sitting at the hangar door holding shotguns until the police force could arrive. But with Harmon,

you tend to think their â€˜cargoâ€™ wil end up being a bunch of fishing nets, lobster pots and buckets of sand to decorate the town swimming pool.â€

â€œI know,â€ I agreed. â€œBut then I remember how he has accidental y been right about some things. I mean, think of that State contractor. Harmon thought he was into drugsâ€¦and it was graftâ€¦but it was stil a crime, and the

guy is in jail for it.â€

Mom sighed. â€œYes, I recal . And if I live to be a hundred, Iâ€™l never forget that al igator. No one ever proved that Harmon was actual y wrong. â€

Last summer a sizeable al igator appeared on the loose in Ptown. The first anyone knew of his presence was the night he chased a naked lady up a mimosa tree. His other antics were considerably less humorous.

Harmon was convinced a drug distributor had brought the thing to town to teach an errant dealer to toe the line, and something had gone awry with his plan.

Most of us thought that was pretty far outâ€”but, then, every explanation we could come up with was pretty far out, too.

I had to laugh. â€œWel , Mom, maybe these guys are just saying they want Cassie to fly them to Pittsburgh. Once theyâ€™re airborne, theyâ€™l tel her to fly to Florida, pick up an al igator and bring it back to finish the job.â€

Mom gave me a wide smile. â€œI would not wish to be the person who told Cassie Deane she had to put a swampy gator in that spotless plane of hers. But, seriously, I donâ€™t particularly like the sound of this. Of course, it

may turn out to be perfectly harmless, but I think we should let Sonny decide that.â€ She pushed the kitchen phone down the table toward me, and I made the cal to headquarters. Nacho assured me sheâ€™d have him cal or

stop by as soon as he surfaced.

I was in no mood to go home and listen to the Orrick version of The Anvil Chorus, so my mother got two unscheduled helpers with her furniture cleaning. One of us was paid off in cookies; the other received a chicken

gizzard saved from dinner the night before. We both found the remuneration quite satisfactory.

My timing was good. Just as I pul ed in my own driveway, Orrickâ€™s crew was packing up for the day. I checked the yard for loose tools and wires within Fargoâ€™s reach and found none, so I let him go. He grinned at his

freedom and inspected every inch of yard to check where those Huns had been, whuffling with disapproval from time to time. I know the vet says that cheek-puffing noise I cal whuffling is simply the animalâ€™s way of

processing a strange smel , but to me, it always sounds censorious.

I confirmed Orrickâ€™s progress for the day and thought there just might be the palest of lights at the end of the tunnel. I figured Orrick would eventual y finish. My question was: would Cindy and I survive until he did.

My musings must have been out loud, for a voice answered, â€œYouâ€™l survive better if you just go away and let him have at it. Contractors, workmen and owners donâ€™t mix wel .â€

It was Sonny. â€œI hear you are looking for me? I hope it isnâ€™t to move furniture, Iâ€™m beat. And al for no results. And I hate to tel that to Mrs. Alves.â€

â€œThatâ€™s too bad. I hope you get the guyâ€”I assume it was a guy. Werenâ€™t there any witnesses?â€

â€œOh, yes, plenty. And three-to-two of them make it a man driving. Four say there were two people in the front seat, one holds out for just one person, and one insists there was a child in the backseat. The color of the car

was dark green, navy or gray, and the make may have been anything from Kia to Acura. Actual y, weâ€™re just looking for anything with front-end damage, and there will be some damage. They real y wal oped the old guy.â€

â€œHow is he?â€

â€œConscious but looney tunes, possibly for good.â€

â€œOh, dear,â€ I sighed. â€œWel , fortunately the sun is over the yardarm. Come on in.â€

Sonny folded into a chair at the kitchen table.

â€œDo you have a beer? Iâ€™m afraid anything stronger wil have me asleep before you tel me your tale of mortal danger for good old Cassie. Mom made it sound like we should ask for the National Guard.â€

â€œShe may be right.â€ I fished a bottle of beer out of the fridge and set it in front of him with a glass, which he ignored. He did not, however, ignore the pack of cigarettes and lighter I had tossed onto the table earlier.

â€œDammit, Sonny, donâ€™t you ever buy your own?â€

I made myself a light bourbon and water and sat down.

He shook his head. â€œNot when someone is about to tel me a Harmon story. I deserve al the perks I can get.â€

I told him the Harmon story, and his reaction was much like Momâ€™s.

â€œIf only it hadnâ€™t come from Harmon. It just doesnâ€™t make sense that three men planning some sort of crime, possibly ending in murder, would casual y discuss it on a park bench with a guy painting a fence right behind

them.â€

He had brought forth one of my own early thoughts. â€œI know, but maybe they didnâ€™t know he was there. If he was down toward the corner of the fence, I think there are a couple of shrubs that would pretty wel conceal him,

and he wouldnâ€™t be making much noiseâ€¦especial y if there was any traffic to override it. And doubly so if Harmon was concentrating on them, not the paintbrush.â€

â€œI guess it could be,â€ he agreed. â€œBut it seems a god-awful complicated way to bring dope to a Pittsburgh suburb! Youâ€™d at least have to have some merchant vessel meeting a smal er fishing boat or pleasure craft at

sea and bringing the dope into Ptown. Then a private charter plane from here to a non-airport where it would cause al sorts of interest, landing in the middle of the night. And, final y, as they said: what do they do with an

uncooperative pilot?â€

He tapped his cigarette thoughtful y into the ashtray. â€œI think Iâ€™d just pick up the â€˜cargoâ€™ somewhere in Texas or Florida, toss it in a pickup with a camper modification and toodle up the highway. Two men could be in the

front and one catching some sleep in the camper part. They could drive straight through, and if they obey the speed limit and donâ€™t have an accident, thereâ€™s no reason to stop them. Harmon has them doing this the hard

way, and those guys are rarely fools. Hel , Alex, they probably want to charter her plane to ferryâ€”you should pardon the punâ€”four or five of our sweet boys for rent, to entertain at the church supper.â€

â€œThatâ€™s not nice.â€

â€œIt makes more sense than bringing in drugs via every place but the Oval Office.â€

â€œYou could send Harmon down to Washington to investigate. That should make the six oâ€™clock news.â€

Sonny laughed and reached for another cigarette. Was he this heavy a smoker when they were his?

â€œWel ,â€ he placed the lighter back on the table. â€œWhat we can do is this: Iâ€™l talk to Cassie. If she doesnâ€™t have a whole different tale to tel , weâ€™l put Hatcher into some greasy coveral s and send him out to play Cassieâ€™s

mechanic for a day or so and see what we come up with. She can kind of play along with them and see if they furnish anything factual. If they even show up again.â€

â€œSounds good to me,â€ I agreed.

â€œIâ€™m beginning to feel human,â€ Sonny said and got up to get another beer. â€œFreshen your drink?â€

â€œNo thanks, Iâ€™m okay for now.â€

Just as he turned back to the table, Cindy came in the door.

She was wearing a navy blue linen suit and white blouse with a deep V-neck. She had on navy and white shoes with her signature three-inch heels. And she had had her hair done at some point during the day. She

looked lovely but somehow stressed.

Sonny put his free hand on her shoulder and leaned down for a peck on her cheek. â€œIâ€™l be damned, honey, you look good enough to have for dinner!â€

Cindy looked up at him, said, â€œâ€¦Letâ€™s sayâ€¦ Oh, God!!â€ And burst into tears.

Sonny dropped his hand like heâ€™d been shot and took a giant step backward into the refrigerator door. â€œCindy! Iâ€™m so sorry. I didnâ€™t mean anything wrong! Itâ€™s justâ€¦you looked so prettyâ€¦I must have just said it wrong

â€¦please donâ€™t cry.â€

I

knew

he

hadnâ€™t

meant

anything

out

of

lineâ€”and,

more

to

the

point,

so

did

Cindy.

There

was

considerable

affection

between

the

two,

and

she

would

never

have

taken

offense

at

what

he

just

did

and

said.

And

if

she had

thought he was out of line, a swift verbal one-two punch would have been a much more likely reaction than tears. What on earth was wrong with her?

Before I could phrase the question, Cindy abruptly sat down at the table and fished a tissue from her jacket pocket. Dabbing at her eyes, she looked up at Sonny.

â€œItâ€™s not you. Iâ€™m the one whoâ€™s sorry. You didnâ€™t do anything.â€ She blinked back a fresh round of tears and got control of her voice.

â€œI think Iâ€™m being stalked.â€

CHAPTER FOUR

Nobody said another word. Sonny and I just stared at her as if sheâ€™d placed a smoking bomb on the kitchen table.

Fargo was the first to get his act together, scrambling to his feet and going to her and putting his head in her lap. That seemed to unlock Sonny and me. And we were ful of questions.

â€œDarling, how awful for you! When did this start?â€

Before she could answer, Sonny asked, â€œIs it a male or a female?â€

â€œIs it someone you know or recognize?â€ I queried.

â€œHave you been harmed or threatened in any way?â€ Sonny was looking fierce.

Waving her hands as if she were shooing away flies, Cindy spoke jerkily between short breaths. â€œWait! Just wait! Youâ€™re both picking on me. I canâ€™t answer you both at once. I just canâ€™t!â€

It final y dawned on me that she was understandably near hysteria, and firing questions at her would not help the situation. Count on Fargoâ€”heâ€™d handled it correctly right from the get- go. I lowered my voiceâ€”both in

pitch and volume.

â€œAbsolutely right, angel. Take your time. Sonny, would you make Cindy a drink and freshen mine, as you so kindly offered earlier.â€ He headed for the dining room, where the liquor lived.

â€œSure. And just remember, Cindy, youâ€™re perfectly safe nowâ€¦and weâ€™l make certain you stay that way. Try to tel us about it as you feel up to it.â€

Sonny soon handed out the drinks. Taking a sip, Cindy began to speak. â€œYou know how you somehow become aware someone is staring at you? They donâ€™t have to wave or say anything; you just feel it. Most of the

time itâ€™s okayâ€¦someone you know wanting your attention, or some woman wearing the same dress you are, or a tourist about to ask directions. You knowâ€¦nothing.â€

We nodded agreement and she continued. â€œBut the last week or so Iâ€™ve had the feeling someone was watching me a lot. Then when I looked up or looked around, I felt as if they had quickly looked the other way, or

stepped behind another person, or were suddenly reading the newspaper.â€

Sonny asked gently. â€œHas this been a specific person or just a kind of general feeling?â€

â€œJust a general feeling. Why?â€ she asked defensively. â€œYou think Iâ€™m paranoid?â€

â€œFar from it,â€ he smiled. â€œKnowing you, if you could tel who it was, youâ€™d have long since confronted them. Right?â€

She returned his smile, and I felt better. Obviously, so did she. â€œYou bet!â€ she said. â€œAnd at this point I would confront them with a basebal bat.â€

I put my oar in the water. â€œWhere have you been when you had these feelings?â€

â€œMost often at work. Usual y downstairs in the main banking area. Or in the parking lot at workâ€¦mostly at the end of the day. And also on my lunch hour, walking to a restaurant, doing an errand, just getting some fresh

air.â€

â€œNo phone cal s?â€ Sonny was making notes on a pad he had commandeered from its little cage on the wal next to the kitchen phone.

â€œNo.â€

â€œHas anybody said anything strange to you? Or touched you unnecessarily, even though it seemed innocuous at the time?â€ Sonny scribbled on.

â€œNo.â€

Whoever this was, was beginning to seem like a real phantom.

Digging into her purse on the table, she sighed heavily. â€œToday I found this under my windshield wiper. I almost tossed it; it makes no sense. I stil think maybe somebody got the wrong car.â€

She pul ed out a note and handed it to me. I took it gingerly by a corner, hoping there might be fingerprints. It was fairly neatly printed on what was probably a page torn from a pocket calendar and read: Donâ€™t worry

about anybody giving you a hard time. I will be there for you. Love, your lifegard.

Sonny leaned over my shoulder and read it aloud. â€œWhoever it is, seems fairly wel educatedâ€¦itâ€™s grammatical and neat.â€

â€œLifeguard is misspel ed,â€ I noted.

â€œYeah,â€ Sonny nodded. â€œMaybe itâ€™s one of those words you just donâ€™t seem able to spel rightâ€¦like I always tend to put an extra a in apart a ment.â€

â€œMaybe.â€ I laid the note careful y on the kitchen counter. â€œIâ€™l get an envelope for this in a minute. You know, Cindy is right; this thing makes no sense. It sounds as if heâ€™s saying heâ€™l protect you against himself.â€

â€œI know,â€ Sonny answered. â€œUnless the stalker has a stalker.â€

â€œOh, my God,â€ Cindy groaned. â€œTwo of them are al I need!â€

â€œWel , they might as wel get used to a crowd, because Iâ€™m going to be stalker number three, right behind you every inch of the way.â€ I lit a cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke forceful y toward the ceiling.

â€œThe hel you are,â€ Sonny snapped. â€œHaving you as a bodyguard would make about as much sense as my tailing her in ful uniform, blowing a tuba. Whoever knows Cindy, probably knows you two are a pair. In fact, Iâ€™ve

been trying to think whom I could use to trail her from a distance. Iâ€™ve decided everybody on the force would probably stand out like a cat at the dog show to anybody local. Thereâ€™s no point in having someone fol ow her if

the stalker connects the two of them. Heâ€™d just quit until we took the tail off. Or he might switch to someone we wonâ€™t know about. Or he might get nasty.â€

â€œWel , somebody has to be near her. I can always wear a disguise.â€

Sonny roared, and even Cindy had to smother a giggle.

â€œI could think of something,â€ I insisted. â€œBut if you donâ€™t like my idea, whatâ€™s yours?â€

â€œVery simple,â€ he smirked, and I wanted to slap him. â€œThereâ€™s a cop down in Eastham who retired last year. He told me recently heâ€™s bored to death and has nothing to do but argue with his wife. Heâ€™l jump at this, I

know. Iâ€™l make Edgar a temporary deputy tomorrow morning. He and I wil be having lunch at noon at the Hot Diggity Dog. You come in, Cindy, and say hel o to me but keep going, place your order and go outside to eat.

Weâ€™l stop on our way out and chat for a moment. Simple way for you to know who he is. After tomorrow, heâ€™l be somewhere near you from the time you leave the house in the morning til you get home in the evening. Even

if you donâ€™t see himâ€”and you often wonâ€™tâ€”heâ€™l be there.â€

Cindy nodded silently, and I told Sonny it sounded very good. â€œGuess I wonâ€™t have to dream up an effective disguise, after al .â€

Giving me a sour grin, Sonny said, â€œYeah. Like a couple of Hal oweens ago you got al decked out in my old army camouflage uniform plus a maskâ€¦and everyone in town told me the next day how good you looked in

my uniform.â€

Cindy tittered, â€œI didnâ€™t know that.â€

â€œYou werenâ€™t here,â€ I muttered. â€œAnyhow, Mr. Big Mouth, how about security at the bank itself? Cindy said somebody might be hanging around the main lobby.â€

â€œIâ€™l cal Choate El is in the morning and tel him whatâ€™s going on. He can alert his security people. Also I want a list.â€

â€œOh, Sonny,â€ Cindy interrupted. â€œYouâ€™re being great about this little mess of mine and I real y appreciate it. But Iâ€™d rather meet my stalker at midnight in an abandoned warehouse than have this broadcast al over the

bank! Some people would think I was just after attention, some would think it was funny or that I deserved it. Most would feel sorry for me and try to helpâ€¦and what a muddle that would make!â€

â€œThereâ€™s this, too, Sonny,â€ I chimed in. â€œWhat if one of the guards is the stalker? This would give himâ€”or herâ€”fair warning.â€

Shrugging, Sonny said, â€œChoate can tel them that the first one who leaks it is out on his ass. And, besides, the reason I want a list of his security people is so Nacho can run real y thorough background checks. If we

donâ€™t get any hits, we can assume, for the present, theyâ€™re al clean. Look, guys, just one more question and then Iâ€™ve got to run. Trish wil think Iâ€™ve forgotten al about dinner.â€

We looked at him expectantly. He looked back at us uncomfortably. Final y he spoke.

â€œThis is kind of embarrassing, Cindy, and I donâ€™t want either of you to take it the wrong wayâ€¦Cindy do youâ€”or you, Sisâ€”have anyone in your background who might want to do this for any reasonâ€¦like giving one or

both of you a good scare?â€

I knew he was reluctant to pry into Cindyâ€™s and my private lives. He only cal ed me Sis when he was under stress.

I answered first. â€œNo woman, and certainly no man, has shown any unusual recent interest in me. And I havenâ€™t been coming on to anyone in my wildest dreams. As for my exesâ€¦I think they are al many miles away and

glad to have said farewel . My latest damsel of disaster is, as you know, in no position to stalk anybodyâ€”sheâ€™s stil in prison. Thatâ€™s it for me. Cindy, my love, if youâ€™d feel easier talking to Sonny alone, Fargo and I wil gladly

take a walk around the block.â€

â€œNot necessary.â€ She gave me a weak smile. â€œYou know my latest calamity ended just before I moved up here. She found a gorgeous, wealthy French-Canadian replacement for me, and if sheâ€™s back looking at me, the

mighty have indeed fal en. And Iâ€™d know her anywhere. Otherwiseâ€”very few affairs and none with scars that havenâ€™t total y faded.â€

â€œGood enough.â€ Sonny stood and stretched. â€œCindy, Iâ€™l see you at noon tomorrow. And weâ€™l have a car going by here fairly frequently at night until we get this bird. Be of good cheer.â€

At the door he turned back. â€œHave you two thought of a vacation? Between stalkers and builders, you could use a rest. And maybe they would al go away while you cavorted around â€¦oh, letâ€™s say, historic Italy.â€

â€œThe opera!â€ Cindy cried.

â€œThe gorgeous women!â€ Sonny and I chorused.

CHAPTER FIVE

Sonny was on the phone bright and early Tuesday morning. Cindyâ€™s watchdog, Edgar Fountain, had to take his wife for a doctorâ€™s appointment in Hyannis this morning, but would be happy to start his new temporary

job tomorrow. So everything was moved back a day. Could we deal with that? I said I was sure we could, and asked about the bank security people.

Choate El is, I was informed, had cal ed an early morning meeting and was advising them of the situation as we spoke, and warning them against spreading the news. The list of employees would be faxed to Nacho

sometime this morning. The Peres siblings parted as cordial y as either could manage at that early hour.

Cindy tried not to look disappointed as she ate her health cereal with skim milk and half a banana. I tried not to look desperate when I noticed she had fixed me the same fit fare while I was on the phone.

But I soldiered on. â€œLook, Cindy my pet, I got a fairly large check from the art gal ery down in Wel fleet. Iâ€™d like to get it into the bank. I was going to ask you to do it, but I think Iâ€™l do it myself around noon, and then stick

my head in your office and suggest lunch. That way, if anyone should be checking my movements, it wil al look quite casual y normal. We do this from time to time anyway. What say you?â€

â€œI say Iâ€™m delighted. I donâ€™t care what Sonny says, I feel better when youâ€™re within hol erinâ€™ distance. Itâ€™s strange, now that you and Sonny are looking out for meâ€”along with various patrol cars and bank guards and friend

Edgar is in the wingsâ€”I feel a little shaky. Before that, I was just kind of uneasy. I guess yesterday I was stil tel ing myself it could be my imagination. Now itâ€™s for realâ€¦or I guess it certainly better be...Iâ€™m kind of scared.â€

She managed an almost normal laugh.

â€œDidnâ€™t we tel you?â€ I asked. â€œStarting tomorrow, whenever you leave the house or bank, there is a lead car with siren and flashing lights, then two cars exactly like yours, so no one wil know which one youâ€™re in, and two

tail cars, so one can fol ow you whichever way you turn. People wil remove their hats and hold them to their hearts, soldiers wil salute, children wil wave flags and cheer. And your stalker wil run behind the motorcade,

panting, â€˜Wait for me, goddammit, Cindy, wait for me! You wouldnâ€™t be having any of this parade if it werenâ€™t for crazy old me!â€™â€

This time I got a real laugh, and she left for work stil grinning.

After watching the news and comforting myself with a second cup of coffee plus a jel y doughnut, I went into my office and began a serious task. I took my Glock 9mm pistol from the safe and began to clean it. It was my

heavy-duty artil ery, and it would not be far from me, and I would not be far from Cindy until this event ended. What Sonny didnâ€™t know wouldnâ€™t upset him, and I could guarantee no one would spot me, no matter what he

thought.

Almost finished, I was just reloading the clip into the pistol when Orrickâ€™s 17th Symphony in Clash-A Major began. I stifled a wild desire to run out, waving the gun and shouting, â€œThe next man who makes a noiseâ€¦ dies!

â€

Instead, I leaned under the bed, where Wel s was muttering curses in a low hiss, and dragged her out at great personal peril. I cal ed to Fargo to go to the car, and we headed for the cottage.

The kinder leaped joyful y from the car when we arrived. I fol owed more slowly but just as happily. Wel s began a critter hunt among the reeds. Fargo ran to the end of the dock and stood guard against invading

waterbirds. I strol ed through Aunt Maeâ€™s garden, pleased to see that her peas and radishes, along with some herbs I could not identify, were bright with that special tender green of April. Soon it would be time to plant my

tomatoes and summer squash! I went inside smiling.

While I made some coffee, I put a load of laundry in the washer, praying as I did that it would not pick today to give its final gasp. Gasp it did, and clank, and grind. But it staggered through its mission, and at last the

little arrow triumphantly pointed to end cycle. The dryer was a bit quieter, but I wondered if it were not just waiting sneakily for a moment when we werenâ€™t looking to burst into flames.

I poured some coffee and went out on the deck, thinking of Cindyâ€™s cryptic Lifegard note tel ing her not to worry. Maybe there real y were two stalkers. I supposed it was not impossible that some friend had spotted the

stalker and fol owed along to be of help if needed. But why not simply announce him/herself, give a description of the stalker to the copsâ€”or even a name if he knew oneâ€”and bring the little adventure to a quick

conclusion?

Then I wondered if our note writer were both stalker and lifeguard in one. He could then come forth with information that he had seen the stalker approaching Cindy and chased him away. And who could prove he was

lying? Like you read of a fireman starting fires so he can rescue someone, or a nurse disconnecting a patientâ€™s oxygen so she can be Johnny-on-the-spot with CPR when the patient goes unconscious.

I tossed various scenarios aroundâ€”each one becoming more bizarre. When I got to the one where the stalker was real y an al igator and Cindy was afraid she was going crazy imagining thingsâ€¦I quit. It wasnâ€™t Cindy I

was worried about.

Finishing my banking chore, I walked upstairs to Cindyâ€™s aerie, where she was saying goodbye to a tal , gangly boy I put at fourteen or so. I hung back, not wishing to intrude, but curious as hel what business a boy

whose voice was stil at the unreliable stage had with a financial planning manager. Was the bank reduced to making loans against next weekâ€™s al owance?

Cindy saw me and waved me over. â€œAlex, meet our valued customer Larry Wismer. Larry, this is my good friend, Alex Peres.â€

I said hel o and extended my hand. He took it in a good solid handshake. Someone had taught him that neither the limp fish nor the bone crusher makes a good impression. He said it was nice to meet me and added

that heâ€™d better run along, his grandmother would be waiting in the car.

As he left, I went into my little act in case anyone was paying attention.

â€œI had some business downstairs,â€ I said, â€œand I thought if you were free, we might have lunch.â€

She thought that was a fine idea, retrieved her purse from her office and we left. As we walked toward the center of town, I tried a few tricks of the trade to see if anyone was fol owing us. I knelt suddenly and retied my

sneaker. No one fel over me or suddenly stopped to view the year-old display in the Land-Ho hardware store. We walked slowly, and then fast, but no one seemed to keep pace with us.

Final y, we went out on the pier to one of the food stands and ordered, and nobody seemed to care. Cindy cared that I had ordered a hot dog and friesâ€¦a cholesterol mother lode if ever she had seen one. I told her the

sauerkraut on the hot dog would negate the cholesterol. She said al it might accomplish was a good case of heartburn, which I richly deserved. She actual y looked at her gril ed veggie bun with pleasure.

I wanted to get off the food subject, but did not wish to get onto stalkers. Final y, I thought of the kid.

As we settled at a picnic table, I remarked, â€œI see your customers are getting younger.â€

â€œOh, you mean Larry? Donâ€™t laugh, he takes his portfolio very seriously.â€

â€œA kid his age has a portfolio?â€

â€œWel , kind of. His parents were kil ed several years back in some bizarre accident in Kenya, of al places. He lives with his grandmotherâ€”quite happily, I think. Iâ€™ve met her; she seems a very cool character and also an

affectionate grandma. Larry wil come into some money at eighteen for col ege, and some more at twenty-five. So he wants to be sure he handles investments knowledgeably, and he is learning.â€

â€œI see.â€ I surreptitiously scooped some ketchup onto a golden fry. â€œYou mean he has a â€˜pretendâ€™ portfolio to see what would happen if he real y owned the stock. Good idea. Good way to learn.â€

â€œNo he has real stock. The bank charges no fees on investments for kids under eighteen, with, of course, a guardianâ€™s approval. Larry now owns a big five shares each of three stocks which he bought from money heâ€™s

earned doing odd jobs. He is as diversified as three stocks can be, and he watches them careful y.â€ She laughed. â€œIâ€™m glad there arenâ€™t too many Larrysâ€”I wouldnâ€™t have time for adult customers.â€

â€œStil sounds like a good idea. I may give it a try.â€

â€œDespite some of your behavior and your eating habits,â€ Cindy informed me, â€œI believe you are over eighteen. If you are tel ing me you are notâ€¦Iâ€™m moving out tonight.â€

â€œGosh, you can be so particular about unimportant little things!â€

â€œWel , I always remember that fine old adage from my grandfather: Fifteen wil get you twenty.â€ She gave me a sad little smile. â€œWhatâ€™s it to be, free stock trades or me?â€

â€œOh, you, by al means. Whatâ€™s a mil ion more or less?â€

After lunch I walked Cindy back to within a block of the bank. There I leaned against a phone pole and went over an imaginary shopping list in the little notebook I always carried with me. No one seemed interested in

Cindy, and I went on to retrieve my car from the bank lot. As I backed out of my parking space, I caught a quick glance of Larry Wismer sitting on the concrete rim that surrounded the fountain and thought vaguely that his

grandmother was running awful y late.

Driving back to the cottage, I resolutely blocked stalkers from my thoughts and considered the several suggestions we had received recommending a vacation. Maybe we should get away for a short while, and now

might be a good time to do soâ€”come the summer season, we probably wouldnâ€™t have the time.

I tried to think of someplace simple and inexpensive and couldnâ€™t. Maybe we should just spend a day or so in Boston picking out the furniture and carpeting and draperies for our ever-expanding Master Suite. Of

course, that wouldnâ€™t be simple or inexpensive either.

In the pre-Cindy days, when I had thought merely of adding a bedroom and bathroom, I had noticed several furniture store ads touting free decorator service. I had planned to pick one of them and tel the decorator to

show me something plain, comfortable and cheerfulâ€¦al of it affordable. I figured on getting the whole thing settled in maybe an hourâ€¦a maximum of two hours. Now I imagined we would not use a decorator and would

doubtless visit a dozen stores at least twice.

I braked the car in front of the cottage, making an abrupt stop that sent gravel flying and brought Aunt Mae flying out of her garage, where she was beginning to set up shop for her popular herb market.

â€œWhat on earth is going on? Are you al right?â€

â€œIâ€™m fine. I hit the brakes a little hard, thatâ€™s al . Aunt Mae, do you know a good furniture store in Boston?â€

â€œCertainly. Several, in fact.â€

â€œAh, good, I thought you might. Would you be kind enough to give me the address of one?â€ I asked.

â€œNo need, dear.â€ She smiled. â€œI already gave the entire list to Cindy. Iâ€™m sure she has it somewhere.â€

â€œThanks. Iâ€™m sure youâ€™re right.â€ I managed not to slam the car door and gave my dear aunt a smile and a wave as I turned to the cottage.

CHAPTER SIX

Wednesday morning I walked Cindy out to her car as she left for work and wished her wel with her introduction to Edgar Fountain at noon.

She grimaced and shrugged. â€œIâ€™m sure heâ€™l be fine, if Sonny recommends him. But I feel very strange knowing someone is definitely watching my every move, even though heâ€™s on my side. Itâ€™s a weird feelingâ€”being

watched because you are being watched. Iâ€™m sure I wonâ€™t be able to do a thing natural y. Iâ€™l probably overact like a nineteen thirties Grade B actress.â€

â€œYes,â€ I laughed. â€œI can see you at the Diggity Dog, waving a white gloved hand: Oh, yass, my good woman, Iâ€™l have the soup du jury and salad Niceswazz and a glass of peanut blanc. And the waitress wil answer:

Right, honey, one dog with mustard, one fries and a diet Coke.â€

â€œIn your dreams.â€ She started the car and leaned out the window for a kiss. At least she was grinning.

I watched her turn at the corner and saw one of the police departmentâ€™s unmarked cars pul out behind her. I wondered if the stalker were watching and if he knew the police car as wel as I did.

That evening Cindy got home in a very up mood. Edgar was quite nice and rather fatherly. He was most reassuring and teased her that he turned into a pet dog who simply fol owed his mistress everywhere and nobody

paid any attention to him and neither should she. Just forget he was there, but remember she was safe.

He sounded great and I had hopes of a speedy end to this whole thing.

We actual y enjoyed a movie on TV after dinner. We went to bed and laughed and sighed and growled at the late news. I was feeling more relaxed than I had in days. Apparently my lady love was also, for she was

giving forth those little signals which we each possess in some way, that say, â€œIâ€™d like to make love, how about you?â€ Obviously I was replying in the positive, for she suddenly clicked off the TV and rol ed into my arms,

sighing, â€œItâ€™s been too long.â€

I was teasing Cindy over breakfast. â€œWel , at least thereâ€™s one thing you stil seem to do quite natural y. Al is not lost.â€

â€œIf youâ€™re tel ing me the stalker was looking through the window and Edgar was behind him in the treeâ€”you wil find me as celibate as Mother Teresa from now til they hang the bastard and we return Edgar to his

nagging wife.â€

â€œGoodness!â€ I took a sip of coffee. â€œYouâ€™re in bloodthirsty form this morning.â€

â€œYou bet.â€ She pushed aside the remains of her half grapefruit and went to work on the twigs and hul s she cal s cereal. â€œHeâ€™s disrupted our lives long enough. And I donâ€™t want him to get spooked and just quitâ€¦so he

can surface again later, scaring the hel out of me again, or some other woman. Any woman should be able to walk down a street without some lunatic drooling behind her! I say hang him!â€

She looked across the table at me, suddenly solemn. â€œSeriously, I think he should go to jail. Heâ€™s had us both on edge, reacting to every little noise, jumping when the phone rings, and I know you go through the mail.

Heâ€™s taken up Sonnyâ€™s time and police department funds. He has worried my boss and involved bank security people. I donâ€™t think he should get away with just saying heâ€™s sorry, that he was simply carried away by my

great beauty. â€˜Go and sin no more,â€™ is not in it for this guy.â€

I grinned. â€œYou tel emâ€™, tiger, Iâ€™m with you!â€

And I was. But I wondered if she had considered the stress of a public trial, with al its ramifications. Probably not. On the other hand, she would likely go through it with admirable composure, at least on the surface. I

recal ed a phrase my grandmother sometimes used that made me snicker as a little kid. â€œSo-and-So has great intestinal fortitude.â€ Meaning, of course, great courage. Sonny used a phrase I liked better: â€œHe has grace

under fire.â€ Whatever you cal ed it, Cindy had it.

While I accepted Sonnyâ€™s and Cindyâ€™s faith in Edgar, I wanted to see for myself. So Thursday after Cindy left I set out to keep tabs on our retired cop. Sometimes I cruised the block in my car, sometimes I walked, other

times I stood or sat, letting him pass me by on foot or in his unexciting, mature gray Hyundai.

I had to smile. Edgar and I were doing much of the same things, right down to changing our clothes sometime around midday. He had started the day dressed for business. Around eleven he surfaced in bright blue

shorts, Hawaiian shirt and a sun hat. Not the same man at al . And early afternoon I graduated from a denim skirt and yel ow blouse to my most ratty jeans, basebal cap and a T-shirt boasting that â€œHockey players do it

with a big stick.â€

Mid-afternoon I graded us both an A-Plus and headed home, feeling that between the two of us, the love of my life was in good hands.

Driving toward home, I realized that I had been so involved with Cindyâ€™s problem I hadnâ€™t seen Harmon, nor had I contacted Cassie about her possible trouble with the strange Pennsylvania customers.

I figured I should see her for some firsthand information and wondered if she were at the airport. I pul ed into the first parking spot I found on Commercial Street and fished around in the glove compartment until I

actual y found my cel phone. And Cassie, in fact, picked up her phone. Two rarities. I told her I was on my way to the airport if that suited her schedule. It did, and I careful y jammed the phone in my pocket.

I found Cassie in the hangar on a ladder, changing the oil in the port engine.

â€œDonâ€™t you have a mechanic now to do things like that?â€ I asked.

â€œHah! If you mean that sweet child Sonny sent out here, he doesnâ€™t know the difference between a propel er and a dipstick. I forbade him to do anything other than check the air in the tires, and I wouldnâ€™t rely on that. My

dear, I love your outfit, and Iâ€™m sure Cindy does.â€ Her eyebrows curved upward and her mouth curled in a sarcastic angle.

â€œUh, yeah. I have some dirty yard chores this afternoon,â€ I fibbed. â€œHave you heard any more from the three Pittsburgh pirates?â€ I opened a smal refrigerator and took out a can of Budweiser. â€œYou want one?â€

â€œYes to the pirates and no to the beer. Get me a Snapple iced tea. Iâ€™m flying tomorrow morning.â€

I knew she maintained a strict no-drinking-for-twenty-four-hours-before-a-flight rule, so as I handed her the tea, I waved the can of Bud. â€œThis going to bother you?â€

â€œNo,â€ she lied, looking wistful, so I was noble and took a bottle of tea instead.

â€œThe pirates seem okay,â€ she remarked as she climbed down the ladder and motioned us to her tiny office in a corner of the building. â€œThe men belong to some veterans club in this little town near Pittsburgh. And they

are having a big benefit dinner to raise money for a new clubhouse. They figure everyone is sick of hamburgers and hot dogs or spaghetti and meatbal s, so they thought up a shore dinner. They figure theyâ€™l get maybe

four hundred people instead of two hundred by advertising something new and different. So they came out here to line up the food.â€

â€œWhy here and why in person? Wouldnâ€™t a phone cal to a Boston or even a Pittsburgh wholesaler have been easier?â€

â€œSure.â€ Cassie laughed. â€œBut this guy Frank loves an excuse to fly and heâ€™s got a nice four-seater Cessna, so they piled in it and headed east. And before you ask, why Ptownâ€¦one of the men was here with his wife

last summer and had a delicious lobster dinner. Are you getting the pictureâ€¦three little boys off on a lark.â€

An ashtray on the rickety table between us told me I could smoke, so I pul ed one out. Cassie lifted it from my fingers, so I pul ed out another and lit both. â€œI thought you were quitting,â€ I mentioned casual y.

â€œUh, not real y, but my pack is out in the car. I smoke less if I have to take time to go get them. It kind of keeps Lainey off my case.â€

And mine were right here, handy. Sometimes I think I supply the entire eastern seaboard of non-smokers, wannabe non-smokers and occasional smokers. I wished I had taken the beer. I wished I had stock in whoever

makes Virginia Slims. But I got back to the reason for my visit. â€œWasnâ€™t there something about renting your plane, and landing in the dark in an unlit cornfield?â€

â€œMy God! What is Harmon spreading around? Yes, Frank wanted to rent the plane and fly it himself. It would be a bit cheaper for them, but I think he real y would just like to fly it. Heâ€™s licensed for twin engine and

checked out in a plane like mine. However, I told him: where my plane goes, I go. They want the seafood to arrive just before or just after dawn, so the cooks can start cooking in the morning and be ready to serve by noon.

Frank has his own little grass strip on his farm with limited lights. Itâ€™s plenty long enough and nice and smooth, he says. The lighting is more or less adequate, especial y with someone on board who knows the approach.

For heavenâ€™s sake thereâ€™s no mystery about this.â€

I took a drag on my cigarette. I was beginning to feel foolish. â€œSo you think itâ€™s al aboveboard? That Frank was being truthful?â€

â€œAlex,â€ her voice was heavy with patience. â€œThe man is hardly going to ask me to land a plane in some dark, rutted field where Iâ€™m going crash and kil him and his two friends, and make chowder out of al his seafood.â€

â€œYeah, I guess not. Did Officer Hatcher overhear any of this?â€

She took another cigarette. â€œYes, every word, while he tried to look busy with the tire gauge. He also thought everything sounded legit. We agreed they were al ignorant about seafoodâ€”they thought you cook scal ops

in their shel sâ€”but that Frank was knowledgeable about planes. Okay?â€

â€œI reckon. It just sounded kind of funny the way I heard it. When is this great shipment taking place, and where are they getting al that seafood?â€

â€œIn about three weeks. Theyâ€™re going to firm up the date next week so I can lock in my schedule. I gave them the address of Cape End Wholesalers here, and Phil Pinoâ€™s phone down in Wel fleet. If he doesnâ€™t have al

the scal ops they want, I guess he can get them. Satisfied, mother?â€

â€œJust trying to be helpful,â€ I said, somewhat miffed.

â€œI know, darlinâ€™, and I love you for it. Seriously, you look tired, Alex. Have you and your lady thought of grabbing a few fun-fil ed days somewhere before the season real y starts?â€

â€œYeah, yeah.â€

I tossed my tea bottle into the recycling bin and went on my way.

At home I buried my hockey T-shirt into my catchal bureau drawer where Cindy never goes and put on a sloganless tan one. Knowing there were no twenty-four hour drinking rules before going to the supermarket

tomorrow, I snagged a cold Bud and bid good-day to the departing Orrick Philharmonic as I hit the deck chair for the stil -warm rays of sun.

CHAPTER SEVEN

My wardrobe was running thin on clothing to make me look appreciably different when I went out on my patrol to check up on Edgar, and keep an eye out for the stalker as wel . Edgar had been in place for nearly a

week now, and I didnâ€™t check up al day every day as I had at the beginning. But I did go out once most every day.

He had reported to Sonny as of yesterday that he had spotted no one showing unusual interest in Cindy. I wanted to make sure he was doing al he should before we began to wonder if somehow Cindy had imagined

her fol ower. I found that solution hard to accept, anyway. Cindy is not afraid of men as such. Indeed, she gets along wel with most men and likes them, gay or straight.

And she is not imaginative when it comes to fancying rapists under the bed or kidnappers lurking in the shrubbery. Something had frightened her and I had no doubt it was real. We had been careful not to spread word

of her problem around. Not even Mom and Aunt Mae knew. I hadnâ€™t even told Cassie, and I certainly hadnâ€™t told Peter and the Wolfâ€¦our two good friends who ran a B&B which cateredâ€”in every sense of the wordâ€”to gay

men. Peterâ€™s first name real y was Peter, and Wolfâ€™s last name was Wolfâ€”someone coined the sobriquet and it stuck.

So, I needed a new disguise. I had a bril iant thought. I went outdoors and asked one of Orrickâ€™s electricians, who was about my size, if he had an extra pair of coveral s in his van. He al owed as how he did, having

picked up his laundry only yesterday.

I asked if I could borrow a pair, assuring him I would have them laundered and back in place tomorrow. Puzzled but agreeable, he went to his van and pul ed out a pair with one or two paint spatters, a varnish stain and

one knee worn through. Perfect.

Standing in the yard of the courthouse, along with several other idlers, I realized I must have misjudged the height of the coveral sâ€™ owner. Both the legs and arms were too long, and I had to cuff them both twice to get

them the length they should be for me. They looked a bit clumsy, but I was sure that, accessorized by old sneakers, white work socks, my Red Sox cap and a pair of wire-frame glasses with clear glass lenses, no one

would recognize me.

I lazily watched Cindy disappear into the health food store for some lunch hour shopping, while Edgar sauntered across the street to admire the window dÃ©cor of The Catch fishing tackle mart. I was taking a sip of my

lukewarm soda when peals of girlish laughter drifted across the grass to me.

Looking up, I saw my mother and Aunt Mae, col apsed against each other and pointing at me with great delight. I could cheerful y have strangled them both, but I managed to shake my head and to mouth the words, â€œI

donâ€™t know you.â€ They looked confused, but at least stopped their sophomoric act, as I walked over to them. I loudly gave them directions on how to get to a restaurant near the Wharf Rat, along with many gestures, and

then muttered, â€œGo to the Rat. Iâ€™l meet you shortly.â€ Chastened, they hurried away, and I sauntered to my car.

There, I wiggled out of my failed costume, tossing it and my cap and glasses into the backseat and revealing the jeans and shirt I had fortunately worn underneath. I may have looked a little sweaty and disheveled, but

at least I was me againâ€”if indeed I had ever been anyone else.

As I approached their table at the Rat, both women looked quite relieved to see me in something like normal garb and began simultaneously to babble apologies for blowing my cover. I had no choice, of course, but to

tel them what was going on and why. Over my beer and their white wine and salads, we sorted it al out, apologies were accepted and we al returned to something like normal.

Both women were natural y concerned for Cindy and outraged at whoever was causing her, and peripheral y me, such distress. Both my mother and my aunt had been widowed young, but under very different

circumstances. Aunt Maeâ€™s husband had died in his late forties of a sudden cerebral hemorrhage. Aunt Mae had never remarried, being unable to find a man she considered even half as wonderful as Uncle Frank had

been. She began raising herbs to fil some of the painful y empty time, and became so good at it, she now had a large herb garden and had converted her garage into a smal but wel -known shop where she sold both

dried and potted herbs in season. She had even published two little books on the subject, and actual y sold a fair number of them.

Momâ€™s widowhood came along much more dramatical y. My father died when I was twelve and Sonny fourteen, which would have put Mom at about thirty-seven or -eight. As I remember him, my father was a heavy

drinker and not a merry one. Although he never abused any of us physical y, he was sarcastic, critical and withdrawn. He hated his job. Although he was good at it, he always left the impression that he was much too

intel igent to be manager of the local supermarket and that somehow Mom, Sonny and I had entrapped him there.

The summer that changed our lives for the worse and then for the better, had Provincetown sideswiped by a powerful hurricane. Dad had closed the market early, seen to it that the large glass windows were covered

with plywood, that the generator was set up to kick in ifâ€”whenâ€”the power failed, etc. He then visited his favorite bar and fortified himself and final y came home, angry at the many inconveniences he had suffered already

that day.

By then Mom had pul ed her car into the garage, and the three of us had dragged the outdoor furniture into the basement and closed any windows, doors and attic vents we could find. We had just gathered al the

candles in the house when Dad drove into the yard, obviously and vocal y pissed that he had to get out and re-open the garage door in the pouring rain.

The night was a horror. Dad blew a gasket when he found that dinner consisted of do-it-yourself cold sandwiches. Mom was worn out from helping move al the furniture, and making the house as secure as possible;

hot food was out of the picture anyway, as the power had long since failed. Dad retired to the den and sat in front of a black TV screen with his scotch.

Mom, Sonny and I sat in the kitchen, listening to sounds we did not realize the house could make and survive. The building that was always so cozy in winter now presented us with chil drafts it had never before al owed

to enter. The rain sounded like people throwing rocks at the windows, and we were sure they must break and let the rocks fly in to hurt us. There were unidentified crashes from time to time: Trees? Utility poles? Objects

sailing into other objects riding a demon wind? The dark was palpable with no lights in the house or on the street. And the candles provided a few little islands of yel ow that brought no comfort.

None of the three of us wanted to go upstairs to bed, so we spent the night at the kitchen table. Sometimes we turned the battery radio on long enough to be told the storm was expected to diminish by a dawn we

feared would never come. Sometimes we dozed in the straight chairs, wakening every few minutes as we lost balance. Final y, we put our heads down on the table, having digested al the terror we could hold, and simply

became numb.

Daylight final y did come, as it inevitably must, unless it is truly, final y the end of the world. The wind had slackened to a mild gale; the rain was a manageable downpour. We realized we had survived and were

overtaken by a sil y lethargy that made us giggle at nothing and satisfy our hunger noisily with the stale leftovers of last nightâ€™s banquet.

Dad came in from the den where he had slept on the couch, expecting a steaming mug of coffee and a trenchermanâ€™s breakfast. He looked with distaste and disdain at our sandwiches with the curling edges and

hardening streaks of mayonnaise, at the glasses holding flat soda or smudged with congealing milk. He poured a hefty shot of scotch, added a bit of water from the tap, and sat down, turning on the radio only to curse the

announcer who warned of flooding in low areas and downed wires which could stil kil .

Finishing his drink, he declared he must get to work and see what damage the store had sustained. He didnâ€™t question what his house or his family might have sustained. Sonny informed him that a large branch from

our neighborâ€™s tree blocked our driveway.

Dad told him to put on a coat and help him move it. Mom said that it could have live wires tangled in it and that Sonny wasnâ€™t going anywhere near it. Sonny looked relieved. Dad shrugged and said sheâ€™d turn her son

into a fairy yet at the rate she was going, grabbed his slicker and went out to drag the branch aside.

The radio announcer had been right.

We were now a family of three with no breadwinner. Mom got a job, Sonny and I helped as and when we could. There may have been additional aid from Aunt Mae and our grandmotherâ€” I never knew. I did know that,

financial y strapped or not, we were more lighthearted and content than we had ever been. Eventual y Mom got promoted, first Sonny and then I became independentâ€¦and everyoneâ€™s checkbook now looked reasonably

healthy.

Over the years, Mom had several invitations to marriage that I knew of. She turned them down gently but firmly. Nowâ€”it stil seems strange to use these words in reference to my motherâ€”she is in the midst of a very

successful affair with an actor several years her junior. She had met Noel Fortnum when he was appearing in a play here last summer and they were immediately attracted. Neither seems especial y interested in marriage,

but they obviously care deeply for each other. At first I thought the long-distance relationship might not work. Now I think perhaps the distance makes it work better. Al that real y matters to me isâ€”Mom is happy.

Aunt Mae looked at her watch, caught Joeâ€™s eye and made a â€œcheckâ€ motion with her hand and said, â€œJeanne, weâ€™d best stir ourselves. Being late wil just make it drag on longer.â€

â€œWhatâ€™s dragging on?â€ I asked.

â€œThe bi-monthly meeting of the Ladiesâ€™ Altar Guild,â€ Mom answered for her. â€œIâ€™m chairwoman this year, so I guess they canâ€™t start without me, but I do hate being late. It just makes it look as if you consider your time

more valuable than anyone elseâ€™s. Now listen, you two girls be careful and cal either of us if you want some extra company. Any time.â€

I waited til they were safely out the door before ordering another beer and lunchâ€¦and then canceling both. I decided to go home and take the furry ones to the cottage so they, too, could have some peace. Iâ€™d cal

Cindy later and tel her where I was.

Ordinarily I donâ€™t fal for advertising gimmicks. A gizmo that usual y sel s for a hundred dol ars, but is available right now for nineteen ninety-five doesnâ€™t snare me. Tel ing me that if I order this very minute, you wil send

me two gizmos for the price of one doesnâ€™t have me running for the phone. Advising me that the gizmo is guaranteed for life leaves me unimpressed, for the simple reason I have never been able to figure out whose life

they mean. The announcerâ€™s? Mine? The manufacturerâ€™s? The gizmoâ€™s? The TV stationâ€™s? And exactly what constitutes life in this circumstance?

But about three weeks ago, I was trying to ignore the Orrick Concerto and turned on the tel y. The movie I got must surely have been a loser even in 1950 and was no better some sixty years later, but in desperation, I

left it on.

One of the commercials that seemed to pop up about every five minutes, advertised a sound-activated long-range mini tape recorder which you wore on your wrist, like a handsome sports watch, and batteries were

even included. It was valued at more than twice what they were charging for it andâ€”yesâ€”if I cal ed now, theyâ€™d send me twoâ€¦both guaranteed for life!

I figured it might come in handy in my work at some time. I saw no need of two, but figured Iâ€™d give the extra one to Sonny, who might also find it useful. I went briskly to the phone and placed my order and promptly

forgot about it.

Today, when I took the mail from the mailbox, it included a smal carton with a generic company return address, and I had to go in the house and open the damn thing before I remembered what it was. The printed

instructions and lifetime warranty, written in elegant script, reminded me what I had ordered. And made me wonder what in the name of heaven I had been thinking of.

A handsome sports watch it definitely was not. It was bulky as hel and looked more like one of those ankle bracelets some unfortunate people have to wear to prove to the police they real y are at home.

Wondering if it worked as wel as it looked, I fol owed the instructions to get it ready for action, backed off about eight feet and spoke a few words at my natural volume. I rewound the tape and hit the Play button. And I

heard my voice, a bit scratchy and tinny, but easily understandable say, â€œHi there! Iâ€™m about to rob the jewelry store. Want anything?â€

I was pleasantly surprised with my new techno-toy. Only the looks of the thing disappointed me. It was about as inconspicuous as walking around with a grenade on your wrist. Iâ€™d have to think of some other way to carry

it.

At this point, Fargo pushed the carton off the table, checking to see if it contained food. And I got my bright idea.

Scrabbling in the kitchen junk drawer, I pul ed out a rol of tape. Then I took Fargoâ€™s col ar off, taped the recorder to it and returned it to his neck. He didnâ€™t like it. He shook his head, then he rubbed his neck along the

carpet, next he tried scratching it and final y he sat and looked at me accusingly.

I petted him and told him it wouldnâ€™t be for long. Actual y I was dying to try my gizmo out in an area with background noise and various people talking. I promised him a hot dog and his ears went up. I apologized to

Wel s and promised her the cottage later and dragged Fargo out the door.

After parking downtown on McMil an Wharf, I walked Fargo, stil stretching his neck from time to time, over to one of the hot dog stands.

A smiling face appeared at the service window. â€œHi, Alex. Good afternoon, Fargo. What wil it be?â€

â€œAnd a good afternoon to you, Ginny. A plain hotdog for my furry friend and one with mustard and relish for me, plus a coffee, please.â€

Minutes later the order appeared on a little cardboard tray, with Fargoâ€™s hot dog neatly cut into bite-size pieces and a smal bowl of water beside it. Service was first-class here if you were Fargo.

I looked around the area, deciding which of the benches in the grassy strip along the edge of the concrete wharf to choose. Final y I spotted a bench about ten feet from a young couple just starting their own lunch and

walked over to it. Placing Fargoâ€™s meal and water on the ground, I put the gizmo on Receive and addressed my own hot dog.

I couldnâ€™t quite hear their conversationâ€¦something about whether to go home tomorrow or the next dayâ€¦something about a place that was closed on Saturday. I wondered if the gizmo was getting any of this. The

couple soon left, and we were not far behind. I decided to wait until we got home to see how the recorder had worked. I turned it off and let Fargo into the car.

As we progressed up Commercial Street I spotted Cassieâ€™s car several blocks ahead of us. Suddenly she pul ed over, got out and started down the al ey to the Rat. I pul ed in behind her and fol owed her down the

al ey. Near the door I hitched Fargo to the big old anchor there and gave him sufficient lead on his extension leash to relax in sun or shadeâ€”but not enough to fol ow me inside, which would have been his first thought.

Once in, I sat down at the bar next to Cassie. â€œHowâ€™s the Red Baron today?â€

She turned. â€œWel , howdy, Sherlock. Join me for lunch? I know itâ€™s a little late. I just got back from taking a couple of guys down to Teterboro airport in New Jersey, and Iâ€™m starved.â€

â€œNo, thanks. Iâ€™l settle for a Bud. Any news from the Pittsburgh pirates?â€

â€œNot yet, and theyâ€™d better not take too much longer. Iâ€™m already getting bookings. It looks like an early season, thank God. And Iâ€™m not going to cancel flights with people I know, to accommodate three lunatics throwing

a clambake! Although,â€ she added wistful y, â€œit would be a nice piece of change.â€

â€œWel , youâ€™re good at juggling. Youâ€™l manage to fit everybody in, even if you have to fly somebody to Augusta via Pittsburgh.â€

â€œMaine or Georgia?â€

â€œDonâ€™t be a wise-ass!â€ I grinned.

â€œOkay. Iâ€™m amenable,â€ she replied. â€œTel me, howâ€™s Cindy dealing with this stalker thing. It must be nerve-racking.â€

â€œDammit!â€ I set my beer down sharply. â€œWeâ€™ve been breaking our necks to keep this quiet. Even my mom didnâ€™t know about it til an hour ago. How do you know?â€

â€œHey!â€ She spread both hands in front of her. â€œDonâ€™t be so touchy. Iâ€™m not about to cal the Enquirer. Sonny talked to the shrink at the clinic about the stalker. The shrink hadnâ€™t dealt with many stalkers and thought Lainey

might be of some helpâ€”she nursed at Bel evue a couple of years before coming back to the Cape, you knowâ€”so he cal ed her in on it. Sonny was just trying to get some sort of profile on the guyâ€¦in fact I think he mainly

wanted some reassurance the man would most likely not turn violent. It wonâ€™t be spread al over town. Take it easy.â€

â€œYeah, sorry. Iâ€™m just on edge. Maybe more than Cindy at this point. God, between the stalker and the Orrick workmen, and two pets barking and hissingâ€”Iâ€™m beginning to resemble a snapping turtle, and Cindy is

worse. In her mind, it seems to be my fault she canâ€™t crowd her entire Catherine the Great wardrobe into the little closet at the cottage. Even thatâ€™s a dubious haven nowadays.â€ I took a long drink of my beer, and didnâ€™t say

no when Joe took another off the ice.

Cassieâ€™s lunch arrived. And we sat silently for a few minutes while she knocked off the outer reaches of her hunger. Final y, she put down her fork and spoke.

â€œYou know, a change of scenery wouldnâ€™t hurt you two at al . Now, Nova Scotia is vastly underrated. We were up there last year, stayed in a wonderful B&B. It was original y an inn, owned in the eighteen-fifties by the

parents of the woman, Anna, who became famous in The King and I.â€

â€œI thought she was English,â€ I interrupted.

â€œSo did I, but she was Canadian. And our room itself was once occupied by Oscar Wilde on one of his tours. Two enormous double beds so high there was a little stool beside each one to help you get in and out. And

the bathroom was mammoth, with a tub bigger than Lake Erie. I had loads of fun pretending Lainey was a rubber ducky.â€

â€œShould I mention that little game and its source when I tel Cindy about this great vacation place?â€ I asked seriously.

â€œI wouldnâ€™t bother. Then we rented a car and drove out to the Acadian forestâ€”the pines and the hemlocks are stil murmuring. Then down to Fort Louisburgâ€¦we toured the old governorâ€™s mansion and there was a

double-banked harpsichordâ€”like an organ. Iâ€™d never seen one like it, and luck was with us: some woman happened to be there playing it. It was fabulous!â€

â€œThe whole thing sounds fabulous,â€ I agreed. â€œBut we are not on a fabulous budget at the moment.â€

â€œYeah, them fancy bathrooms and fountains youâ€™re putting in donâ€™t come free,â€ she mused. â€œWel , if you bought the gas, I could run you straight across to Halifax, save you something over an airline flight from Bostonâ€¦in

time and money.â€

â€œYouâ€™re a sweetheart, but we couldnâ€™t do that. Not this time of yearâ€”youâ€™re too likely to miss a handful of money from real customers.â€ I finished my beer, put some money on the bar and slid off the stool. â€œGotta go

rescue Fargo and pick up Wel s. Iâ€™ve been headed for the cottage since mid-morning and keep making detours. Wel s is doubtless on the phone to the SPCA as we speak.â€

â€œWel , think about it. We could make it mid-week, when Iâ€™m not as busy. Just let me know.â€

â€œWil do. Thanks for the offer.â€ I patted her shoulder and left to pick up Fargo.

He was lying in the shade, looking longingly across the al ey at a couple of gul s bobbing in the shal ow edge-waters of the bay.

As I untied him from the anchor, I noticed two men sitting on the bench nearby. They had been deep in conversation, but quit talking when I came out, and watched me reclaim my dog. The skinny one smiled and

nodded; the chubby one scowled at the interruption. So much for fat people always being jol y.

CHAPTER EIGHT

With the motor left running, and Fargo left in the car, I went inside to get Wel s, hoping she was not instal ed under the bed in its geographic center. No, she sat unmoving beside her water dish, giving me an evil look. I

checked it, andâ€”mea culpaâ€”it was empty. I checked Fargoâ€™s, two feet away and it was two-thirds ful .

â€œIâ€™m sorry, Lady Astor, that I forgot to fil your crystal water dish. But you could have tried Fargoâ€™s. It al comes from the same spout, so if you are dehydrated it is definitely your own fault.â€

She started to walk away, but I scooped her up and headed for the car, dumping her unceremoniously into the backseat, butting a protesting Fargo out of the driverâ€™s seat whence he had moved, and backing rapidly

out of the driveway. I felt I was living surrounded by difficult divasâ€¦or, I should say, two difficult divas and one prickly baritone.

When we reached the cottage, Wel s leaped from the car window and hightailed it up the hil to Aunt Maeâ€™s, where she was assured of her own private water bowl and food dish, both of which would immediately be

fil ed and kept fil ed. Wel s would weigh a good forty pounds if she lived with Aunt Mae. I kept Fargo on lead into the house, wanting to get the tape recorder off his col ar before he tested its waterproof-to-one-hundred-feet

claim.

That done, I was left in welcome solitude to take some chicken breasts out of the freezer and slop some marinade on them and splash some iced tea into a glass for me, first having lovingly fil ed both animalsâ€™ water

bowls. Final y, I left a message on the phone mail of the leading diva, that I was at the cottage and that dinner was under control and I was headed for the deck. I placed tea and tape recorder on the table, turned the

recorder to Play and plopped into a chair, my feet propped on the deck railingâ€¦and waitedâ€¦and waited.

After a rather frightening silence, there came the sound of a sort of slurpy clicking noise, which I at last identified as Fargo chewing the final bite of his hot dog. Then a car door slammed nearby and a noisy engine

started. Final y, my young couple continued their conversation.

They had at last agreed to leave Provincetown early on Saturday morning, which would put them in Fairfield in time to pick up poor Madison, so he wouldnâ€™t be stuck for the whole weekend in confinementâ€”nor would

they have to pay not only for Saturday, but for Sunday as wel . That settled, they began to discuss how to spend the evening...she leaning heavily toward the Poly-Cotton Club, he tending toward the Atlantic House.

Abruptly their conversation was interrupted by the overpowering sound of large quantities of paper being forceful y crumpled, with rather flat-tuned bel s ringing in the background. What in the hel was that? I didnâ€™t recal

any nearby sounds even vaguely resembling those. I stared at the recorder, as if it could explain.

Then Fargo came in from his swim and immediately clarified al . He shook himself, and then began to scratch his neck and col ar. If he had been wearing the recorder, sounds would have been magnified by it. His nails

rasping on the leather would make the paper noise, and his jingling tags provided the bel s. I had a whole new frame of reference to learn.

I smiled, amused at Fargoâ€™s various sound effects. But they did interrupt whatever conversation I was attempting to record, and some day, some conversation might be important and need to be captured in its entirety.

Of course, the chewing noise was easily avoided, but the scratching was spontaneous. There must be some solution. I would think of something.

Out of the blue, a womanâ€™s shril voice with a strong mid-western accent resonated in my ear. I was so startled I almost turned my chair over, jumping to my feet and looking al around for the voiceâ€™s owner.

â€œWel , Iâ€™l tel you, Fred, I am not going to sit al afternoon in a stuffy bar smel ing of beer and stale cigars because you didnâ€™t have the good sense to bring comfortable shoes.â€

â€œPauline, the problem is not my shoes, we must have walked five damn miles aâ€™ready. Just one cold beer wonâ€™t hurt either of us. Might even improve your humor. Sure couldnâ€™t hurt it.â€

â€œWel , Iâ€™m tel ing you, Fred, just one and I mean justâ€¦â€

The voice trailed off about the time I got my breath back and the lovebirds must have entered the Rat. But I am a trained investigator, and I figure out things like this. Obviously, during one of his col ar scratches outside

the Wharf Rat, Fargo managed to hit the Receive button and catch the touching dialogue between Fred and Pauline, doubtless two of the tourists we are annual y so happy to see.

I found myself hoping Fred indeed rested his feet al afternoon with at least three beers, while Pauline plodded ever onward, col ecting plastic bag after smiley-faced plastic bag of clever souvenirs and sticky, made right-before-your-eyes saltwater taffy for the grandkids, the next-door neighbors, Fredâ€™s boss and Cousin Betty, who could never be pleased no matter how you tried.

But my handsome sports watch had stil more clever tricks in its plastic case. Next I heard the voice of one of the Blues Brothersâ€”coming or goingâ€”stop to pass the time of day with Fargo.

â€œHi there, Fargo, wonâ€™t they let you in, boy? Now I cal that a cryinâ€™ shame. You got better manners than most of the people already in there. Wel , you be good, and Alex wil be back soon.â€ Footfal s crunched on the

gravel path but I couldnâ€™t determine the direction.

There had been a brief jingle of bel s as the Blues Brother scratched Fargoâ€™s chin, and a continuous soft thump throughout the conversation as Fargoâ€™s tail wagged against the old anchor. I was getting pretty good at

interpreting the stylish sport watchâ€™s ancil ary sounds. And as I thought of it, I shouldnâ€™t have been surprised at Fargo changing the mode of the recorder. The buttons were smal and close together. One good swipe with a

paw and it could easily go from one function to another.

Stil , I was unprepared for the next sound my new techno-toy belched forth across the cottage deck.

â€œNice looking dog,â€ a pleasant male voice remarked.

â€œLikely to take your hand off,â€ a grumpy tenor replied.

â€œI doubt it, but I guess he could. Thatâ€™s a funny looking col ar heâ€™s wearing.â€

â€œItâ€™s one of those electronic ones that keep the dog in his own yard. You know, it beeps real loud in his ear if he goes too near his boundary. Or I guess maybe you wouldnâ€™t know, being a city fel a.â€

Our tenor sounded condescending. I wondered if these were the two silent men I encountered on my way out of the Wharf Rat. If they were, Iâ€™d bet that the tenor was the unfriendly chubby guy.

â€œDid Frank cal ?â€ Mr. Nice Guy asked.

â€œYes. Heâ€™l be out in two weeks from today. Says heâ€™s been scoutinâ€™ and has the perfect place. And he says two weeks gives us plenty of time out here to do some scout work on our ownâ€”you knowâ€”to check

schedules, busy times, whether they have a good sized staff, amount and weight of cargo weâ€™l have. He wants a complete picture,â€ The tenor finished importantly.

Nice Guy sighed heavily. â€œOh, thatâ€™s our good old nit-picking Frank. If he had his way thereâ€™d be a printed, il ustrated book of instructions for every job we doâ€¦with a quiz at the end.â€

â€œHas it occurred to you,â€ the tenor asked sarcastical y, â€œthat just possibly thatâ€™s why every job weâ€™ve done has been a success?â€

Suddenly I knew themâ€¦I was sure of it! They had to be Cassieâ€™s Pittsburgh piratesâ€¦two of them anyway. One average looking, one rather fat and a missing one named Frank!

â€œCan it,â€ Mr. Nice muttered. â€œSomebody coming out.â€

And I heard my own voice asking, â€œSo, big boy, ready for a swim?â€ Fol owed by a click. Most likely me hitting the Off button as I gave Fargo a pat and freed him from the anchor. Fol owed by silence.

My God, I breathed. Maybe Harmon was going to prove right for once! That conversation did not have one reference to seafood, or a benefit lunch and dinner or a veterans group or their brand-new clubhouse back

home in dear old East Burnt Elm Tree, Pennsylvania.

Maybe they real y were going to meet up with one of our incoming fishing or â€œtouristâ€ boats and pick up a big load of dope. And they might want to make sure the incoming boat did not carry a large enough crew, so that

they had to worry about getting stiffed by them.

With only Cassie and the three passengers, they wouldnâ€™t especial y need to know about weight and bulk of the â€œcargo.â€ Thatâ€™s if they were sure of using Cassieâ€™s plane, but what if they were thinking they might have to

try and get it al aboard the smal er Cessna? They might wel have to leave at least one man behind to drive or fly home commercial. And if they did have to use the Cessna, theyâ€™d doubtless need to refuel at least once en

route, so theyâ€™d want to make sure their cargo looked innocuous.

By damn, Harmon! I think youâ€™ve done it!

But Cassie! Cassie would be a problem to them from the get-go. She would immediately realize that the â€œcargoâ€ was not packed in coolers. And even if they did put it in coolers as a disguise, they would probably not

be met by a refrigerated truck at the cornfieldâ€¦if, indeed, that was even their destination. My joke to Mom about their flying to Floridaâ€”or anyplace elseâ€”might wel have been more truth than fiction.

And Cassie. She would never accept a payoff. So at whatever obscure landing field they used, the plane would be quickly painted a new color and given fake registration numbers, and Cassieâ€¦Cassie would be

dead.

CHAPTER NINE

My first thought was to dash back to the Rat. Just possibly they had gone in for a drink or something to eat, and might stil be there. But I could hardly hold them there by my great good looks alone. I could yel for help

from any local men who were in the bar, but what if someoneâ€”anyoneâ€”got hurt?

I had no legal right even to try to detain them verbal y. They had done nothing wrong that I knew of. They were almost certainly conspiring to traffic in an il egal substance and possibly even to murder, and I had the tape

to prove it. But I was not a cop with a badge and pistol al owing me to cuff them and take them in for questioning.

So, cal police headquarters and hope Sonny would be there.

He was not.

Nacho said he and Mitch were fol owing some tip they had gotten on the recent hit-and-run, and she did not know when they would be back. She would have him cal me. I bit my tongue and thanked her. I did not have

the right to ask her to send out cops on my request unless someone was in imminent danger.

Shit. I put the old-fashioned phone back in its cradle on the bedside table and walked back through the kitchen, out onto the deck where Fargo lay contentedly, watching Wel s serpentine through the reeds on a critter

hunt. I wished my only problem were an empty water dish, with an alternate one at hand.

Damn Sonny! Why did he personal y have to fol ow up the hit-and-run tip? He was the one who talked of how valuable Mitch had become, what a gifted detective he had become.

Surely Mitch could ask the necessary questions, look at the suspectâ€™s vehicle and decide whether or not to impound it, whether to check any persons who might prove the suspect was or was not the errant driver,

whether he or she had been drinking, whetherâ€¦oh, hel , I wasnâ€™t the one interviewing the suspect.

I dragged the gas gril out from under the shelter of the deck and into a level area of the yard and wiped it down. I washed a couple of potatoes to ready them for the little microwave oven we had bought for the cottage

a couple of weeks back. Smal though it was, it stil took up about a third of the kitchen counter space, making me quite careful as I cut up a salad.

I stil loved the cottage, but I was beginning to take its shortcomings seriously. I looked upon them as ongoing irritants rather than laughing at them as part of getting away from the workaday world. And I think Cindy was

doing the same thing. She seemed very temperamental these days, and I rather imagine she would have said the same about me.

I hoped we would get back into the real house soon and would find the new bedroom, etc.â€”I refused to cal it the Master Suiteâ€”al we had looked forward to. And I hoped we would both surviveâ€”both emotional y and

financial yâ€”the furnishing thereof. One part of me wanted to buy a bed and cal it quits for a while on the house, and have Cassie fly us to Halifax, where we would rent a car and get lost for a couple of weeks. But I had the

feeling Cindy would either col apse or strangle me if I even suggested that alternative.

And here was my opportunity to find out if I dared. I heard her carâ€¦no, I heard two cars. Now what? I hurried to the living room window; it was Sonny and the two of them were looking at something in Aunt Maeâ€™s

budding garden. Good, it gave me a chance to get another chicken breast into the micro a minute to thaw it and then into the marinade. I washed another potato and put it with the others. The salad would do for three.

Bingo!

I was innocently putting out the animalsâ€™ evening food when they came in.

â€œHi, darling!â€ Cindy gave me a hug and a kiss. â€œGuess who I found loitering along the way?â€

â€œHe looks suspicious to me,â€ I replied.

â€œHe is suspicious,â€ Sonny stated with a phony grin. â€œThese days he seems to get more cal s from his sister than he does from Harmon. That is enough to make anybody suspicious. Whatâ€™s up?â€

â€œNothing that wonâ€™t wait until we sit down and enjoy whatâ€™s left of the sun. What are you drinking?â€

Sonny opted for beer, Cindy for a scotch and soda, me for a bourbon highbal . I played bartender while Cindy changed clothes and Sonny played with Fargo. We soon gathered on the deck, and I asked Sonny if his

anonymous tip regarding the hit-and-run had proven fruitful. I wanted him relaxed before I brought up Cassieâ€™s pirates. His opening crack about the phone cal s hadnâ€™t sounded entirely joking.

â€œYes, I think it is the vehicle,â€ he said. â€œJust as our anonymous phone cal told us, we found it on a side street in Orleans. It has front-end damage, with what looks like blood and some fibers caught in the headlight

â€¦could be from Mr. Alvesâ€™ clothing. Weâ€™l know in a day or so.â€

â€œDid you find the owner?â€ Cindy sipped her drink and pronounced it just right.

â€œYes, and thereâ€™s no joy there. He lives in Eastham and swears the car was stolen. But he didnâ€™t report it until yesterday, which is strange at best. Weâ€™re trying to verify his whereabouts at the time of the accident.â€

â€œHowâ€™s Mr. Alves? Have you heard?â€ I rescued my cigarettes from Sonnyâ€™s side of the table and lit one.

â€œYeah. I was just at the clinic. Dr. Gloetzner says the old fel ow stil thinks heâ€™s Napoleon, but he did manage to ask where he was and why he was there. So I guess thereâ€™s hope.â€

â€œIâ€™m glad, heâ€™s a nice old codger. His wife must be frantic.â€

â€œYouâ€™re not far wrong,â€ he admitted. â€œBut their daughter is here from Worcester, so at least she has someone with her. Look, Alex, Iâ€™ve got to get going. Want to tel me why Nacho said you sounded a little frantic yourself

this afternoon?â€

â€œYes, but why donâ€™t you stay for dinner? We have plenty.â€

â€œThat sounds like a winner. I guess Iâ€™d better start up the gril , then.â€ When there was a gril in sight, nobody cooked but Sonny.

We got ourselves rearranged and I showed Sonny and Cindy my new toy. When I told Sonny I had a duplicate for him, he gave me that big brother look and simpered, â€œOh, thank you ever so!â€

I told the two of them of my experiment downtown with the young couple and my inadvertent recording at the Rat. I had set it to start with Fred and Pauline to make him laugh, and he did, along with Cindy.

Then the Blues Brother came on and again he was amused. â€œThatâ€™s Bert McMichaels,â€ he chortled. â€œIâ€™l have to tel him to watch what he says around Fargo.â€

I explained the two men I had passed on leaving the Rat and what had been picked up while I had been inside. Then I hit Play again .

The tape ended, and I turned it off triumphantly.

â€œThere! Doesnâ€™t that prove Harmonâ€™s initial guess? Those men are no more staging a charitable clambake than I am.â€

â€œIt doesnâ€™t prove a damn thing. I swear you get more like Harmon by the day. Every person who stops someone to ask directions is setting up a mil ion dol ar dope trade.â€ He stood and walked out to put the chicken on

the gril .

Cindy went inside to finish dinner. She was obviously staying out of this.

Sonny returned, freshened my drink, got himself another beer and came back out.

â€œAlex,â€ he spoke careful y and softly. â€œI know you have been under stress lately, but you real y are getting a little far out. You canâ€™t reasonably expect me to arrest two men just because I donâ€™t quite understand a

conversation you shouldnâ€™t have taped in the first place. Think about that young couple you taped at first. You said they wanted to get home and get Madison out of some lock-up. We assume Madison is a dog or cat, but

what if he is their three-year-old son, locked in a cage under the care of a twelve-year-old, while they have a getaway weekend? Believe me, it has happened.â€

â€œEverybody was sitting on some sort of public bench,â€ I argued. â€œNone of them had a reasonable expectation of privacy. And the pirates didnâ€™t mention seafood or their club or vets or anything bearing on what they told

Cassie. I tel you, Sonny, they are dangerous phonies.â€

â€œI gotta turn the chicken. Right back.â€ He loped across the lawn, flipped the meat and came back. â€œOkay. Look at what they probably meant. They want to make sure the suppliers wil have enough clams and lobsters

and whatever to fil their order, even though demand is getting heavy here in town. Do they have trucks available to go to the airport? Do they have enough employees to catch, process, pack and deliver it to Cassie at a

given hour? Surely Cassie wil need to know the approximate weight in order to figure her fuel situation, and size so she wil know how to balance them in the plane. So Frank is a nitpicker, which may account for their

mutual success on various jobs. What job? Instal ing vinyl siding? Painting a house? Fixing a car? Instal ing a furnace? Come on, Sis, the list is endless.â€

â€œWel , I suppose it could go either way,â€ I admitted. â€œBut think of Cassie. If it is dope, theyâ€™ve got to kil her somewhere along the way even if they just push her out over Lake Erie.â€

â€œAnd we canâ€™t let that happen,â€ he placated. â€œIf she gets a definite time and date from these guys, I wil personal y inspect every cooler to make sure it holds nothing more than tomorrowâ€™s dinner. Okay?â€

â€œI guess.â€ I sighed. â€œBut for Cassieâ€™s safety canâ€™t you have someone keep an eye on them?â€

â€œMy dear sister, I do not have the entire NYPD at my command. First I would have to assign people to find them, if they could, then use at least five people to tail them, et cetera. In the meantime restaurants could be

robbed and old ladies muggedâ€¦al because of Harmonâ€™s imagination and your Star Wars gizmo. Câ€™mon, letâ€™s eat.â€

â€œSonny.â€ Cindy had dealt herself back into the game. â€œAm I taking up too much of your timeâ€”and budgetâ€”with this stalker of mine? Apparently he is proving to be harmless.â€ Her voice quivered a bit. â€œIf he even exists.

Maybe you should just send Edgar on home.â€

Sonnyâ€”always gentle with Cindyâ€”reached across the table to pat her hand. â€œYou let me worry about when to send Edgar home. Right now heâ€™s doing what should be done.â€

We al agreed that dinner was very good, but somehow none of us seemed terribly hungry.

Sonny didnâ€™t linger after dinner. I donâ€™t know if it was business or pleasureâ€¦or just a desire to get away from his bothersome sister and her bothersome friend. Cindy and I cleared up the deck and moved inside,

leaving the aloof half-moon to make its chil , stil progression across the pond. Cindy must have started the wood stove earlier, for the smal living room felt warm and friendly. She came in bearing a tray with coffee and

two smal glasses of brandyâ€”the snifters were at the house.

â€œI figured we might enjoy this with a little light conversation.â€ She smiled. â€œWe have a choice of something over one hundred TV stationsâ€”and nothing to watch. Iâ€™m sick of meerkatsâ€”their problems are al too human. I

am not smarter than a fifth graderâ€”we didnâ€™t have al that science stuff in fifth grade, did we? The only thing worse than American Idol is Donâ€™t Forget the Lyrics. In the cops â€™n robber shows theyâ€™re either busy screwing

each otherâ€”one way or anotherâ€”or lying on the floor bleeding. The sitcoms make the I Love Lucy reruns seem deeply intel ectual. And the nature shows are al too depressingâ€¦the more so because I know itâ€™s al true.

So talk to me, baby.â€

â€œGladly. I only wish I had taped your little speech and sent it to every TV network. Itâ€™s a scathing commentary, and like your nature programs, al too true. First, my love, a question.â€

I sipped my brandy and mental y snuggled in its warmth. Then I asked, â€œHas everybody you know been recommending that we should take a nice, long vacationâ€¦and soon?â€

â€œJust about.â€ She laughed slightly. â€œAre we in that bad a shape? Do we need one of those old rest cures my grandma used to talk about? I think rest cure was a nice way of spending a couple of weeks in a

pseudomental hospital. You figure that would help? Brisk walks before breakfast, calisthenics before luncheon, inspirational reading and a glass of warm milk and one smal cookie at bedtime?â€

â€œWeâ€™re probably not there yet, but itâ€™s close. Seriously, I do think we need a break.â€ I steepled my fingers in front of my mouth for a second. â€œNova Scotia sounds fabulous. But weâ€™d real y have to watch our pennies.â€

â€œNew York?â€

â€œHel , we could buy Nova Scotia for a week in New York.â€

â€œWel ,â€ she continued. â€œPersonal y I feel a little Vermonted-out for a while.â€

I nodded agreement. â€œSame with Maine. Itâ€™s kind of like camping out in the backyard.â€

â€œYes.â€ She sounded discouraged and then brightened. â€œThen let me float this past you. Close your eyes and listen.â€

I did as I was told.

â€œVisualize tal mountains, but not the harsh Rocky-mountain type. Softer, gentler ones with moss to lie on beside a smal stream, with tal pines and oaks standing guard. In the distance the mountains seem to blur a

little, as if a light, fragrant smoke drifts between them. Then you realize the fragrance is closer, and the whole mountainside has a pink cast from blossoming mountain laurel and rhododendron. Far up the stream you may

luck out and see a mama bear teaching her cubs to fish. And lower down is a beaver dam. When you get anywhere near they slap their tails like a rifle shot and al disappear. Below the dam in the white water, otters play

â€”that seems to be al they do, al day long. And in a nearby meadow polka dotted with yel ow blooms, fox kits play-fight with mama serving as referee.â€

I felt myself drifting as she continued.

â€œAt the foot of the mountain is a sizeable lake where boats are limited to sails or smal electric trol ing motors, slow and barely audible. The lake is loaded with various bass and bluegil . The inn there wil even clean and

cook your own catch for your dinner. And at the top of the mountain is a smal icy tarn, loaded with crappie that are the most tender, sweetest fish you ever tasted, and water so clear that when you look into it, you arenâ€™t

sure whether the clouds are above you or beneath. Iâ€™m sure youâ€™l want to make the hike up to it.â€ She gave me a sweet, total y sarcastic smile.

â€œAnd,â€ she added, â€œyou hear the clop of horseshoes and look up to see riders on tal mounts with kind eyes and long, delicate legs, moving at a rapid, even pace they can continue for hours with no strain on them or

you. Most comfortable ride in the world. Give â€™em an apple and theyâ€™re yours for life. Theyâ€™re Tennessee Walking Horses.â€

â€œMy God,â€ I breathed. â€œCindy, are you suggesting suicide because youâ€™ve made reservations for us in heaven?â€

â€œNot quite.â€ I heard her pouring more coffee and opened my eyes, rubbing them and peering between my fingers like a child who has had a dream too good to be true.

She spoke briskly now. â€œRemember my cousin Ken and his wife Frances?â€

â€œYeah, I met them at your parentsâ€™ house once. He was something in politics and she was something in horses. Nice people, I thought.â€

â€œYou thought right. Heâ€™s in the Tennessee Legislatureâ€”probably governor in the next election. And between you and me, I think the two of them are practicing a fancy waltz for the Presidential Inaugural Bal down the

road a piece.â€

â€œWow!â€ I sat up straight. â€œHe asked me for a signed print of the picture of Fargo on the beach, leaping for a seagul . I sent it to him. You think he might hang it in the Oval Office?

â€ â€œNo. But it may be in his log cabin.â€

â€œHeâ€™s got a log cabin? Heâ€™s bound to be elected. These guys with a condo in Aspen, and a mansion at Westhampton, and a modernistic abortion at Malibuâ€¦theyâ€™re a dime a dozen. Ainâ€™t nobody got a log cabin no

more! Where is it?â€

â€œItâ€™s in Tennessee, you idiot. Heâ€™s smart enough to keep that local boy imageâ€”just a simple mountaineer. Itâ€™s near Beulaland.â€

â€œBeulaland. Is that a town or the Promised Land?â€ I asked.

â€œSort of both. The nearest real town is Elizabethton.â€

â€œElizabethton, erâ€¦thatâ€™s exactlyâ€¦where?â€

â€œIt makes kind of a triangle between Kingsport and Johnson City.â€ She was grinning openly at my discomfort.

â€œKingsport, of course! Oh, yes, on theâ€¦uh, river! Iâ€™ve got it now.â€

â€œSure you do, darling. When you drag out a map tomorrow, find Knoxvil e and go kind of northeast.â€

I didnâ€™t deign to answer that. And her thoughts fortunately took another tack.

â€œWhat Iâ€™m trying to get to is this: Ken and Frances have been after me for ages to come down and use the cabinâ€”now that heâ€™s in Nashvil e so much, they rarely use it except in July and August, but they hate to see it

just sit there empty. And their two kids are not quite old enough to let them go there alone. I donâ€™t think Iâ€™ve been there in almost fifteen years, but itâ€™s unforgettably beautiful and peaceful and fun in a bucolic sort of way.

Should I cal Ken and see if itâ€™s not in use for a week or so?â€

I got up and returned with the phone. â€œHere. Cal .â€

â€œGet my address book out of my purse while youâ€™re up, please.â€ I was delighted to comply.

It was al settled in about two minutes. We would vacation in Tennessee.

After that it turned into a lengthy family gossip session and I took the animals out, trying not to yel hot damn! loud enough to startle the neighbors.

We final y got to bed, feeling as if large weights had been removed. Cindy struck a seductive pose.

â€œIf weâ€™re going into the woods, Iâ€™l have to learn to be foxy.â€

I put my arms around her. â€œGet a load of my bear hug.â€

â€œIâ€™m a big mouth bass; now where should I nibble?â€

We carried on this rustic sil iness into more and more graphic suggestions and the obvious conclusion.

Personal y, I think it was a lot more fun than pretending Cindy was a rubber ducky in the bathtub.

CHAPTER TEN

Our getaway would have been a credit in speed to Scarface Al Capone with El iot Ness in hot pursuit.

Cindy got Choate El isâ€™s hearty permission to take two weeks off, and did everything ahead of time at work that could possibly be done in three days. And in the evenings, of course, she house-cleaned. â€œSo we wonâ€™t

come home to a mess.â€ I wondered if she had looked at the yard recently. It was my firm contention that Hadrianâ€™s Wal had been a simpler endeavor.

I got Harvey Weinberg to cover my accounts and informed my insurance companies of that fact. I dropped off a bunch of clothes for our dry cleanerâ€™s offer of Special 24Hour Service. They lived up to their ad, but it was

the biggest scalping party since the Mohawks calmed down. We had decided to take Fargo, and the vet provided a booklet listing motels that accepted pets. Wel s would go to Aunt Maeâ€™s the night before we left, to begin

a posh vacation of her own.

Cassie had an absolute library of maps and helped me plot our course. We wanted to avoid al large cities if possible; we wanted the most direct route available, but we wanted some of the lovely scenery we had been

told lay along the way.

At first I thought it worked out rather wel . We would take the Massachusetts Turnpike to its end, clip off a smal corner of New York state, drop down to Scranton and pick up Interstate 81. From there we just stayed on I 81 in a more or less straight south-westerly shot across Pennsylvania, took a tiny bite out of Maryland and West Virginia, crossed the suddenly enormous-looking State of Virginiaâ€¦and were in Tennessee.

Then I examined the length of the route Cassie had highlighted on the map, and looked up at her in considerable dismay.

â€œWe thought we could make this in two daysâ€™ driving. This looks more like a week,â€ I groaned.

â€œSure you donâ€™t want me to fly you down? You can always rent a car, or maybe a pickup, at whatever airport we may find down there. Lit or unlit.â€

â€œPlowed or unplowed is more likely. Anyway, we both want to see the country. Iâ€™ve never been in that part of the world. The last time Cindy was there she was about fifteen, and her father was stil teaching at University of

Chattanooga, so it was a fairly easy dayâ€™s driveâ€”from the other direction. And if we fly, Fargo canâ€™t go. Heâ€™s scared of airplanes, as you know.â€

â€œYeah.â€ She pul ed out a pair of calipers and walked them from Ptown to Elizabethton. â€œClose to a thousand miles. You can make it in two days if you donâ€™t linger. Youâ€™l be over the worst of it when you clear Scranton.â€

â€œFine. That just leaves most of the Appalachian chain to negotiate, and probably cows and pigs al over the road,â€ I grumbled.

Cassie laughed. â€œInterstates are not designed to have steep grades or sharp curvesâ€¦thatâ€™s both their beauty and their eventual boredom. You may see the occasional deer or little critter, but I doubt youâ€™l get cows and

piggies in the road until you get off of I-81 and over toâ€¦what was the name again?â€

â€œBeulaland, and if you laugh Iâ€™l clock you. And donâ€™t ask me again if I know what a big patch of land cal ed Kettlefoot Wild Animal Management Area meansâ€”although you might think of retiring there.â€

I pushed my coffee mug toward her. â€œGet me a beer. What the hel has Cindy gotten us into?â€

Cindy had gotten us into a vertical position at approximately three thirty a.m. We were hoping to leave a half hour later. Wel s had been taken to Aunt Maeâ€™s the night before. I had loaded Cindyâ€™s two suitcases and my

one into my car trunk while she was gone. I had also loaded dog food, doggy blanket and two favorite doggy toys plus a tennis bal .

This morning I hadâ€”I hopedâ€”concluded the loading process. Our two gym bags holding cosmetics and other smal necessities were now in the trunk.

In the car proper was a jug of water for Fargo, a smal cooler holding ice and fruit and soft drinks for us, a bag of cookies for us and a smal er bag of cookies for Fargo. He wasnâ€™t certain he was going, so he sat in the

driverâ€™s seat to make sure.

Mom would be over later to clean out the fridge.

Cindy concentrated on her morning health cereal while I washed down two of yesterdayâ€™s croissants with a cup of coffee. We cleaned up the kitchen and left. The Orrick crew would presumably lock up every night.

I took the first driving shift, expecting some excited commentary from Cindy along the way and perhaps some nuzzles and tail wags from Fargo in the backseat. It didnâ€™t work quite that way.

Just before we left I had booted Fargo over to the front passengerâ€™s seat, assuming Cindy would see to getting him out and into the back. Instead, she climbed into the backseat herself with a cheery, â€œOkay, darling, up,

up and away! Let me know when you want to swap driving. Anytime, love.â€ She thereby stretched across the seat, turned on the little overhead light and opened the morning paper. Wel , she was on vacation.

It was, of course, stil dark, but I knew every inch of Route 6. Traffic was light at that hour and as Cassie had recommended, I didnâ€™t linger. After a few miles of staring at darkened trees and buildings, Fargo had curled

up beside me and began to snore lightly. Cindy had switched off the little backseat light and let the paper fal across her chest. Maybe she was snoring lightly too. I was beginning to get that I-am-the-last-person-in-the world feeling.

It began to get light, turning from black to an ever-lightening gray, final y tinged with pink. It wasnâ€™t a bad time to be alone. You felt not only relieved, but also triumphant that you had again achieved victory over the forces

of the evil blackness and lived to fight another day.

I yawned and stretched, although I wasnâ€™t sleepy; I was just greeting the day. But I awoke my passengers. Fargo mimicked my stretch and yawn and resumed looking for something of interest.

The other felt guilty and began apologizing, but I was generous.

â€œVacation means never having to say, â€˜Iâ€™m sorry I fel asleep,â€™â€ I forgave my penitent partner.

â€œYouâ€™re a love. Do you want me to drive? Where are we?â€

â€œIâ€™m fine. Weâ€™re coming up on the Sagamore Bridge. Itâ€™s stil early and a little foggy down low along the canal. This is when I dream I may look down and see FDR in the stern of the old presidential yacht, wearing a big

straw hat and holding a fishing rod.â€

â€œWhat a wonderful image! Have you ever seen it?â€

â€œOnce or twice, when it was thick fog I think I got a glimpse. Apparently he real y used to come through the canal often. The canal was one of the feats of his administration. I think perhaps somewhere he is stil proud of

it.â€

â€œI should think he would be. I shal look closely as we cross.â€

â€œAlex. Sweetheart. Are you awake?â€

â€œMore or less.â€ I had been slouched in the front seat, not exactly asleep, but far away somewhere. I straightened and rol ed my head around to get the neck muscles back in line. â€œWhatâ€™s up?â€

â€œWeâ€™ve been making real y good time. If we detoured about twenty miles east, weâ€™d be in Pennsylvania Dutch territory. Maybe we could find a restaurant that serves some of their wonderful food. The turnoff is coming

up.â€

â€œTake it.â€

Fifteen minutes later we were in a clean little town, dotted with the famous black buggies, pul ed by a single muscular horse, reins handled by a black-clad man with a flat black hat, or perhaps by a woman in a long gray

gown, with a hat looking to me like an old-fashioned nightcap.

We stopped in front of a smal park. While I took Fargo for a brief run, Cindy asked someone about a restaurant and was referred to the Family Kitchen.

We were seated at a table for six, with four places already taken. We introduced ourselves and began the rather forced conversation of strangers thrown together by chance. We exchanged information regarding

hometowns. We spoke of destinations. Just as we were getting to the weather, large platters were placed on the table by rather pretty young women in gray uniforms that came just below their knees and had spotless high

white col ars, with white cuffs just below the elbow. 1930â€™s design, I was sure, and stil worn by these â€œplainâ€ young people.

The largest platter held tender roast beef with gravy. Fried chicken was piled high on another. Ham with a honey sauce actual y came with a little fat around the edges, and the slices were not even. Good grief! It had not

been spiral cut! And it actual y tasted likeâ€¦real ham!

There were sweet potatoes and white potatoes, spinach and red cabbage. Covered baskets held biscuits and cornbread. After I thought I couldnâ€™t eat another bite for a week, here came the applesauce cake and

shoo-fly pieâ€”which even Cindy had to try. Conversation col apsed under the largesse. Strong coffee got us al moving again, but with difficulty.

I drove, with a tape of The 1812 Overture blasting from the speakers and strong hot coffee in a cup in the dashboard rack, poured from a newly fil ed thermos. We had asked about a doggy bag and they had given us

a meal for a tiger. In the backseat Fargo burped. And half his meal was stil in the cooler. I burped, which did not surprise me. Cindy burped, which did.

The motel that night was a motelâ€¦period. I didnâ€™t even remember the name of the town it was in.

But it could have been on any major highway in the contiguous United States. Pseudobrick and clapboard on the outside, pseudohominess on the inside. It was clean, comfortable and utterly forgettable. There was a

restaurant attached, with waitresses in the more familiar brightly colored uniforms with short skirts and sleeves. They served a completely forgettable meal. I momentarily considered dipping into Fargoâ€™s doggie bag, but

figured it wouldnâ€™t be fair. We walked the dog, fel into bed and al three fel asleep over some forgettable TV.

We found ourselves in the Shenandoah Val ey and were enthral ed. Surrounded by protective mountains, the val ey was somewhat warmer than the nearby areas. Already it was lush with growing crops. Comfortable

farmhouses and the occasional mansion flashed by. Wel -kept lawns with early flowers and blooming shrubs were the norm.

Suddenly Cindy tapped my arm and said, â€œLook.â€

I did, at a tal , blackened chimney standing alone in the midst of an overgrown, weed-fil ed yard, surrounded by unmortared low stone wal s. No one was behind me and I slowed the car and pul ed over.

â€œI think solitary old chimneys and their fireplaces are so lonely and sad.â€ Her lovely eyes clouded slightly with a prelude to tears. â€œThey seem to be reaching up, begging God please to bring back their house or barn

â€¦they provided warmth, perhaps meals were cooked on their gril . Babies were born beside them and the old died in warm, loving comfort in front of them. And now they stand alone, bereft and guarding nothing, no

warmth left in them. Useless.â€

I had no answer to that, but anyway, Cindy had another thought.

â€œDo you think that one is left from the Civil War? Perhaps someone deliberately has left it there as a sort of reminder of what Sheridan did to this beautiful land?â€

â€œI suppose it could be.â€ I shrugged dubiously. â€œWhat happened to this val ey is a shame. But whether you agree or not, Sheridan said the fastest way to end the war was to destroy southern crops. If they couldnâ€™t feed

their army, it couldnâ€™t fight. He said he was actual y saving lives.â€

â€œThere may be a valid point in there somewhere, but burning families out of their homes isnâ€™t just burning crops. And did you know that members of Sheridanâ€™s own staff wanted him relieved as being insane? They said

he acted like a maniac anytime he was involved in kil ing and destruction. He loved it. But Lincoln and Grant said he was indispensable. How do you like them apples?â€

â€œI donâ€™t,â€ I shook my head. â€œBut Lincoln and Grant wouldnâ€™t listen to me either. I said crops: yes, houses: no.â€

â€œIdiot!â€ Her mouth tightened.

But then, honest little scholar that she was, she muttered to herself, â€œOf course, they said the same thing about Patton.â€

I turned my head away until I got control of the smile.

And then we were in the mountains. They were everywhere. If we were at a high altitude we could see them lined up as far as the eye could see, like giant ocean waves suddenly frozen in time. If the road took us lower

they towered above us, seeming to lean a little away from us, to al ow us safe passage. The mountain laurel flirted, pink and lively in the breeze and the larger, deeper toned rhododendron bobbed and nodded in matronly

greeting. The big trees were not yet ful y leaved, but were recognizable. Oak, maple, pine, hickory, dogwood, others I did not know.

A smal brown critter running right in front of the car brought me to reality with a jerk. Automatical y I hit the brakes and cut to the right. The rabbitâ€”I had IDâ€™d it by nowâ€”finished its frantic run across the highway safely

and disappeared into underbrush. But a much larger creature careered out of the forest, and only its desperate scratching, clawing, twisting one-eighty al owed it to miss running ful tilt into the right side of the now

unmoving car. It gathered itself and trotted shakily back into the woods.

Feeling pretty shaky myself, I leaned my arms and head on the steering wheel. I was almost crying in relief. Cindy was half-out the passenger door, looking for casualties. Fargo was barking loudly and irritably for

having been dumped off the backseat and on to various coolers and grocery bags.

â€œHush, Fargo!â€ Cindy ordered. â€œAlex, are you al right? Are the rabbit and that big dog al right? Should we fol ow them and make sure?â€

â€œIâ€™m okay, or I wil be in a minute. The rabbit is out of breath but grateful to be off the luncheon menu. The big dog is a coyote who is, like me, simply recovering from his considerable scare. Weâ€™d never catch up with

him, anyway.â€

â€œA coyote? Iâ€™l be darned.â€

â€œYeah.â€ I put the car in gear and pul ed back onto the highway. The Appalachians were not al pink blossoms and stately green trees.

Final y, final y! We saw the sign. â€œWelcome to Tennessee.â€ I had begun to think we were a four-wheeled flying Dutchman, doomed forever to traverse an endless Virginia. Already I felt less tired. Cindy took the wheel,

however, in the hopes she might have retained some teenage recol ection of the local roads.

We left Interstate 81 for a state road, left that for a county road, left that for an unmarked asphalt road that could have used a little TLC. We passed through a smal two-street town, marked by a slanting sign informing

us we had entered Beulaland, Population 1237. I could not believe it was real.

Cindy slowed the car to a crawling twenty miles an hour. After the speeds we had previously been going, I felt I could get out and push the vehicle faster. My feelings must have showed.

Cindy laughed and said, â€œCanâ€™t help it. Speed trap. Always has been for any pesky furrinersâ€”and a furriner is anybody from farther away than Elizabethton. Look subtly to your right, a sheriffâ€™s car should be waiting

behind the gas station. Or it used to be.â€

It stil was.

Even at our snailâ€™s pace we had passed through the town. About a half mile farther I saw a bunch of big mailboxes lined up along the road next to a turnoff onto a gravel road.

â€œHey, look!â€ Cindy pointed. â€œThereâ€™s Kenâ€™s mailbox, and I reckon that there is his road. Yup! Now al we have to do is go on down this road to the Bromfield Inn and get the keys. Darling girl, we have made it!â€

CHAPTER ELEVEN

We turned and went through a large ornate gate with the words â€œBromfield Inn, 1884â€ forming the top of the wrought iron span. Just inside was a neatly painted sign reading â€œWelcome to the Bromfield Inn and Country

Club. Please drive slowly.â€ So we didâ€¦past what looked like a three-hole chip and putt golf course, then a double terrace with tables and umbrel as, ending beside a sizeable lake.

A couple of tables were occupied. From behind the hotel itself I heard the thonk of tennis bal s. Two smal kids played in some sand that bordered the water to form a smal man-made beach. A girl of maybe fourteen

lay propped on her elbow in the sand, watching the kids. Three sailboats cruised the lake, along with several smal boats that had to be motor-powered, although I could not hear them. It made a nice postcard scene.

We pul ed up in front of the prestigious three-story shingled building, complete with veranda and comfortable chairs. Immediately a young man stood beside Cindyâ€™s window.

â€œGood afternoon and welcome to Bromfield. My name is Jerry. May I park your car for you?â€

Cindy hesitated. â€œI donâ€™t know that you need to bother, Jerry. I just have to run in and pick up something.â€

Jerry cocked his head, surveying the rather messy interior, the car-weary dog and the two of us who were a bit messy also.

â€œAre you two ladies by any chance headed for Mr. Wil inghamâ€™s cabin?â€ At our nods, he continued. â€œI know our owner, Mr. Bromfield, wants to welcome you. Maybe I could just pul the car over there where itâ€™s handy, and

maybe this nice doggy would like a little strol by the water.â€

They sure loved the word welcome here at Bromfieldâ€™s, but his offer to walk Fargo sold me. â€œFine,â€ I said. â€œWeâ€™l do it your way.â€

We walked into the elegant lobby with its marble floor and impressive chandelier, and I assume Cindy felt as scruffy as I did. A young lady at the registration desk greeted us with a professional smile. â€œWelcome to

Bromfield. May I help you?â€

â€œIâ€™m Cindy Hart, Ken Wil inghamâ€™s cousin. I believe he left an envelope for me.â€

â€œIndeed he did.â€ The receptionist turned to a bank of cubby holes behind her and extricated a manila envelope with Cindyâ€™s name on it.

As she took it, she thanked the clerk and turned to me. â€œWeâ€™re in. One more mile to the cabin and we are out of that car for at least twenty-four hours.â€

â€œOh, please,â€ the clerk sounded distressed. â€œDonâ€™t leave quite yet. Mr. Bromfield wants to meet you both. Heâ€™s coming right down and asked that you wait in the bar.â€

â€œOh, of course. Weâ€™d be delighted.â€ Cindy had on her social voice. I donâ€™t know where she found it. I could feel fatigue suddenly settling on my neck and shoulders like a giant pouting toad.

We fol owed the clerkâ€™s pointing finger into the large room with a beautiful curving mahogany bar and comfortably sized red leather barstools with black backs and arms, and a dozen matching tables. We looked at

each other and headed for the bar. A table looked more like you were going to set and stay a spel and I hoped weâ€™uns would be movinâ€™ shawtly. I was getting into my mountaineer mode. I also might just have been

overtired.

â€œGood afternoon, Ms. Hart, Ms. Peres.â€ The bartender smiled as he placed napkins in front of us. â€œWelcome to Bromfield, my name is Joe. And what is your pleasure?â€

Wel , at least I could remember his name. I just had to think of Joe at the shabby old Wharf Rat, for which I felt a sudden wistful pang. And I wondered how this Joe knew our namesâ€¦probably a fast phone cal from the

receptionist. One more â€œwelcome,â€ though, and I might say something Iâ€™d regret.

â€œDo you serve anything but beer?â€ Cindy was asking. I wondered what she thought al those bottles along the mirrored wal held, cleaning fluid?

â€œOh, yes, maâ€™am,â€ Joe reassured her. â€œThe county is dry except for beer, but we are a private club and can serve drinks and wine. Mr. Bromfield says you are his guests this afternoon. And if either of you wish to use any

of our services or facilities later on, al you have to do then is sign the tab. It wil go to Mr. Wil inghamâ€™s account. Do order whatever you please.â€

Cindy ordered a Cosmo; I opted for a bourbon old-fashioned. Nothing had ever tasted better. Joe moved away, having the good sense to let us recuperate in silence.

After a sip or two, I looked around me to note our fel ow customers. There werenâ€™t many in this stil off-season weekday afternoon. A woman and two men at one table, an elderly woman at another, a tough-looking man

at the end of the bar, and standing at the other end of the bar, a young man in jeans and T-shirt, whose gaze drifted from Cindy to me and back again.

He looked to be about eighteen, with unruly blond hair and a sweet face. His clothes were clean, but damp in spots, and at his feet was a canvas bag that seemed to be leaking something that looked like water. I

looked at him more closely, and his expression made me think he might be slightly mental y chal enged.

When I caught his eye, I spoke. â€œHi, young man, Iâ€™m Alex. Can I help you with something?â€

He blushed and grinned. â€œOh, no maâ€™am. I am sorry if I was staring but you must be Mr. and Miz Wil inghamâ€™s cousins, and I wanted to tel my mom youâ€™re here, and how pretty you both are. And Jerry says that big black

dog is yours. Heâ€™s pretty, too.â€

I laughed. â€œHe may be the prettiest of al . His name is Fargo. Mine is Alex, and the other ladyâ€™s is Cindy. Sheâ€™s the Wil ingham cousin. Iâ€™m a friendâ€¦no relative, though. Whatâ€™s your name?â€

Before he could answer, a short, pudgy man from the table behind us jumped up and came toward us, cal ing out, â€œJesus X. Christ, Marbles, youâ€™ve done it again! Youâ€™re bothering the ladies and that bag ful of fish is

leaking al over the floor.â€

As he approached, I could hardly keep from laughing at his attire: a violently vivid green blazer, lighter green pants, a bright yel ow col arless shirt and sneakers that looked like the same brand as mine, but a lot cleaner.

He was stil muttering to himself, when Cindy announced which side she had chosen in ringing tones.

â€œThe young man was not bothering us at al . Unless you are an employee, the smal leak is not your worry, and if you are an employee, why donâ€™t you wipe it up?â€

A flash of anger crossed his face, quickly replaced by a wide and contagious grin.

â€œNow, forgive me maâ€™am, I just didnâ€™t want anyone to slip and fal . Al ow me to welcome you ladies to beautiful Beulaland. I know youâ€™re going to love our countryside, and youâ€™l certainly enjoy your accommodations. In

fact, after a day or two, youâ€™l be begging me to put a binder on one of the condos Iâ€™m going to build up on Crooked Creek Mountain, so you can enjoy it year-round. I understand you are Ken Wil inghamâ€™s cousin. Ken and I

are the best of friends, so you just cal on me if you need the tiniest thing.â€ He waved a business card in our direction. Neither of us moved to take it, so he placed it on the bar.

The young man got back into the conversation. â€œItâ€™s just water. Joe, hand me a bar towel and Iâ€™l mop it up.â€

â€œDonâ€™t worry about it, Tommy, Iâ€™ve already cal ed housekeeping. But you better get those fish out to the kitchen and ready for dinner.â€ Joe turned and explained to us. â€œTommy makes sure when our menus advertise

fresh-caught fish that weâ€™re tel ing the truth. He catches them and brings them in every afternoon.â€

â€œI see, thatâ€™s a very good policy,â€ I said. â€œSo your name is Tommyâ€¦much nicer than Marbles, I think.â€

Once again the black look came and swiftly left the man in green, and I noticed a sardonic smirk on the fel ow at the end of the bar. â€œOh, I just tease him that his head is ful of marbles, it donâ€™t mean anything. Weâ€™re

family.â€

Cindy sipped her Cosmo and looked innocent. â€œWel , now we know Marbles is real y Tommy, real y who are you?â€

â€œMy ful name is Carter Branch Redford, but everybody cal s me Branch. Now please do remember that Iâ€™m just friendly olâ€™ Branch, at your service, maâ€™am.â€

Cindy placed her index finger on her chin and pul ed her mouth slightly open. â€œOh, I canâ€™t be sure. Iâ€™m just a sil y olâ€™ female. But if I forget Branch, I can probably remember Twig.â€

â€œWel , now, while I do hope you remember Branch, Ahâ€™m happy to answer any lovely lady.â€

A roar of laughter had gone up from Joe and the two people left at the table. If I knew smal towns, half the people in beautiful Beulaland would be cal ing Branch Redford Twig by tomorrow. A middle-aged man made his

way toward us, hand outstretched and stil chuckling at Cindyâ€™s riposte.

â€œIâ€™m Carl Bromfield, you must be Cindy and Alex.â€ He introduced us to the woman at the table, â€œLou Jackson, one of our two dedicated vets in town, whoâ€™s had a rough afternoon with a foal who got herself headed the

wrong way in the birth canal.

â€œAnd Clay Rodman, who was afraid he was going to lose one of his belovedâ€”not to mention valuableâ€”mares. And, of course, you seem to have met Twiâ€”er, Branch Redford.â€ I noted that the tough guy was not

introduced.

Bromfield turned to where Tommy stil stood, taking it al in. â€œAnd I think youâ€™ve met Tommy Blackstone. Son, youâ€™d better get those fish out to the kitchen. And when you get home ask your mother to cal me, I need

vegetables for the weekend.â€

â€œOh, yes sir. Right now. And have Mom cal you.â€ He pul ed a booklet and pencil from his shirt pocket and made a note. If I was right about his handicap, he was dealing with it wel .

Bromfield ordered a round of drinks for everyone, and we moved over to the table with the others, except for Branch, who claimed an important appointment, and the rough character, who leftâ€”I thoughtâ€”with Branch. I

personal y was not sorry to see them go. The vet and her client seemed pleasant, but fatigue was winning. In a short while we made our farewel s, and I could tel even Cindy was struggling to be gracious. We col ected

Fargo and gave Jerry a tip that made him smile and invite Fargo to return anytime.

The gravel road indeed led to Kenâ€™s and Francesâ€™ cabin. When we pul ed into the parking area we saw that a dusty red pickup was already there. We looked at each other with dismay at the thought of more people

and slowly climbed to the front deck.

A middle-aged woman packed into slacks that matched her truck came out of the house and across the deck.

â€œAh, good. I was hoping you might get here before I left. Iâ€™m Florence Foutsâ€”ha-ha, jack of al trades I guess youâ€™d say. The beds are al made up and towels are out.

â€œI got you some coffee and bread and eggs, al that kind of stuff. Also some hamburgerâ€”itâ€™s Black Angus, raised right down the road, canâ€™t be beat. And a piece of hamâ€”from over Oaktown way. Acorn fed, the best

around. Iâ€™l be back on Friday to straighten up and change the linens. You need anything bought at the store, cal me by Thursday. Numberâ€™s on the kitchen corkboard. Good day to you.â€

She was gone before I could ask her what we owed her for the groceries. Wel , there was always Friday.

The cabin was pretty typical from the outside. There was a generous deck attached to a sizable building of dark logs interspersed with yel owish gray mortar and topped with a red brick chimney. The view was

marvelous. Along the back and side of the house a frisky stream about twenty feet wide splashed its way down toward the foot of the mountain, where I lost it among the trees. I had the feeling it emptied into Bromfield

Lake, sparkling in the distance.

The interior did not meet expectations. There was no sagging couch covered by an Indian blanket, no bearskin rug leering at us, not a single deer head moulting over the fireplace. The kitchen was not primitive and

conducive to paper plates and pizza dinners. The bathrooms held no rusty tubs without showers. And when we peered into the bedrooms, not a single bunk bed peered back.

The kitchen had an up-to-date stove complete with gril , a large refrigerator freezer and a gleaming dishwasher. The two bathsâ€”one upstairs and one downâ€”had tubs with showers andâ€”honestâ€”heated towel racks

and bidets. We stared at each other, and final y Cindy said. â€œWel , Iâ€™l cal Orrick. It may not be too late.â€

The master bedroom had a queen-size bed. Upstairs, the kidsâ€™ rooms each had twin beds, as did what was obviously a guest room. The living room and the dining area were tasteful y and comfortably furnished in

traditional style. For a log cabin, it wasnâ€™t too shabby.

I looked at Cindy and said, â€œNap?â€

â€œOh, thank God. I was afraid you were going to say, â€˜hike.â€™â€ She flicked back the bedspread and Fargo leaped into the middle of the bed, stretching al four legs as far as he could. Look, Ma, no chintzy car seats. We

arranged ourselves on either side of him.

I was awakened by a low growl from Fargo, as if he werenâ€™t sure whether to bark or forget it. It was very nearly dark; I could just about make out the furniture in the unfamiliar room. But the windows were al open, and I

thought I heard voices talking quietly on the deck.

I turned to Cindy, who was stirring. I whispered, â€œBe very quiet, honey, I think someone is on the deck. Fargo, you be quiet, too.â€ He rumbled deep in his chest but didnâ€™t bark.

I had fal en asleep with my clothes on, so I simply swung out of bed and stood up in my sock feet, col ared Fargo and started for the deck. Passing by the living room fireplace, I acquired a smal shovel. It was the first

thing I touched, and I didnâ€™t want to fumble around for the poker.

Reaching the front door I felt along the wal to the right side of it. Sure enough: light switches. Not knowing which switch control ed what, I simply pushed al of them up at once. The living room lights went on, the deck

lights went on, the parking area lights went on and the back and side yard lights went on. It was as bright as the county fair.

At that moment Cindy obviously reached the fireplace utensil holder. It went over with a resonating clatter, Fargoâ€”who hates being col aredâ€”began to bark furiously, and Cindy arrived at my side clacking the fireplace

tongs together like a smal irritable al igator.

Swal owing a giggle at Cindyâ€™s ferocity and managing to hang on to Fargo so that he would not climb into my arms, as he is wont to do in times of stress, I stepped out the front door.

â€œWel , wel , if itâ€™s not Twig Redford. To what do we owe the honor of this visit?â€ I gushed.

Branch and the man with him seemed frozen, immovable and silent.

Cindy joined me on the deck. â€œYes, Twig, how about an answer. I donâ€™t believe the deck is a public park.â€

Branch stil did not speak, but his companion did. â€œJesus Christ, Branch, what the hel is wrong with you? Of al the places to meet in the State of Tennessee, you pick Ken Wil inghamâ€™s. And if that ainâ€™t dumb enough,

you pick a weekend heâ€™s got company. I thought you said the broads were staying at the Bromfield!â€

â€œI thought they were, Mickey. Just shut up.â€ Branch final y looked at us, as I quieted Fargo. â€œIâ€™m sorry if we frightened you ladies, but honestly I had no idea you were here.â€

â€œDidnâ€™t you see our car?â€ Cindy wanted to know.

â€œYes, but I just figured you parked here to avoid tipping the valet every time you went out. Oh, God, itâ€™s al real y simple. I wanted to meet my business partner, Mr. McCurry, privately, and this seemed a nice quiet place. I

told you, Ken Wil ingham is a good friend, so I figured he wouldnâ€™t mind if we sat on his porch for a while.â€

McCurry snorted a sarcastic laugh, which told me about how good a friend Ken real y was.

â€œDonâ€™t you live somewhere?â€ Cindy snapped her tongs impatiently.

â€œUh, wel , I have an apartment behind my office in Beulaland, but I had to close it a few days forâ€¦for renovations. Iâ€™m staying with my brother for a day or so.â€

â€œOr forever,â€ I muttered sourly. â€œWhoâ€™s your brother, just in case we want to confirm al this?â€

â€œClay Rodman,â€ he answered reluctantly. â€œYou met him at the Bromfield.â€

â€œWhy the different last names?â€ I was beginning not to like any of this.

â€œActual y we are half-brothers. Same mother, different fathers.â€

â€œAnd just what is your business, Twig?â€

Branch managed a parody of his winning smile. â€œWhy, real estate, honey. I told you earlier. Mr. McCurry and I are helping to develop a wonderful nature loversâ€™ community al along the crest of Crooked Creek Mountain

â€”thatâ€™s this mountain here.â€ He waved up the mountainside behind the cabin.

â€œYeah,â€ Mickey agreed. â€œIf you ever get off your ass and get clearance for a road.â€

â€œThatâ€™s al moving right along,â€ Branch soothed. â€œAnd I think we should do the same, Mickey. These ladies have had a long drive. Good-night ladies, good-night.â€

He stood and actual y bowed. I smothered a grin. Bowing and scraping in his absurd clothing, he looked more like the Court Jester than a hotshot realtor. They both final y got off the deck and down the steps, Cindy

clicking her makeshift castanets to urge them on.

As Branch fumbled for his keys and for the ignition, I could hear Mickey hectoring him.

â€œâ€¦the hel away from them. Theyâ€™re too damn sharp. Al them questionsâ€”youâ€™d think they was cops. And I can tel you, that dog is a kil er.â€

Fargo the Kil er Dog and I sat on the deck, lights stil blazing, just to make sure our company had indeed moved on. In a few minutes Cindy put a platter on a nearby table. Fargo and I didnâ€™t have to be invited to move

over to it. We had scrambled eggs with a slice of acorn-fed ham, the best around. There was toast and some kind of homemade jam I couldnâ€™t identify but found sweet and tangy and good. Cindy returned with coffee and

mugs and a sweater for me, al of which was quite welcome.

â€œWhat do you think of that little scene,â€ Cindy asked.

â€œI think they were genuinely shocked to find us here. I think they are as crooked as our musical mountain stream over there, and I wouldnâ€™t want to buy a condo or cabin from either of them. I think new condo owners

would find out that Branchâ€™s road washed out with the second rain. But that wouldnâ€™t matter much, because the plywood condos wil have washed away with the first one. And Mickey wil have skipped with their down

payments.â€

â€œUh-huh.â€ She poured us more coffee. â€œMickey looks like a hit man.â€

â€œA facial scar wil do that for you,â€ I temporized.

â€œIâ€™m afraid of him.â€

â€œDarling,â€ I urged,â€œdonâ€™t be. Even if he is some sort of tough guy, lots of people in the â€˜developmentâ€™ business are. But we are no threat to him. Itâ€™s just his way, he has no reason to have anything to do with us.â€

I moved around the table to share her picnic bench and put my arm around her. She tilted her head onto my shoulder.

â€œAlex, lately Iâ€™ve been kind of afraid of most men I donâ€™t knowâ€¦and even a few that I do. I think that stalker business has got me real y screwed up. I hate feeling like this!â€

â€œNow, angel, itâ€™s no wonder that youâ€”â€

â€œNo!â€ she said sharply. â€œListen to me. Last monthâ€¦remember al the trouble they had at home along Commercial Street with that broken water mainâ€”they couldnâ€™t find the last, smal er leak? The street was torn up for

weeks.â€

I figured this was just background and simply nodded.

â€œWel ,â€ she continued, â€œit was right between the bank and downtown where I usual y went to have lunch, or do a little shopping, or just walk a bit. There were always three or four young, wet and dirty idiots working there,

and they always cal ed out something sil yâ€”overgrown boys. I pretended to be deaf and went my way.â€

Her voice grew a little shaky at the end. She cleared her throat and sipped her coffee. I remained silent, not wishing to interrupt her thoughts.

â€œSometimes there was an older man thereâ€¦maybe a supervisor. He wore some kind of name badge. One day, one of the kids yel ed something that struck me funny. I didnâ€™t turn around, but I laughed and waved as I

went. Then I heard an older voice say something. A car was passing and I didnâ€™t get it al . But it was something about throwing me in a van and giving me a good fucking. I turned aroundâ€”I couldnâ€™t seem to help itâ€”and

looked straight at him. He had an absolutely evil grin on his face and made that gesture with one hand on his bicep and his other fist going up and down.â€ She demonstrated.

â€œMy sweet girl, why didnâ€™t you tel me?â€

â€œI was afraid. Afraid he real y planned to do it. Afraid you might go after him and get hurt. Afraid Sonny would go after him and he would kil me when he got out of jail. I saw him everywhere. Watching, planning.â€

She was crying now and I pul ed her closer.

â€œCindy, this wil be settled within an hour after we get home. Even if he never fol owed you a foot, he threatened to rape you, and thatâ€™s a crime. The bastard will pay. And one thing is for sureâ€”he ainâ€™t in Beulaland! Iâ€™m

freezing. Letâ€™s go in.â€

We took two snifters of Kenâ€™s VSR brandy to bed with us, and I must say it worked wonders for both of us. I made a mental note to invest in a bottle when we got home.

CHAPTER TWELVE

We decided to have breakfast out and headed the mile or so down the road to gay, mad, metropolitan Beulaland.

Along the way we passed several houses, each with a barn or two, larger than the house. One pasture area was fil ed with square-built Black Angus cattle, augmented by two or three lovely little Jerseys, which I

assumed kept the family and employees in plenty of milk and butter. Real butter.

Across the road, breakfast was being enjoyed by nearly a dozen handsome horses, nibbling almost daintily on tender-looking grassâ€”or forageâ€”or whatever you cal ed it.

I didnâ€™t think it was hay while it was stil growing. The horses came in a variety of colors, and except for some obvious colts, looked quite tal and wonderful y graceful to me. I wondered what breed they were.

Cindy solved my mystery. â€œLook at those beautiful Tennessee Walking Horses! I havenâ€™t seen any in ages!â€

â€œWalking horses? They take their time in Tennessee?â€

â€œHah! They could probably give the Derby winner a run for his moneyâ€”theyâ€™re part Arab. But when you ride them, they have three gaits. A slow walk, which is self explanatory, a running walk which is about as fast as a

trot, but smoo-oo-th. And they can keep it up al day, and you wil not have a single ache tomorrow. Thirdly, they canter, cal ed the rocking chair gait, because thatâ€™s what it looks and feels like. You donâ€™t go very fast but it is

fun to do and pretty to watchâ€”almost like dressage.â€

Pul ing in front of a rather long, gleaming white concrete block building entitled Gertrudeâ€™s Gourmet Coffee Shoppe and Del y, I said â€œGoodness, love, I didnâ€™t know you were a horse expert.â€

â€œIâ€™m going to spend a couple of hours on one of those while weâ€™re here. One way or another,â€ she answered enigmatical y. My Cindyâ€”ever a surprise. For al I knew, she could ride bareback while turning summersaults.

The food at Gertrudeâ€™s was also a surprise. A wide choice of flavored coffees, which pleased Cindy. A wide choice of hotcakes, which pleased me. I settled for regular coffee and buckwheat cakes with wild cherry

syrup, while Cindy reveled in Kona coffee with a dol op of real Jersey whipped cream. Plus of course, some grass clippings and smal roots which she cal ed cereal and topped with skim milk.

The place was fairly ful , mostly, I thought, with locals in for the morning coffee break. A few, like us, furriners from the scattered cottages and cabins around. Only one person looked familiar.

Lou Jackson stopped by on her way to the cash register. She looked tired and admitted she had been up very early to visit a sow who had delivered a â€œpretty little litter,â€ but whose milk had not come down, so she had

had to go out and give her a shotâ€”and wait around to make sure it worked. It did, she laughed, and said the hungry little piglets werenâ€™t even coming up for air when she left.

â€œBy the way,â€ she added, â€œMy partner Gale said if I ran into you, to be sure to remind you of the buffet and dance Saturday night at the Bromfield Inn. If you donâ€™t have other plans, why donâ€™t we reserve a table for four and

meet you there around eight oâ€™clock?â€

Cindy and I looked at each other, and Cindy said, â€œThat sounds very nice. How thoughtful of you both!â€

Lou smiled, â€œWel , itâ€™s kind of stodgy, but this ainâ€™t New York. We do have a couple of young lawyers who are gayâ€”and forgiven by our Bible Belt contingent for the same reason we areâ€¦we four are the only

veterinarians and lawyers within about fifteen miles, and weâ€™re good. Of course, thereâ€™s Clay Rodman and Carl Bromfield but they usual y take their pleasures in Bristol or Knoxvil e. And they come from old families. Around

here, that covers a multitude of sins.â€

â€œI wonder how the local Bible Belters would feel about personal financial advisors and private investigators,â€ I smiled, silently wondering at the accuracy of her gaydar.

Lou laughed. â€œNo problem. A lot of us could use the first one and the other could run for sheriffâ€” Jeffie Johnson has an IQ about the same as the Beulaland speed limit and a bel y that ainâ€™t gonna fit under the steering

wheel much longer. As the man said, Câ€™mon down! Weâ€™ve a few gays renting or building out here now. Weâ€™l get a majority yet.â€

She looked at her watch. â€œOops, I gotta go. Weâ€™ve got surgery this morning on a real sweetheart of an English setter. He got his foot caught in a trap. Weâ€™l be lucky to save the leg.â€

â€œWhat a shame!â€ Cindy cried. â€œIs there much of that around? Do we need to watch our dog?â€

â€œNo.â€ Lou was counting out the money for her breakfast. â€œVery little, actual y. The Rangers, and al of us real y, keep a close look, and itâ€™s quite rare that some fool even sets one. This one is strange, too. Jasper had an

electronic col ar to keep him in his yard. It was found neatly unfastened at the edge of the property. Like somebody cal ed him over and took off the col ar so he could get past the signal. I reported it to the sheriff but he

says heâ€™s not the dogcatcher. And by then so many people had handled the col ar, fingerprints were impossible. Wel , â€™bye now.â€

â€œGood luck with Jasper!â€ I cal ed after her.

A surprising number of heads turned toward me with approving expressions.

We had decided over breakfast to take a look at Kenâ€™s fishing tackle and, if it wasnâ€™t too complicated, to try our luck for a couple of trout in Crooked Creek. When we got to the cashier we saw the register was manned

â€”or I should sayâ€”womanned by a hefty woman of about sixty whom I judged to be the proprietress.

I had earlier noticed a number of nature photos framed and hung on the wal s. A few were excel ent, others I felt I would have handled differently and maybe better. Behind the cashier was a very good photograph of a

big gray owl with piercing eyes and a large beak. I did not comment on the strong family resemblance, but contented myself with asking the woman I presumed to be Gertrude if we needed a license to fish and if so, where

did we get it.

Yes, we needed one, there werenâ€™t no oceans here where you could just wade in and kil fish. We could get them at the Post Office down the street if we wanted to waste the money on them. We probably wouldnâ€™t catch

anything anyway.

Cindy mentioned she had seen a bunch of fish Tommy Blackstone had caught in the lake yesterday, and that her cousin had assured her Crooked Creek was rich in trout.

Gertrude issued what may have been a laugh and opined that there was a far cry from what Tommy and Ken would catch to two city women who would probably just catch their lines in the seats of their pants. She

handed me my change and muttered a barely audible, â€œThankyoupleasecal again,â€ lending new profundity to the word â€œinsincere.â€

Walking toward the Post Office, a tiny clapboard building with a sagging door and worn paint, but a bright flag waving proudly on a clean white pole in front of it, I asked Cindy why Gertrude didnâ€™t like us.

â€œOh, that one is easy. We didnâ€™t ask for separate checks and she heard at least part of our conversation with Lou. She managed to be near our booth almost the whole time Lou was there.â€

â€œWhat the hel does she care? We spent some money, we tipped her waitress wel , we didnâ€™t smear food on the wal . Business is business.â€

â€œWhat the hel do you care? The food is good, and itâ€™s the only show in town, if you donâ€™t count a poisonous diner out on the State road.â€

â€œIt pisses me off, thatâ€™s al .â€ I opened the Post Office door with a vengeance and nearly hit Clay Rodman with it, so smal were the federal environs.

I began to apologize profusely, but Clay waved me off.

â€œNo harm done! You learn to enter and exit very careful y here. What brings you two abroad so early?â€

â€œTrout,â€ I replied. â€œWe came to get fishing licenses.â€

The postmistress had perforce heard the entire conversation and said, â€œI guess you want temporary visitorâ€™s, right?â€

â€œI guess we do if theyâ€™re good for a week or so.â€

â€œThirty days. Ten dol ars apiece. Going after anything special?â€

â€œJust some trout andâ€”uh, whatever they have in the lake. Does it matter?â€

â€œNot a bit.â€ She smiled. â€œJust curious.â€

While the postmistress and I transacted our business, Cindy and Clay had moved outdoors and were having an animated conversation when I joined them. Cindy looked excited, and Clay explained.

â€œI breed Tennessee Walking Horsesâ€”you saw some of them earlier, I understand. In the summer, I rent some for riding the trails around here. I, or one of my men, always go with the renters, to make sure nobody gets

lost or mistreats one of the horses. Stil , I wonâ€™t rent out a pregnant mare. I have three of them right now, and this morning Iâ€™m taking them up to Crooked Creek Mountain to spend the summer at my sisterâ€™s place. You met

her son, Tommy,â€ he added.

Cindy could not stay quiet. â€œClay was going to ride one horse and take the other two on a line, but nowâ€” now! â€”we can al ride one and his sister wil drive us back down here to our car!â€

I was thril ed beyond belief. Horses are not only large and strong, they always look as if they know something I donâ€™t.

â€œGreat. I thought you wanted to go fishing.â€ I could but try.

She waved her hands as if clearing away an entire hive of bees. â€œOh, that can wait. Weâ€™re going to ride Tennessee walkers! You are in for an experience!â€

Thatâ€™s what I was afraid of.

I had to admit they were beautiful. If they were pregnant, they werenâ€™t showing it yet. They looked sleek and muscularâ€¦and high. Clayâ€™s stable man already had one of them saddled and ready. Now he put saddles and

bridles on two more and we were as ready as we would ever be.

Clay gave Cindy a knee up, and she swung graceful y onto her mount.

â€œThis is Princess Palomino.â€ He introduced Cindyâ€™s mare. â€œSheâ€™s bridle-wise and easy-tempered. You lead off, Cindy. Weâ€™l stay in a single line til we get to the private road that goes beside Kenâ€™s place. Slow walk.â€

Cindy started slowly for the gate, and Clay cupped his hands to give me a boost. I did something wrong, dragged my foot across the horseâ€™s rump and felt frantical y for the right-hand stirrup. Clay came around and

literal y put my foot in the stirrup. The horse gave me a disgusted look and started after Princess.

â€œHer name is Ladybird. Stay in the middle,â€ Clay cal ed after me. I had to stay in the saddle first.

I was a nervous wreck at the traffic on the main road, but fortunately our mounts were not, although I did hear Pride and Joy, Clayâ€™s mare, do a little tap dance when a noisy truck passed us. I didnâ€™t look.

But we reached the turnoff without incident and left the macadam road for the smoothly bul dozed gravel road. We were three abreast now on the gentle slope, and when Clay and Cindy nudged their mounts into a

running walk, Ladybird stayed even with them.

Far from being bounced up and down, as I had anticipated. I felt as if I were gliding over a dance floor, yet covering a lot of ground swiftlyâ€¦and there was nothing frightening about it. I leaned forward and gave Ladybird

a couple of pats.

We were on the west side of the mountain, and the sun had not yet cleared its peak, so we were in shade as we looked down on the sun-quilted val ey. The air was stil cool, but fragrant with laurel. Clay put his finger to

his lips and then pointed down to a quiet strip of backwater along the creek. A bear was teaching two cubs to fish. It looked to be a long, wet process, with the cubs swatting happily at every little wavelet. She looked up

alertly, but the road curved away at that point, and after a moment, she returned to her patient schooling.

Farther up, a mockingbird claimed his special tree with complex tril s and piercingly sweet notes to put most opera stars to shame. And suddenly I understood how people could feel about mountains the way I felt about

the sea.

Eventual y, and yet too soon, we turned onto a narrow driveway leading to a house and sizeable barn, with a natural meadow behind it and, doubtless the work of years, two terraced truck gardens below it. Three

horses and two colts grazed the meadow, and our horses nickered in recognition.

At that moment a car shot from in front of the house and roared down the driveway toward us. I was almost sure it was going to hit us. Automatical y I pul ed Ladybird to the right and kicked her sides with my heels. It

may wel have been her own sense of self-preservation, but she reacted with a leap and a scramble up the slope beside us. I was off-balance, but safe, and so were my two companions.

As the car passed, I had recognized Branchâ€™s loutish â€œassociate,â€ Mickey, behind the wheel. Another person was beside him, crouched low in the seat, and I assumed it was Branch. I was furious. The damn fool could

have kil ed any or al of us, horses included. Clay stared after them, face white with anger.

Cindy was dismounted and stroking Princessâ€™s head. â€œI think she turned her ankle,â€ she explained. â€œSheâ€™s limping a bit.â€

Clay swore bitterly under his breath. â€œIf one of these mares miscarries, Iâ€™l kil himâ€¦and that thug he cal s his business associate.â€

We led the animals to the barn and into clean, airy stal s. Clay began to examine Princessâ€™s ankle and leg. Cindy found some large towels and tossed me a couple, plus a halter.

â€œUnsaddle Ladybird and replace the bridle with the halter. Next wipe everything dry, including the horse. Then when theyâ€™re a little cooler, weâ€™l water them.â€ When had she become an expert in the care of horses? When

would I ever plumb the depths of this person?

I did al those things as ordered. Clumsily, I admit, but without the least tinge of fear. I had come a long way, Ladybird.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Entering the back door to the kitchen, we met Clayâ€™s sister Sara, coming from another part of the house. Apparently she hadnâ€™t heard our arrival, which was a bit surprising. I noticed that her eyes looked red and

wondered if she had a coldâ€”or had been cryingâ€¦perhaps over her visitors? Clay introduced us and asked for coffee for the three of us. Under happier circumstances, I thought she would be attractive with her light brown

hair, eyes to match and good strong features tanned by her outdoor life.

As Sara began making the coffee, Clay could hold his anger back no longer. â€œBranch and that effing pal of his! What the hel were they doing here? Goddamn Mickey damn near kil ed us al and Princess has hurt her

ankleâ€”Iâ€™l strangle them both if sheâ€™s seriously injured. Jesus, I bring them up here to be safe from careless summer riders, and before I can get â€™em in the pasture weâ€™re al nearly dead!â€

â€œClay, please. Please just donâ€™t badger me.â€ Sara had tears in her eyes, and her hands were shaking. â€œPlease.â€

Cindy and I had already taken chairs at the kitchen table, but I stood up again. â€œLook, Clay, obviously you and Sara have both had a difficult morning, and donâ€™t need guests while you deal with it. Why donâ€™t Cindy and I

just hike on home, and you can bring the car back this afternoon?â€

I figured we could walk the couple of miles, mostly downhil , with no great trouble. Of course there was the bear, but hopeful y she and her cuties would have gone by now.

â€œNo,â€ Clay waved me back to my seat. â€œPlease stay. Youâ€™re not personal y involved in this mess so maybe you can see it more clearly. Whatâ€™s your opinion?â€

â€œNot complimentary,â€ I answered. â€œDevelopment schemes like this one are usual y a scam. Branch obviously thought he could pay a little cash fee with one hand to get easements from property owners in the area so a

road could be put in, leading up the mountain. With the other hand he sold the idea of a vacation community to whatever construction people heâ€™s dealing with. Equal y obviously, most of the property owners around here

donâ€™t want cheap time-share condos and rickety houses cluttering up their mountainâ€¦lots of traffic, destruction of animal habitat, air pol ution and total loss of charm. Give â€™em two years and theyâ€™d have a Walmart next

door to the Bromfield Inn.â€

I nodded my thanks to Sara as she set a mug of coffee in front of me and I took a sip before going on.

â€œThe construction people have now spent a bundle on surveying most of the mountain, on engineers to plan where the road could go, where switchbacks wil be necessary, how to get power in. They are probably out of

cash and canâ€™t get more financing without at least showing that they have access to the development area. They may have to have architects provide models of the whole shebang to â€˜proveâ€™ to the state and county that

everything is ecological y friendlyâ€”which the finished product wil not be, anyway. Five wil get you ten theyâ€™l have some sort of runoff somewhere that pol utes Crooked Creek and consequently, the lake.â€

I took a chance and lit a cigarette. Sara smiled and produced an ashtray, plus her own cigarettes. As an afterthought she reached back and turned on a smal exhaust fan over the stove.

â€œSo,â€ I concluded, â€œthey blame Branch for not coming through. They are now in considerable debt with a cash-flow problem; they are bogged down and donâ€™t know how to rectify it. And they have now sent Mickey along

as a â€˜closerâ€™ to convince people they had better sign those easements on the dotted line. And I must admit, he is real y an intimidating figure.â€

â€œAdvantage Construction Company is a sleazebal outfit, al right,â€ Clay agreed. â€œThey are out of Knoxvil e, but they put up an old-folks complex in Kingsport only about a year ago. The main building now leans at an

eight-degree angle, and itâ€™s on level ground, and another building has a swimming pool in the basement, probably from an underground spring. No one is sure.â€

We al laughed, and Cindy suggested getting photos of the Kingsport buildings and showing them to property owners on Crooked Creek Mountain.

â€œIt would certainly inspire me not to let them build a road across my property, much less a housing development nearby that might come sliding down the mountain into my front yard the first time it rained.â€

She smiled at her imagery and then added, â€œGetting a lawyer to represent al , or at least most, of the property owners would be better yet, and I understand you have a couple of good attorneys in town. Actual y, it

wouldnâ€™t cost much when you divvy it up among the owners.â€

â€œOh,â€ I put in, â€œmake sure to have the lawyerâ€™s letter include that any harassment by Mr. McCurry or other parties wil be considered il egal trespass and threat of gross bodily harm and any other nifty phrases your lawyer

can think up.â€

Clay gave his sister a meaningful look. â€œWe should hire these two as landownersâ€™ representatives, Sara. They know how to fight fire with fire.â€

Sara responded with a weak smile. â€œWel , we need al the help we can get. On a day-to-day basis, I usual y can handle whatever life hands out. Iâ€™ve managed pretty wel since Tom Senior died. But something like this

comes alongâ€¦frankly, that Mickey turns me cold with fear.â€

I deliberately did not look at Cindy. Instead I asked quietly, â€œIn what way does he get to you, Sara?â€

She lit another cigarette with shaky hands. â€œJust this morning, Branch was trying yet again to get me to sign that damned easement thing. I wouldnâ€™t do it, and final y he was about to leave when that Mickey turned back

and said, â€˜Wel , Ms. Elegant Lady, you and your stubborn neighbors have got us crying the blues right now, but you may do a little crying yourselves down the road.â€™ I tel you, it went right through me! Al I could think of was

my darling Tommy and my precious horses. I think I would die if any of them wereâ€¦hurt.â€

Clay shook his head in disbelief. â€œI can see Branch mixed up with a sleazy company, but I canâ€™t see him with a man like Mickey. Branch is stupid with money, so heâ€™s always looking for an easy quick deal to make him

rich. But he would never hurt anybody, much less family.â€

â€œI believe you,â€ Cindy answered. â€œBut I donâ€™t think he can control Mickeyâ€™s actions. I think Mickeyâ€™s orders come from Knoxvil e. And who knows whether heâ€™s even sticking to their instructions? I think he enjoys scaring

people. At least so far he has limited himself to verbal abuse. Letâ€™s hope he keeps it that way. And your ineffectual Branch may end up as much a victim as anyone else.â€

â€œIâ€™l tel you one thing.â€ Clay slapped his hand on the table. â€œIâ€™m going to see Peter Minot, my lawyer, when we leave here. I want photos of that Kingsport mess and the strongest letter he knows how to write sent to

Advantage Construction in a hurry. Copies of both wil go out to every property owner on Crooked Creek Mountain, so theyâ€™l know just what weâ€™re dealing with. If the owners kick in on the attorney feesâ€”swel . If not, Iâ€™l pay

the damn bil myself. And if he bothers you again, sis, Iâ€™l shoot the son of a bitch!â€

He stood up and put his coffee mug in the sink. â€œLetâ€™s move it.â€

Cindy and I bounced around in the back of Saraâ€™s truck on a couple of folded horse blankets until we reached the cabin, where I de-trucked. Cindy bounced on to Beulaland to get the car.

I let the very angry Fargo out. His entire demeanor told me that I had been gone a lot longer than just breakfast, I had not even brought home a doggie bag, I smel ed of some strange creature and if I thought forgiveness

was near, I was dead wrong.

This lasted until I threw the first stick into the creek.

As we played, I thought of Sara and her horses, and how I would feel if anything happened to Fargo. I wondered if I would be mad enough to kil in vengeance if someone kil ed Fargo. I wasnâ€™t sure. I think maybe you go

a little insane when someone kil s a loved one, especial y a pet or young child who can have no idea why anyone would wish to hurt them. The kil er has taken awayâ€”foreverâ€”something innocent and loving and beautiful,

and you can never, ever get that particular thing back.

Yes, I think I might wel kil , and consider the planet wel rid of a piece of virulent garbage.

Fargo came out of the water, shaking and spluttering. Apparently heâ€™d had enough of the frigid stream. I took him into the laundry/mudroom and dried him off. He immediately spotted a sunny area on the back porch

and curled up for a snooze. I would keep a close eye on him for the rest of our visit.

I tossed the damp towel into the washer and as I did, my eye caught sight of the bunch of fishing rods and reels propped in the corner. I started sorting them out, picking the lightest and simplest as being best for us. On

the floor beside them was a tackle box with al those items that find their way into tackle boxes. Flies were mixed with lures and sinkers and leaders. Various hooks were tangled in a smal clear plastic box. A stringer

dominated one corner of the large box, and on that optimistic note, I decided weâ€™d better just take the whole thing upstream with us.

My dark philosophy had disappeared with the thought that we were on vacation, we had no easements to sel or buy, and Advantage Construction had no bearing on our lives.

I was, of course, dead wrong.

Fargo heard the car first and ran to greet Cindy. He was particularly attentive to the paper bag she carried, and shortly, so was I. From Gertrudeâ€™s she had procured a luncheon designed to please us al .

Finishing our goodies, we put on the smal est rubber boots in the mudroom and slogged up the road with our fishing gear, already planning what to have with our trout dinner.

Some boots may be made for walking, but these were not, and by the time we reached the little pool Clay had recommended, we were both out of breath. The big tackle box grew heavier by the step, and my camera

banged uncomfortably on my chest. Fargo barked at and chased everything that moved.

As we reached the pool, Cindy managed to grab him before he leaped into it, put him on his lead and tied him to a smal tree, where he immediately went into his second sulk of the day. He serenaded us with

whimpers, whines and the occasional howl.

Cindy chose a fly, added it and a leader to her line and cast. She flicked it neatly right into the center of the pool, as if she did this every day. I smiled and fol owed suit, except that I held the rod a little too high, and the

line went back over my head into a bush of mountain laurel. Was Gertrude a witch?

It took some time to get the line free, during which time Cindy had gotten a strike and reeled in a fair-sized trout. Suffice it to say that the only thing I caught that afternoon was a terrific picture of Cindy, with a triumphant

grin, trout held high.

Suffice it also to say, sometimes God is good. On her next cast, Cindy slipped on one of the brick colored river rocks that eons of water friction had given smooth rounded shapes, lost her balance, and sat down in

about two feet of water.

Before I went to her rescue, I made the mistake of shooting my second great picture of the day. I helped her up, retrieved her rod, released her catch, since it would not feed the two of us, and dumped the water out of

her boots. Our walk home was quiet. Even Fargo had the sense to pad silently at my side while Cindy squished grumpily behind us.

In the process of rescuingâ€”wel , assistingâ€”Cindy, I had noticed that the rock which had been her literal downfal had some interesting quartz patches in it, sparkling from time to time when the light hit it right. If I could

find another like it, or just another interesting one about the same size, they would make a unique pair of bookends. So I crammed it into the tackle box, although it added a good three or four pounds to my burden. Cindy

did not offer to take turns.

Al the meat we had was frozen solid, and neither of us was in a cooking mood, anyway. Going out apparently was not on the menu, either. After her long, hot shower Cindyâ€™s attire consisted of pajamas and an

enormous terry robe she had found somewhere.

I made one of my famous gril ed cheese sandwiches, served with pickles and potato chips. I offered to make one for Cindy, but she opted for a can of Campbel â€™s chicken soup, of the type that was probably meant for

one of the Wil ingham kids. We watched the news, which eliminated the need for light dinner-time conversation, and afterward Cindy retired to the bedroom with a book. I remained with Fargo in the living room to watch

Victor Victoria on TV for the third or fourth time. I was beginning to know the dialogue.

About an hour into the film, Cindy padded into the room and knelt beside me with her finger across her lips.

â€œSomeone is trying to get into the bedroom,â€ she whispered. â€œI can hear them fooling with the screen.â€

I removed my shoes and fol owed her down the hal . Poised at the bedroom door, I could hear the scraping noise she had described.

â€œLetâ€™s give them a nice surprise,â€ I murmured. â€œWeâ€™l go into the bedroom and over to the window. When I nod, you yank up the blind, Iâ€™l yank up the screen and punch him one in the nose.â€

We fol owed only part of my plan.

As the blind went up and the screen went up and I pul ed my fist back, Cindy screamed and I realized my face was about three inches from that of a large, strange-looking black bear. Behind him in the night I could see

other dark shapes moving in the trees. Did bears travel in packs? Could they break down a door?

It was no time for questions. Quickly I slammed the screen back down, catching the bear with a smart smack on his large black nose. He let out a loud, startled, feelings-hurtâ€¦ moo-oo-ooo!

â€œOh, my God! Cindy, itâ€™s a cow! Itâ€™s one of those Angus things, and his buddies are al up among the trees. You can barely see them, but theyâ€™re there. This poor guy was just scratching his back on a rough log, and I

wal oped him on the nose. I thought it was a pack of bears.â€

Cindy was laughing helplessly at my face-to-face encounter. â€œBears donâ€™t travel in packs, theyâ€™re pretty solitary,â€ she managed to gasp. â€œOh, Lord, the look on your face was priceless!â€

â€œIâ€™m glad you enjoyed it. It was you and your â€˜intruderâ€™ who put it there. What do we do now? Iâ€™ve no idea who they belong to, do you?â€

â€œNo.â€ She sobered quickly. â€œBut we canâ€™t let them go farther up the mountain or a bear may wel nab one of them. I guess the best thing is to cal the sheriffâ€™s officeâ€”theyâ€™l probably know the owner. Get a big flashlight

out of the mudroom and try to head them off, while I phone. Iâ€™l be right out.â€

â€œCindy, there are ten or twelve of those things out there.â€

â€œYes, just get above them and point them downhil and kind of shoo them gently. They are tame, Alex, they are tame.â€

They may have been tame, but they were also stubborn. I fought a losing battle. Iâ€™d just about get one of them turned around and five others would saunter past me, nibbling noisily at delicacies along the way. Cindy

soon joined me, announcing that deputies were en route along with some people named Dermott who owned this errant ebony herd.

Once we accumulated our ful complement, the chore was easier. Perhaps recognizing their ownerâ€™s raspy voice, the now-docile black blobs turned downhil and went home. Mr. Dermott thanked us al profusely, and

shook his head when the deputy asked him if he knew how they got out.

â€œI didnâ€™t stop to look. Iâ€™ve got electric fence al around that pasture, itâ€™s always been foolproof.â€

â€œCould the wires have been cut?â€ I asked.

â€œNow who would do a thing like that? But I thank you again for your help. Werenâ€™t for you ladies I coulda lost a steer, maybe more than one.â€

I tried another question. â€œDid Advantage Construction offer you a fee if youâ€™d sign an easement al owing them to put a road across some of your property?â€

â€œYou mean that crazy idea of a nature loversâ€™ commune or something that Branch Redfordâ€™s tryinâ€™ to sel ? Him and that bul y boy heâ€™s got with him?â€

I nodded and the deputy looked at me sharply.

Dermott laughed. â€œThat guy with Branch told me I real y oughta sign, that I could use the money to put up stronger fences. I told him if he thought my fencing was weak, just to grab aholt of it on his way out. He did, and

jumped about three feet. Guess that shut him up.â€

â€œOr made him buy some insulated cutting pliers,â€ Cindy suggested. â€œYou might want to talk to Clay Rodman. Heâ€™s trying to get some injunction against the bul y boyâ€”his name is Mickey McCurry, by the wayâ€”and get

Advantage Construction to take their plans to some other area. Preferably in North Dakota.â€

I turned my flashlight back on and shined it over one of the insulators. The copper wire lay limply on the ground beside it.

Dermott swore long and loud, and this time the deputy made a note.

We went home to a worried Fargo and Cindy took him out on lead, while I made some tea. The night had grown chil y, and I had grown tired. I realized that tea just seemed right. Especial y with a wee tot of rum. Cindy

agreed, her earlier snit forgotten.

â€œWe spoke too soon this morning,â€ she said thoughtful y. â€œMickey has now destroyed personal property and endangered livestock.â€

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I awoke ravenous. Cindy was already up, dressed and drinking coffee in the kitchen.

She put her cheek up for a kiss. â€œI thought you were going to sleep al day, my love, and I am getting weak from hunger. These cattle roundups real y take it out of you.â€

â€œIndeed they do. Iâ€™m hungry, too. And the fridge is loaded. So what are you making for breakfast?â€

â€œReservations. People who have worked long into the night do not make breakfast.â€

â€œDo we have to go to Gertrudeâ€™s?â€ I asked.

â€œThe only decent place in townâ€¦Gertrudeâ€™s. Perhaps she wil grow to love us as time goes by.â€

â€œThatâ€™s a ghastly thought, but I suppose youâ€™re right. Their food is good.â€

â€œI knew greed would triumph,â€ she said loftily.

Gertrudeâ€™s seemed even more popular this morning than when we were last there. They werenâ€™t the breakfast crowd; these people had an early breakfast at home. They were here at this hour for coffee, maybe a

pastry and news. I imagined the Dermottâ€™s late-night roundup had been recounted countless times by now.

It was a little strange. It started with Gertrude approaching us with menus and a toothy grin, asking, â€œWhatâ€™l it be, girls, booth or table?â€ Then several people I didnâ€™t know nodded and smiled or said hel o.

Lou approached us, in obvious good spirits. â€œI understand you two earned your spurs last night.â€

â€œYep.â€ Cindy tucked her thumbs in her waistband and added, â€œNext week we start lasso lessons.â€

A number of people smiled, and one man said, â€œI saw you riding Clayâ€™s Princess yesterday. This time next year youâ€™l be in the Johnson City horse show.â€

I turned to Lou. â€œHow did Jasper the English setter make out?â€

â€œBarring complications, heâ€™s got his leg. But heâ€™l also have a permanent limp. Oh, donâ€™t look so sad, heâ€™l get around fine. Dogsâ€”most animalsâ€”adapt better than people. Heâ€™s a great boy, heâ€™l handle it.â€

â€œThatâ€™s wonderful, real y. Iâ€™m sure his owners are grateful. This town is lucky to have you and your partner.â€

She bobbed her head in thanks and moved on to pay her bil .

Greed did win out. Surprisingly I saw cheese blintzes on the menu andâ€”wary but hopeful, I ordered them. They were delicious, with crisp bacon and a peach chutney to die for. I asked the waitress if I could buy a jar

and she brought one to the table. The professional y printed label read: Homegrown Peach Chutney from the kitchen of Sara Blackstone.

She raised horses, she raised vegetables, she made preserves. Did she ever sleep? No wonder she stayed so slim.

Cindyâ€”for herâ€”also let greed have its way. A Denver omelet complete with home fries. Amazingly, she left Fargo only about half of everything. I generously added a bite of one blintz to the doggie bag.

I started toward the door, while Cindy paid the check, and I noticed a woman struggling to open the door as she juggled a rather large carton. I took a couple of quick steps and pushed it open for her.

â€œThank you.â€ She was a little out of breath. â€œYouâ€™re one of the women who saved the cattle last night, arenâ€™t you?â€

â€œWel , I helped a bit. Iâ€™m Alex Peres andâ€¦â€ I turned to Cindy, now beside me. â€œThis is Cindy Hart, who also helped. Probably more than I. Being original y from Tennessee, she is apparently a natural farmer and livestock

expert.â€

â€œIâ€™m Sophie Dermott. Robert, my husband, and I just wanted you to have a little â€˜thank youâ€™ for al your efforts. Thereâ€™s a couple of nice steaks in here. Oh, and I must tel you. Rob fixed the fence this morning and said to

tel you, thereâ€™l be an alarm put in tomorrow to go off if it happens again. And heâ€™s warning the neighbors to be on their guard.â€

She held the box out toward me and I automatical y took itâ€”and nearly dropped it. It felt more like half a cow was in there.

We thanked her profusely, and then Cindy inquired, â€œSophie, how did you know we were here?â€

â€œOh, a friend stopped by, happened to mention she seen you going in. I figured I could catch you. The steaks are frozen, so youâ€™l probably want to go straight home. I must run, Rob wil be needing the truck.â€

Ah, the joys of a smal town.

At home we opened the box, and no longer wondered at its weight. Six filets mignon and six glorious T-bone steaks were stil frozen solid as we popped them into the freezer. We left two filets in the refrigerator to

thaw; dinner was no longer a question mark.

The question was what to do for the rest of the day. I felt lazy after the large breakfast but knew I wasnâ€™t going to get away with it. I was right. Cindy suggested we take Fargo and climb up to the tarn near the top of the

mountain.

â€œWhat, exactly, is a tarn?â€ I wanted to know.

Cindy smiled. â€œWel , according to my grandmother itâ€™s a body of water larger than a pond and smal er than a lake, whatever that may be. Itâ€™s kind of like her recipe for devilâ€™s food cake: you start with a large cup of flour.

My grandfather said tarn was short for tarnation, because the water is always so tarnation cold. I believe both are basical y correct. But if you are the scholarly type, you wil wish to know itâ€™s an Old English word left over

from Anglo-Saxon daysâ€”meaning smal mountain lake.â€

What none of Cindyâ€™s family, nor she, had mentioned was that you reached a tarn by one hel uva hike. Uphil .

But the climb was beautiful. The trail ran beside the creek and then away and then back to it. I discovered three more river rocks of the right size, so we had two pair of bookends nowâ€”or would, when we picked them

up on the way home. Periodical y, the trail was covered with last yearâ€™s pine needles. Our hiking boots caused them to give off a clean, slightly acrid odor.

I saw a smal flat piece of wood that looked like it might have been part of an orange crate. It had a nail hole in one end. What it was doing here, I couldnâ€™t guess. But I picked a large oak leaf, jammed the stem of it in

the hole and set my sailboat on the water.

Cindy picked a nearby dog-tooth violet and laid it on the craft, intoning, â€œI christen thee the Argo I .â€ We watched until it sailed jauntily out of sight and I wondered if it would make it to the lake far below. I looked at Cindy

and we both laughed: it was fun to play.

We passed a smal meadow dotted with some yel ow flowers. Across the far end of it trotted a fox, dutiful y fol owed by her two kits. Fargo wanted to play and barked twice. As smartly as a unit of the Marines, the

threesome made a right turn and disappeared among the trees.

A blue jay flew low over us, squawking loudly at our trespass upon his territory. Less aggressive, a red-headed woodpecker ceased dril ing on a dead pine limb and watched us warily until we passed, and then went

back to his lunch.

Final y, we reached the tarn. It was a deep blue even as it reflected the lighter blue and white of the sky. I wondered how deep it was. I unclipped Fargoâ€™s leash and he ran forward to get a drink. Then he decided to

wade a few steps forward and suddenly found himself swimming. Obviously it shelved off quickly, and obviously it was too cold even for the intrepid Fargo. He clambered out, shook himself and found a sunny patch of

grass to rol in.

We had been warned against taking any sort of real picnic into the uninhabited areas where bears might get a whiff and decide to join the party. Consequently, al we had with us were a couple of peaches and two

chunks of cheese, which we hoped would lack the charm of fried chicken or ham sandwiches or whatever for Brâ€™er Bear. Even so, we ate rapidly and kept Fargo close beside us as he devoured his biscuit.

Our only â€œgarbageâ€ was the pair of peach pits, which we put back in their plastic bag and returned to the backpack. Then Cindy produced her surprise.

â€œReward time!â€ She announced and pul ed a peanut butter jar from the pack. It was fil ed with claret, and as we took turns sipping it from the jar. I lit a cigarette and figured it real y didnâ€™t get any better than this.

I waved my arm around. â€œNow who in their right mind would want a bunch of cottages and condos added to this landscape? And who would want a nice paved road where fox babies go to play?â€

â€œGreedy people who donâ€™t endorse the rights of animalsâ€¦or other people,â€ she replied. â€œAnd stupid people who think they can buy a house in the middle of a forest and that nothing wil change.â€

â€œIt would be a crime.â€ I dipped my cigarette in the water, fieldstripped it and put the filter in my shirt pocket. â€œBut how do you stop it?â€

â€œWel , the people who have bought property along the foot of the mountain fal into two groups, mainly. They are either farmers who have bought as far up as pastures and land good for crops or pigs can be found. Or

they are people like Ken and Frances. They bought a lot of extra property to block off access to the wild part of Crooked Creek Mountain. It wil work for a while, anyway. In the meantime, you try to get protective laws.â€

â€œIâ€™ve noticed a bunch of signs like No trespassing, No hunting, No motor vehicles. Do they work?â€

â€œFairly wel .â€ She reached for our elegant wineglass. â€œThe Rangers do what they can. They pretty wel keep the little four-wheelers off the trails. Even the sheriff shoos furriners away, although he turns a blind eye to the

farmer who takes an occasional deer on posted property.â€

She took a sip of wine and set the jar back on the ground between us. â€œThe sad thing about this whole mess we now seem to be involved in, is that a lot of people would lose money on these houses even if they werenâ€™t

jerry-built.â€

â€œHowâ€™s that?â€

â€œThink about it. The bears are not going to move out overnight. Would you send your child out to play over there?â€ She waved an arm toward the woods. â€œEspecial y if she were eating a fat tuna salad sandwich?â€

â€œNo,â€ I answered. â€œAnd I wouldnâ€™t want her deciding to take a little wade in this tarn, either. It shelves off so fast even Fargo had to work at pul ing himself out.â€

â€œNot only that,â€ Cindy added. The water is terribly cold and never real y warms up and is very deep. The old locals stil cal it bottomless. You can get cramps in no time. Al you need is one kid mauled by a bear and

another drowned and this place would be a ghost town. No one would be able to sel the houses or condos they had bought but no longer spent time in, and Advantage would be stuck with any they hadnâ€™t already sold. And

in a month, half of the bears would have been shot on sight.â€

â€œSo everybody loses, including the animals.â€ I shivered and took the last sip of wine.

Fargo gave a low rumble in his chest, and fol owing his line of sight I spotted mama bear and the two little teddy bears watching us. Thinking they might be thirsty, I suggested we vacate the pond-site. We quickly put the

water bottles and jar into the backpack, and slowly walked back to the trail.

As we went over the crest, I looked back andâ€”sure enoughâ€”mama was on her hind feet giving us a final look. I waved and started the downhil trek.

Along the way, we picked up the three river rocks I had set aside earlier. Cindy put one in the pack and said the others were al mine. I carried one in each hand, and we reached the cabin just as my knuckles were

about to drag the ground. My calves had already turned to Jel -o from the downhil hike, and visions of deck chairs danced in my head.

I did manage to hose the dried mud off of the rocks and line them up with the other one along the edge of the back porch. I could hear Cindy talking to Fargo on the front deck. I headed for the shower and happened to

notice Cindyâ€™s bottle of bubble bath stuff.

With absolutely no guilt I poured a slug of it into hot, hot water and disappeared from the chin down.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Why is it bad habits are so pleasantly easy to adopt? Thursday morning found us back at Gertrudeâ€™s caloric trough, smiling at familiar faces, saying good morning to people we now knewâ€”at least casual y.

As we made our way past the counter to the tables area, I said good morning to Deputy Spitz, who had been a member of our cattle roundup team a few nights back. Usual y, the few times I had seen him in town, he

reminded me of my brother Sonnyâ€¦with a perfectly pressed, spotless uniform and boots polished to a shine that made one blink. Not this morning.

His uniform was spotted with dirt, the knees of his pants stained by grass and the handsome boots a muddy mess. More disturbing than the condition of his uniform was the strained look on his face.

â€œGood morning, Deputy Spitz. Rough night?â€

â€œHi. You know, I thought about cal ing you. You got a coupla minutes?â€

â€œSure.â€ By now Cindy had chosen a table. â€œBring your coffee and come on back.â€

He flopped tiredly into a chair. â€œWel , ladies, weâ€™ve got real troubles brewing around here, I think.â€

Whatever the trouble was, it waited a minute while we both ordered breakfast.

â€œPlease.â€ Cindy tapped her chest and said, â€œCal me Cindy,â€ and then pointed at me and said, â€œand Alex. What on earth has happened now?â€

â€œAnd Iâ€™m Dave. You know the Lauters?â€ he asked.

I laughed. â€œNo, but I think I know their sheep. I noticed them the other day. It must have been right after shearing time. They looked like a big, wrinkled bunch of aging nudists caught at the church fairâ€¦al huddled

together like they were embarrassed at being seen in public. I noticed their name on the mailbox.â€

Cindy smiled, but Dave just nodded. â€œThatâ€™s them al right. Wel , thereâ€™s one less of them this morninâ€™. Somebody shot one of them last night and, we think, tried to shoot the herd dogâ€¦Sammy, scrappy little border

col ie and smart as a whip. We believe he heard the first shot and started trying to get the others into the shelter. Heâ€™s got a scrape along his ribs that looks like a bul et just grazed him. Heâ€™s okay. Thorina is dead.â€

With an alarmed breath intake, Cindy asked, â€œWhoâ€™s Thorina?â€

â€œOne of the sheep. Would you believe the Lauters have got every one of them named, and they know which is which. I got there last night to find Elsie Lauter sitting in the middle of the field beside Thorina, cryinâ€™ and

rockinâ€™ Sammy in her arms. She looked up at me, and I swear that woman is heartbroke. She said, â€˜Dave, theyâ€™re kil ing my babies. You got to stop them.â€™ She damn near had me cryinâ€™ with her.â€

â€œDo you know who did it?â€ I sipped my coffee and tried to look casual.

â€œI think so, but I canâ€™t prove it. Nobody saw him. I crawled around on my knees half the night and final y found one of the bul et casings. That wil tel us something; the state police have it now. I got Mickey McCurry out of

his motel bed at daybreak, but I had no cause for a search warrant and he wasnâ€™t thoughtful enough to leave the gun on his night table.â€

â€œDo you know where he was when al this happened?â€ I moved my arm to let the waitress serve my ham and eggs.

â€œHe said he was over at Jakeâ€™s Dew Drop Inn til about midnight and then came back to the motel and went to bed. Wel , I just got back from the Dew Drop. Jake says McCurry was there at the bar from about eight

oâ€™clock til they closed at midnight. The cook swears McCurry ordered a hamburger and fries, the last order before he shut down the kitchen, which would have been about eleven thirty. That pretty wel clears him except for

two things.â€

He snagged a piece of Cindyâ€™s uneaten toast and waved to the waitress for more coffee. She gave us al refil s.

â€œAnd the two things are?â€ I prompted.

He swal owed a large bite of toast. â€œExcuse me. One thing is: I asked the cook to show me the order. Theyâ€™re numbered, and it should have been the highest number and the top slip of paper on the spindle. He said

there was no written order, that Mickey had stuck his head in the window and ordered it himself. The other thing is: for a twenty-dol ar bil , either Jake or his cook or both would swear in court that Jesus Himself dropped in

and had a dance with one of the women who hang out at the bar.â€

Cindy grinned and then looked serious. â€œWhere was Branch?â€

â€œI just talked to Clay a little while ago. Apparently Branch was in Knoxvil e al day yesterday at Advantage Construction, and got back to Clayâ€™s a little after ten. Heâ€™s livinâ€™ there now, couldnâ€™t pay his office/apartment rent.

He helped Clay fil ing out some pedigree papers on a couple of colts heâ€™s got for sale. They watched the news and went to bed. Branch is clear. He wouldnâ€™t do this kind of stuff anyway. Heâ€™d promise you anything and lie

like a trooper, but he wouldnâ€™t kil an innocent animal.â€

â€œEveryone seems to credit him with being nonviolent. Whatâ€™s with Branch, anyway?â€ I had begun to find something both sad and likeable about the guy.

â€œOh, let me make it brief, then I got to run. First there was Clay and Sara and their mom and dad, al -American family. Clay Senior had a tractor and farm implement franchise and did real wel . Then one day they were

unloading some hay balers from the delivery truck and one of them tipped off onto Mr. Rodman. Bye-bye dad. Fortunately the money was mostly in trust for Sara and Clay. Sara was a farmer from the time she could lift a

hoe, and Clay loves every horse that was ever born. They both went to U-Tenn, and learned what they needed to know and it has paid off for them.â€

Dave yawned and checked his watch. â€œAnyhow, their mom was none too bright and let Branchâ€™s father sweet-talk her into marrying him. Branch came along about the time his father was slipping into alcoholism and

losing his job. He managed to drive off the side of a mountain in the fog and Mrs. Redford was left with little Branch and even littler money. They both felt deprived, although Clay and Sara were both generous. Branch has

always figured he was left out somehow. Sara and Clay sent him to university, but he didnâ€™t like the work, and quit. Heâ€™s been lookinâ€™ for the end of that rainbow ever since. And I am looking for a hot shower and some

clean clothes. If youâ€™l excuse meâ€¦â€

â€œJust one thing.â€ I held out my hand to stop him. â€œMy brother is a cop, too. Detective lieutenant in Provincetown. Youâ€™ve probably thought of it, but let me say something I imagine Sonny would be thinking right now.

Mickey definitely has made some threatening verbal statements to property owners . He may have set the trap that caught Jasperâ€™s leg. He probably cut the wires on Mr. Dermottâ€™s fence. He almost certainly kil ed the

Lautersâ€™ sheep and tried to kil their dog. What do you think, Dave?â€

â€œI think he is escalating, Alex. Heâ€™s escalating and I am frightened for my town, because I do not know how to stop him.â€ He turned and walked away.

Cindy and I had stood up to fol ow him out, but we were now trying to cobble together a tipâ€”neither of us could find any smal bil s or much change. We didnâ€™t notice Mickey McCurry approaching until he had reached

our table. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair uncombed, his face unshaven, and his clothing a mess. His breath could kil from three feet out. Either he had real y tied one on or had spent much of the night raising hel on the

Lautersâ€™ farm. Or both.

I looked up as he slammed some papers onto the table. I noticed we were about eye-to-eye. In some way I had thought him tal er than I was. Perhaps a bul y always seems bigger than he real y is. He had a hefty build,

but was no tal er than I. Somehow I felt better.

He spread the papers on the table. â€œI suppose you seen al this shit. I understand it was your bright idea to begin with.â€

I looked down at two eight-by-ten photos. One showed a building leaning slightly to the right, looking rather raffish with its tilt. The other was a picture of what looked like a basement after a flood. A man stood in water

that came just above his knees, holding a measuring stick that indicated a depth of slightly over two feet.

Then I picked up a sheet of stationery from the law offices of Peter Minot and Paul Aspen. It was a letter to al owners of property in the Crooked Creek Mountain vicinity, warning them that some of their neighbors had

recently suffered verbal threats and others actual injury and/or death of livestock and/or pets, possibly connected with easements sought by Advantage Construction.

The letter went on to urge them to refuse to speak with any representative of Advantage Construction and to demand that he leave their property at once. If he did not, they should cal the sheriff and report a threatening

trespass. They should take extra security measures around their properties and families. They were urged to attend a meeting at the Baptist Church, Monday at eight p.m., at which the discussion would include a demand

that Advantage recal its representatives in the Beulaland area and pay damages to owners who had been coerced into granting property easements, or suffered any out-of-pocket expense or emotional distress.

It was one pisser of a letter and I was grinning by the time I handed it to Cindy.

I picked up the last letterâ€”a fax that had come in over Clayâ€™s line addressed to Branch. Apparently Minot had overnighted a letter similar to that of the owners to Advantage, and they were boiling.

Their fax ordered Branch to be in the Knoxvil e office at nine sharp on Monday and have McCurry with him. Meantime, McCurry was not even to say hel o to anyone in Beulaland. Had they both lost their fucking minds?

Signed by the CEO. Obviously Clay and his attorney had wasted no time.

Grinning even wider, I handed the fax along to Cindy.

Mickey wasnâ€™t smiling.

I shrugged. â€œSorry, Mickey, Iâ€™m not responsible for your comeuppance. I do not know Mr. Minot, I do not know many of your victimsâ€”and none of them wel â€”and I certainly do not know the CEO of your employer.â€

White with anger, he turned to Cindy. â€œJust because youâ€™re Ken Wil inghamâ€™s cousin you figure you can come down here and just run things and have people bowing right â€™n left. You think you and your smart-ass friend

and your junkyard dog can tel me what to do? Wel , you fucking wel canâ€™t! Understand? Youâ€™l pay for this!â€

He grabbed her shoulder and shook her so hard she lost her balance and crashed into the table, scattering papers and dishes.

I brought my half-fil ed coffee mug down on his wrist with my ful strength. He yelped and grabbed his wrist; I hoped it was broken in a thousand pieces. I grabbed the front of his shirt and threw my weight against him,

backing him against the wal . I got my arm across his throat and leaned hard.

â€œListen, you no-good son-of-a-bitch, you ever touch my girl again, you ever touch me or my dogâ€”hel â€”you ever touch a dirty sock of mine, and you wil live just long enough to be bloody sorry that you did. Now get out

of my sight.â€ I removed my arm, which was choking him, kicked his feet out from under him and turned to find myself face-to-face with Gertrude as she wielded an enormous iron skil et over Mickeyâ€™s head.

She pul ed him upright by his shirt. â€œGet out, you lowlife, and donâ€™t never come back. Lessâ€™n you want to be wearing this skil et around your neck!â€

He scuttled out, clutching his left wrist with his right hand.

I turned to Cindy, now sitting down again. â€œAre you al right?â€

â€œFine, just a little out of breathâ€”and surprised.â€ She covered my hand with hers. â€œMy God, Alex, Iâ€™ve never seen you like that. I thought you were going to choke him to death.â€

I put my finger to my lips. â€œDonâ€™t tel the audience, but I couldnâ€™t have held him much longer. Iâ€™m as tal as he is, but heâ€™s a lot heftier. Another few seconds and Iâ€™d have had to break a chair over his head or run for it.â€

I turned and began to apologize to Gertrude for the ruckus, but she held up her hand to stop me.

â€œNo need. He started it. Guess those pictures and letters has got him crazyâ€¦he must know heâ€™s firedâ€¦plus whatever trouble heâ€™s into up here. I saw them al early this morning. Minot and Clay had them hand-delivered

late last night. I figured it was probâ€™ly you girlsâ€™ and Clayâ€™s ideas plus Paulâ€™s fancy words. But you two be careful. That bastard would be mean on Christmas Day.

â€œNow.â€ She looked almost benign. â€œYouâ€™ve had a hard morninâ€™. What you need is some of my special tea. It wil fix you right up.â€

The last thing I wanted was tea and the sympathy I knew would be forthcoming from many of the Del yâ€™s customers who had witnessed the scene. But I could think of no way to refuse. Cindy was equal y mute, and we

just sat for a few minutes until Gertrude returned with a tray bearing three tal glasses of iced tea. Apparently she, too, had had a hard morning.

When I saw the frosted glass, I realized something cold looked good and noticed I had been sweating. I took a long swal ow of good Darjeeling teaâ€¦heavily laced with the smoothest rum Iâ€™ve ever tasted.

Cindy took a sip and her eyebrows did their trick of climbing halfway up her forehead. Then she smiled and clinked her glass against mine.

â€œHereâ€™s to you, my dearâ€”protector of the innocent, woman in shining armor against the forces of darkness, and the toughest cream puff Iâ€™ve ever known!â€

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

We had the canvas roof rol ed back on the boat, enjoying the early afternoon sun. The little electric motor hummed quietly to itself, racing us across the lake at about four miles an hour. These were the only â€œpowerâ€

boats al owed on the lake, and sailboats used their motors in emergencies only. It was delightful y peaceful.

Gertrudeâ€™s â€œteaâ€ had helped us over the hump of shock after our set-to with Mickey McCurry, but we felt the need of something pleasant to offset the morning in general. And we didnâ€™t want to rehash it a dozen times

with people weâ€™d run into at the Bromfield. And so, the lake.

Cindy had the til er, and I took the occasional picture of her, of the bil owing cumulus clouds, of the infrequent sailboat looking condescendingly elegant as they always do. We edged along to where Crooked Creek

entered the lake with the last few feet of its bubbling mountain creek personality.

Also enjoying the tiny waterfal and slow-moving pool beyond it were threeâ€”I thinkâ€”otters. They moved so fast it was hard to tel . I was snapping pictures as quickly as I could, and stil couldnâ€™t keep up with their antics.

They leaped and chased and dived, and then popped up here and there like bright-eyed, mischievous periscopes. I have no idea as to the life span of the otter, but I wil give you ten to one they have more fun within it than

we do in the three score and ten al otted us.

We left them, final y, and began our leisurely progress back to the docks at the Bromfield Inn. We had fishing tackle and bait with us, but by some unspoken agreement, we did not use it. I think neither of us wished to

take anything from the lake that day.

I was at the til er when Cindy turned, finger across her lips, and pointed. I cut the motor and we drifted a little way toward a deer and her fawn, standing at the edge of the lake and drinking daintily of its cool waters. I

took several shots of them, and Iâ€™m certain that one of them wil be our Christmas card. We were close enough to hear them drink. The only other soundâ€”and one I wished I could recordâ€”was the territorial song of a

cardinal as he staked out his summer locale.

I am not sure why deer and their offspring are so loved by so many. Perhaps they epitomize the gentle serenity most of us yearn to glean for ourselves.

The rest of us shoot them.

We docked the boat and paid the pleasant young woman at the shelter for the time we had been out. We had left Fargo in Jerryâ€™s care, and from his lack of excitement at our return, I had the strong feeling he had been

wel entertainedâ€”and probably wel fedâ€”by the Bromfield valet corps. I made the executive decision that he would survive another hour while we polished off our delightful afternoon with a couple of Joeâ€™s perfect cocktails.

As he placed our Cosmo and bourbon old fashioned before us, I took his picture. I wanted it partly as a pleasant memory of our vacation, partly to tease Joe at the Wharf Rat that he had competition deep in the hil s of

Tennessee, and with the thought that if it turned out wel , Iâ€™d enlarge it and send a print back to the Bromfield.

At that moment Tommy came around the corner from the kitchen. He gave us a startled, almost frightened, look and went quickly back the way he had come. I wondered why he did not come out to say hel o, but then

assumed he was just one of those people who are al ergic to cameras.

That was a mistake.

While we were at the bar, I remembered to ask Joe about what one should wear to their buffet and dance Saturday night.

â€œJust about anything,â€ he replied with a laugh. â€œThere are two alternating bands,â€ he explained. â€œOne is regular music, the other is square dancing.â€

I winced. Thus far in my young life I had managed to avoid square dancing, which seemed to me a bunch of people tapping their feet and mil ing around in circles while some man stood in a corner and hol ered where

they should head next.

Joe gave the bar a fast swipe with a clean towel. â€œMost of the ladies wear slacks or jeans, although some wear old-fashioned dresses and funny hats like that lady who used to be on Grand Ole Opryâ€¦Minnie Pearl,

wasnâ€™t it?â€

I shrugged my ignorance as Joe continued. â€œSome people dress up sort of formal, so you real y can just take your choice.â€

Relieved at tomorrow nightâ€™s wide choice of dress, we finished our drinks, col ected a yawning Fargo and went back to the cabin.

After dinner, Cindy straightened up while I took on another chore. I went into the laundry/mudroom and looked closely at the three guns hanging on the wal . One was a .22 rifle, one a 16 gauge shotgun and the third an

old 40mm Smith & Wesson automatic pistol housed in a moldy holster. From the looks of al three of them, their last usage had been at Gettysburg.

I eliminated the .22 as being too smal to do the damage we might need done in a hurry, and too hard to handle in close quarters. The shotgun had the drawback of being likely to hit not only the person you were aiming

at but also anyone else standing fairly near him.

That left the Smith and Wesson. It probably had a kick like a mule, and I imagined I could miss the QE2 broadside at a hundred feet. But I wouldnâ€™t miss at twenty-five feet, I thought, and since the thing doubtless

sounded like a cannon, noise alone might help turn the trick.

So, finding a cleaning kit in a drawer below, I set to work. It took me over an hour and made a mess of the kitchen table, but final y I was satisfied it would not blow up in my hand if fired. I loaded it, put a bul et into the

chamber, moved the safety to on and placed it in my night-table drawer.

Cindy frowned, but I felt better.

We each had just enough of a sunburn to make us sleepy, and neither of us quite made it through the eleven oâ€™clock news. I surfaced sometime later to the sound of soft rain on the back porch roof, turned off the TV

and went back to sleep, never having been quite awake.

In my ensuing dreams Cindy and I were at the Bromfield Inn, doing a Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers version of the square danceâ€¦gal oping graceful y around the dance floor, hopping onto chairs and then onto tables, the

tapping of our feet becoming louder and louder. Some of the onlookers were cal ing out to us. Cindy! Alex! The tapping grew louder stil . Final y it woke me.

It was Tommy, pounding on the back door and yel ing, â€œCindy! Alex! Wake up. Frank Al en is bad hurt!â€

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I noticed their pickup truck slewed to a stop in the middle of the gravel road, but figured there would be no traffic at this hour. It was shortly after six and barely light. I yel ed at him to wait a minute, fought my way into a

pair of jeans, left my T-shirt hanging out and rushed to the back door.

â€œCome in. Who did you say was hurt?â€

â€œFrank Al en. Half his ear is gone and heâ€™s bleedinâ€™ something fierce.â€

I must have looked blank, for he elaborated. â€œFrank Al en F-17, my motherâ€™s stud horse. Heâ€™s her baby. Sheâ€™l die if anything happens to him.â€

By now Cindy had found a robe and joined us. â€œHow can we help? Have you cal ed Lou and Gale?â€

â€œNo. Our wires are cut and the phone is dead. Thatâ€™s why Iâ€™m here. Please, can you cal them right away?â€

â€œSure.â€ I picked up the kitchen phone. â€œWhatâ€™s the number?â€

He rattled it off to me and I dialed. After an eternity a sleep-husky voice muttered, â€œHighway Animal Hospital.â€

â€œGale? Lou?â€

â€œGale. Whoâ€™s this?â€

â€œAlex Peres. Iâ€™ve got Tommy Blackstone here at the cabin. Their phone is dead and Frank Al enâ€”uh, seventeen something â€”is hurtâ€¦Tommy says half his ear is gone and heâ€™s bleeding heavily.â€

â€œJesus. Tel Sara to keep calm, and put a cold towel on it. Heâ€™s her baby. Iâ€™m on my way right now.â€

I hung the phone up. â€œSheâ€™s on her way, and says put a cold towel on the ear. Tommy what does Frank Al en 17 mean? You surely donâ€™t have seventeen horses named Frank Al en?â€

Tommy and Cindy laughed, and I felt a combination of stupid and irritated at their in-humor.

Tommy explained, â€œFrank Al en F-1 was the foundation sire of the Tennessee Walking Horse. Frank Al en F-17 means heâ€™s foundation stock, the seventeenth generation direct descendent of F-1. Heâ€™s pureblood and a

champion, Alex. Heâ€™s never come in lower than second at any show. His colts are among the best ever bred, and heâ€™sâ€¦heâ€™s the sweetest guy in the world, gentle as a lamb, not a mean bone in him. And I know heâ€™s in

pain.â€ His voice broke. â€œWhy would that man want to hurt him? Frank Al en loves everybodyâ€¦why, Alex, you could ride him!â€

Cindy stifled a snort, and I gave her a cold stare as she said to Tommy, â€œMickey would hurt Frank because heâ€™s got enough mean bones for the whole county, I guess. Now you go home and tel your mom Gale is on the

way. Weâ€™l be along shortly in case thereâ€™s anything we can do. Now scoot, itâ€™s going to be okay. Donâ€™t forget the ice-water towel.â€

â€œTommy, wait one second,â€ I interjected. â€œYesterday at the Bromfield. You seemed to be avoiding me. Had I hurt your feelings or something? Had I made you angry in some way?â€

He edged toward the door, not meeting my eye.

â€œTommy? Whatâ€™s wrong? Letâ€™s set it right.â€

He mumbled, â€œI was afraid to tel you.â€

â€œTo tel me what?â€ I pursued.

â€œI was cleaning fish and I heard Uncle Branch around the corner on the veranda, talking on his cel phone. I donâ€™t know who toâ€”al he kept cal ing him was â€˜sir.â€™ But he was tel ing them that he was worried about Mickey.

That Mickey had scared old Miz Armand so bad she went to the hospital with chest pains andâ€¦â€

â€œWhen was this?â€ Cindy interrupted.

â€œYesterday morning. Mom saw the EMTs come by and went out to see where they went. But I guess the old lady is okay now. She was just scared. Anyway Uncle Branch then told this â€˜sirâ€™ that Mickey had already hit one

young woman and got beat up by another one in a fight that fol owed, and that he didnâ€™t know what Mickey would do to get even. He said you both had heavy-duty connectionsâ€”whatever that meant. Then he saw me and

walked down by the lake.â€

My mouth was dry. None of what Tommy had told us was any way to start a day.

â€œWel , thanks, Tommy. I appreciate your tel ing us about that. Weâ€™l be on our guard.â€ I patted him on the shoulder and forced a grin. â€œNow you can scoot.â€

He scooted and we got dressed. Soon we heard Galeâ€™s SUV spit gravel as she made the turn up the mountain. I figured she must sleep like a fireman, with her clothes laid out in the order in which she donned them.

We took the time to cal the phone company and Clay. When Clay heard what happened he was so angry I thought he was going to choke. He was on his way. By the time we left, it was light, but the rain looked here to

stay.

When we got to Blackstone Farm, Gale had the bleeding under control and was stitching up the ear. I felt so sorry for Frank Al en, half his ear had apparently been cut off with something sharp, like a straight razor. He

would heal in time, but he would never again be the gorgeous chestnut showhorse who won al the blue ribbons. It was almost as if he knew it. He stood in the wide aisle of the stables, not causing Gale any trouble, his

chin and lower jaw resting quietly on Saraâ€™s shoulderâ€¦a hurt child asking Mommy to make it better.

Tommy began to feed the other horses, obviously he knew exactly how much of what feed every animal received. He might have been a little slow with sixth-grade math, but, by God, Tommy knew his horses.

Cindy began helping Tommy. I had nothing to do, so I went in the house and made coffee. The others soon came in, with the exception of Tommy. We had just sat down when Clay arrived, the sheriff right behind him.

They pul ed up chairs while Cindy poured them coffee and then started another pot. Clay introduced her and me to Sheriff Johnson.

â€œAh, yes, ladies. The Wil ingham guests, arenâ€™t you?â€

Cindy started to reply, but Sara interrupted. â€œExcuse me, but I have to get back to Frank.â€ She picked up her mug and began to rise.

Gale gently took the mug and set it down. â€œNo, Sara, have your coffee and some toast or something. Frank is fine. I gave him a shot to make him a little sleepy so he wonâ€™t shake that ear a lot.â€

Tommy came in and seemed to report to Gale. â€œI mucked out Frankâ€™s stal and put him in with plenty of fresh straw in case he wants to lie down. I sifted the old straw real careful; there was nothing in it. But I piled it up

separate in the lot in case you want to check it, Sheriff.â€

Gale said, â€œGood idea, Tommy, and when the other horses finish eating, turn them out so Frank wil have a nice quiet morning. A little rain wonâ€™t hurt them. Put them in the near pasture, where you can keep an eye on

them, and please excuse me, I have a busy day. Cal me if it starts bleeding again. Otherwise, Iâ€™l see you tomorrow,â€ she added as an afterthought. Clay nodded his approval.

Final y the sheriff got a word in. â€œBefore you leaveâ€¦any idea what could have made the cut, Gale?â€

â€œIâ€™m pretty sure it was a straight razor. Maybe a scalpel. I think not a knifeâ€”that would have chewed the skin up more. Itâ€™s almost a surgical cut. See you later.â€ She was gone.

â€œSara.â€ The sheriffâ€™s voice was surprisingly gentle. â€œCan you tel me when you knew Frank was hurt?â€

â€œSort of. Frank or one of the others woke me up, kicking his stal . I figured it was him acting up a bit, like maybe one of the mares is coming in season. I just yel ed out the window and told him to stop that, and he did.â€

She unthinkingly picked up a piece of the buttered toast Tommy had put in front of her. I smiled at him. He was quite a kid. He looked at me grateful y as if he was afraid I was angry he hadnâ€™t told me sooner about the

phone cal .

Sara took a bite and went on. â€œThen, I dozedâ€¦Iâ€™m not sure how long. It started again with al the horses raising Cain. I figured probably a bear was trying to get in the garbage and I grabbed some clothes and went out

beating my big pot with an iron spoon to scare him off.â€ She sipped her coffee.

â€œI didnâ€™t see any bear, or anything else, and went to check the stable. Thatâ€™s when I found him.â€ Her voice broke on the last three words.

â€œThen what did you do? And what time was it?â€ Johnson asked.

â€œIt was going on five oâ€™clock. I grabbed a clean towel and tried to stop the blood. I screamed for Tommy and he came running. I told him to cal the vet and you. Next thing I know heâ€™s in the stable tel ing me the wires are

cut and the phone is dead and heâ€™s going to your place.â€ She pointed at us. â€œThat was about it.â€

â€œDid either of you touch the phone box?â€ Johnson asked.

Tommy and Sara looked at each other. Sara simply shook her head. Tommy explained, â€œI tried both phones in the house and they were dead. I was going to try the one in the stable, but when I came out of the house I

saw the phone box open with al the wires yanked out and cut. So I said Iâ€™d go down to Alex and Cindyâ€™sâ€”I mean Mr. Wil inghamâ€™s. And I didnâ€™t touch the box.â€

â€œGood. We wonâ€™t get any prints in the stable, half the countyâ€™s been in there. But maybe the phone boxâ€¦if I was out cuttinâ€™ wires and a mad woman come along banginâ€™ on a big bass drum, I might touch something I

hadnâ€™t meant to. Too bad it wasnâ€™t a thousand watts.â€

He grinned at his own humor, and I joined him. Nobody else did, and Clay could remain silent no longer.

â€œDammit, Jeffie, we know who did it! Arrest the bastard before he gets out of here Monday morning and just walks away from his dirty work without payingâ€”in any wayâ€”for al the grief he has caused.â€

â€œHeâ€™s leavinâ€™ Monday?â€

â€œYes, real early Monday. Branch got a firecracker from the brass at Advantage Construction after they received Peter Minotâ€™s letter. They said for him to have McCurry in their office no later than nine Monday morning. I

think Advantage is going to say they arenâ€™t responsible for anything he did since he was technical y under the supervisionâ€”and presumably under the controlâ€”of Branch. And thatâ€™s about like saying Iâ€™m in control of Iran.â€

â€œLord,â€ Cindy murmured, â€œhalf the livestock in Beulaland could be hurt or dead by Monday.â€

The sheriff favored her with a nod. â€œIf he sticks to livestock.â€

Wel , wel , I thought. The sheriff is not a total dolt after al .

â€œJesus, Jeffie, donâ€™t even go there.â€ Clay pounded his fist on the table. â€œJust arrest the son-of-a-bitch. Get him for jaywalking if you have to! I know Branch isnâ€™t clean in the deal, but he hasnâ€™t hurt anything or anyone, and

I donâ€™t want him blamed for Mickeyâ€™s malicious mischief!â€

â€œMickeyâ€™s malicious mischief,â€ Johnson repeated with a hearty laugh. â€œThatâ€™s a good one, Clay, Iâ€™l have to remember that one!â€

â€œFor Godâ€™s sake, Johnson! Thereâ€™s nothing funny about any of this! Are you waiting for a murder before you make a move?â€

â€œFor Godâ€™s sake, Johnson! Thereâ€™s nothing funny about any of this! Are you waiting for a murder before you make a move?â€

â€œFor Godâ€™s sake yourself, Rodman! I got no grounds to arrest him. Hel , I canâ€™t even get a warrant to search that room of his at the No-tel Mo-tel. Now when I get the information on that casing of the shot that kil ed the

sheepâ€”we never did find the damn bul etâ€”if Mickey has registered a gun like it, at least Iâ€™l get a warrant. However, if he owns a gun, you want to bet it isnâ€™t registered, anyway?â€

â€œYeah, yeah,â€ Clay surrendered. â€œWel , can you at least keep an eye on him so nothing else happens?â€

â€œI can try. Lately he seems to be pretty wel glued to a barstool at the Dew Drop.â€

I thought of that nice Deputy Spitz. â€œTel your people to be careful, Sheriff. The only thing I can think of meaner than McCurry sober is McCurry drunk.â€

He gave me a smile that had little warmth. â€œYes, I understand you ladies discovered that at Gertrudeâ€™s yesterday. Itâ€™s kinda hard to believeâ€¦yâ€™al seem so nice and po-liteâ€¦itâ€™s hard to believe you got him in a choke

hold and then had him on the floor threatening on kil inâ€™ him.â€

I returned his smile in kind. â€œIâ€™m sure my so-cal ed choke hold barely caused him to lose a breath, and kicking the feet out from under somebody not expecting it hardly requires a Navy Seal. As for threatening to kil

him, he probably hears that promise at least twice a day. Now if Gertrude had crowned him with that skil et, we might have had something to celebrate.â€

I turned to Sara. â€œWeâ€™re going to let you and Tommy relax and get some rest. Obviously Frank Al en is under excel ent care between Gale and Tommy.â€

He squared his shoulders and looked proud.

â€œYes,â€ Cindy added. â€œWe are so terribly sorry it happened. Itâ€™s worse than a crime, itâ€™s an evil act, but Frank is stil your boy, and heâ€™l be fine. If there is anything at al you needâ€”you have but to hol er! Weâ€™l see you soon.

â€

â€œYes, Iâ€™l be going, too,â€ Johnson put in. â€œI donâ€™t know how to make a pretty speech, but Iâ€™l have a man out here to check that phone box.â€

I wondered why he didnâ€™t just do it himself. Then I thought perhaps he didnâ€™t know how.

He set his car on my tail al the way down from Blackstone Farm to Kenâ€™s place, and then gunned it with squealing tires and a burp of his siren as he hit the paved road. Yippee Ky Yo!

We were at loose ends. We flopped in the living room and Cindy lit the fire.

The rain maintained a dismal half-hearted drizzle. Fargo stared morosely onto the soggy deck. A heavy fog was moving in, or was it a low-lying cloud? For lack of a better idea we had more coffee. It tasted lousy.

We had thought of driving down to Gatlinburg today. Sonny had been there last year with the girlfriend du jour. He said it was touristy, but also had some wonderful craft shops and a couple of interesting smal

museums. Obviously it was not the day for that trip.

Then Cindy brought up what had I had been thinking of, but hadnâ€™t quite had the nerve to mention.

â€œDarling, are you familiar with the old saying: a lady always knows when to leave the party?â€

I laughed. â€œNo, I donâ€™t think I ever did hear it, but itâ€™s apt, isnâ€™t it? What were you thinking, my lady? Today? Tomorrow?â€

She set her coffee mug on the cocktail table and made a face. â€œGhastly stuff. Anyway, I think tomorrow. Weâ€™re meeting Gale and Lou tonight, which wil probably be fun. Anyway, Iâ€™d hate to cancelâ€”weâ€™d have to tel them

why. And Iâ€™m sure most everyone weâ€™ve met wil be there, and we can make our farewel s casual y. Then early tomorrow morning we can fold our tents and steal away. We can either push along home in two days like we did

coming down, or take it a day slower and visit some of the sights on the way home.â€

â€œI think youâ€™re right.â€ Al of a sudden, I wanted to go home, right that minute. â€œFor one thing, I feel that weâ€™re getting too involved down here for people who donâ€™t belong. It would be different if we owned this place. Of

course, I guess the problem with McCurry wil end Mondayâ€”if Branch can drag him away. Personal y I think heâ€™s a psychopath whoâ€™s loving every moment of it.â€

â€œHe may wel be.â€ Cindy looked thoughtful. â€œAnd I hope he doesnâ€™t work up to a grand finale before he leaves. But I donâ€™t regret any of the little things weâ€™ve done. If good people donâ€™t pitch in, the bad stuff just goes on.â€

â€œQuite true, mâ€™dear.â€ I got up and pushed a loose log to the rear. â€œThere have been a couple of emergencies where we have done the good neighbor bit. But we have to remember we are not neighbors, we are visitors.

And Peter Minot is involved now, and the problem with Advantage wonâ€™t end with McCurryâ€™s departure. There wil be legal twists and turns for the next hundred years unless Advantage backs down. And we have no part in

that. Letâ€™s go home. Weâ€™ve got a Master Suite to furnish.â€

Suddenly we were energized. We had things to do. I phoned Mrs. Fouts and luckily found her in. I told her we were leaving tomorrow and final y got the figure we owed her for the original groceries. I sat down and wrote

her a check for the food plus a tip before I forgot.

That inspired me to go down to Gertrudeâ€™s and stock up on several of Saraâ€™s jel ies and preserves to take home, and a few pastriesâ€¦just to get us through the efforts of packing and loading the car. Then I hit the smal

â€œsuperâ€ market for some Georgia peaches, cookies, doggie treats and sodas plus that flavored water Cindy likes. That took care of snacks for the road.

I returned home to find Cindy on a cleaning spree. I explained to her that Mrs. Fouts was coming as soon as we left to put things in order for the next occupants.

â€œBut we shouldnâ€™t leave her a mess,â€ Cindy insisted.

â€œAngel, we wil not toss the chicken bones over our shoulders, nor wil we throw half-empty beer cans in the fireplace or carve our initials in the dining room table. We wil depart with dishes washed and bed stripped

and Venetian blinds al at the same height. But if you donâ€™t leave Mrs. Fouts just a little something to do, sheâ€™s that terribly honest type who wil tel Frances they donâ€™t owe her anything for the day, because we did it al

ourselves.â€

â€œOh, al right.â€ She looked a little bereft. â€œI feel al charged up. Now I canâ€™t think what I should do?â€

â€œMake us a drink and bring in a log while I set up the Scrabble board I found in the laundry room. Penny a point?â€

â€œDime a point. I feel lucky.â€

â€œUh-oh.â€

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Fog and drizzle had done little to rain on the Bromfield Innâ€™s parade. Most of the tables were taken with people having dinner. Lou and Gale were already there. Lou stood and waved us to our table.

As we twisted our way to it, I was surprised at the number of people whom we didnâ€™t know who nodded or spoke briefly or simply smiled at us. I supposed they had heard of our help with the errant cattle and our

temporary triumph over Mickey McCurry at the Del y. And then a smal event occurred that made me think perhaps we had a good press agent.

I noticed Gertrude sitting at a table with three other ladies of uncertain age and unstinting of makeup, al in elegant gowns heavy with jewelry. I gave Gertrude a wave and in return received a broad wave, an inviting

smile and an absolutely frightening blown kiss from al four dowagers. I scuttled ahead to our table, leaving Cindy to make her way as best she could.

The buffet was typical of country club offerings, but wel cooked and nicely served. The band played light semi-classical music at a volume that provided a pleasant background and al owed easy conversation.

We caught up on the animal casualty report. Jasper was coming along, Sammy was doing wel ; the problem was keeping him away from his beloved sheep for a few days. Frank Al en was stil upset and nervous, but

not seriously injured.

â€œActual y,â€ Gale opined, â€œI think Sara is making him more nervous than he needs to be. Itâ€™s wise for several reasons to keep him in his stal for a few days, but sheâ€™s checking on him every half hour, sometimes crying

when she pets him, leaving the stable lights on al nightâ€¦I think Frank by now thinks he did something wrong.â€

â€œItâ€™s a scary situation,â€ Cindy countered. â€œThat damned manâ€”much as Iâ€™d like to see him in jail, Iâ€™d be very happy just to see him out of town. Of course, that merely foists him onto another innocent town, but I almost

wouldnâ€™t care.â€

â€œA creative police department would help,â€ I added. â€œI remember when Provincetown was blessed with a guy who regularly beat up on his wife. She was afraid to file charges for fear heâ€™d kil her and their two- or three year-old toddler. Sonny, my brother the cop, got a friend of his to buy the husband a bunch of drinks in his favorite spa. When the guy got good and drunk, Sonny casual y stopped in the bar for a drink, insulted the man right

and left until he took a punch at Sonnyâ€”who then arrested him for assaulting an officer. That put him in jail for a few days, while they convinced a neighbor to testify against him. And that gave the wife some courage, and

they got him good and proper.â€

â€œMaybe you should tel that story to Deputy Spitz,â€ Lou said. â€œThat sounds like something he would do.â€

â€œWhat about the sheriff?â€ I queried. â€œCouldnâ€™t he set up something like that?â€ I was half-kidding, and Gale took me up on it.

â€œSure. The friend would be busy getting Mickey dead-ass drunk. Jeffie would come in and get drunk with Mickey. They would start to fight and the friend would be afraid someone was going to get shot, so he tries to

break it up. Jeffie arrests his friend for interfering and forgets to arrest Mickey. Mickey fal s asleep while driving back to the No-Tel Mo-tel and drives his car into the reception area, which is being burgled at the time. He

accidental y runs over both burglars and gets the Good Citizen Award of the Month.â€

We al laughed, and I agreed that sometimes it seemed as if justice were indeed blind, if not drunk to boot.

Suddenly Cindy looked keenly toward the outer door and did her eyebrow trick. â€œWel , wel , look whoâ€™s here!â€

As I turned I was thinking that McCurry combined with square dancing could real y make my evening. But it wasnâ€™t he at al .

It was Tommy Blackstone, looking very handsome in tan slacks and a dark green or navy blazer, with the strobe lights, it was hard to tel . He was escorting two wel -dressed women. The older one was absolutely

stunning in an Anne Bancroft sort of way, and it took me a moment to realize it was Sara. Her dark hair was attractively styled and her makeup was just enough and just right. Her wel -tanned complexion was set off by her

soft peach dress and the single strand of pearls that led to an enticing dÃ©col etage. The younger woman had blond hair much like Tommyâ€™s and wore a pale blue dress that let her hair dominate the scene. Her main touch

of color was an orange sash, very nearly matching the stripe in Tommyâ€™s tie. I wondered if it was accidental.

â€œThis table excluded,â€ Cindy gushed, â€œTommyâ€™s got the two best-looking women in the room! Sara looks divine and thank God sheâ€™s having an evening out. Whoâ€™s the pretty girl?â€

â€œTommyâ€™s girlfriend, Cissy Miltonâ€”probably his wife in another year or so,â€ Lou advised.

â€œThatâ€™s great!â€ I replied. â€œThat family deserves some good things and she looks like a sweetie. Ah, wil they be okay living independently?â€

â€œTheyâ€™l be fine according to Doc Fisher. Tommy is a littleâ€”slow, I guess youâ€™d say, but far from seriously retardedâ€”because of a tangled umbilical cord which caused some trouble at birth. Cissy is on about the same

level, maybe marginal y better, due to an auto accident. Sitting on Grandmaâ€™s lap instead of in her baby seat, she had a slight brain injury.â€

Lou sipped her coffee and Gale spoke up. â€œSince their conditions were accident-caused, not genetic, they can have kids without any more than every parentâ€™s worry that the offspring wil be normal. And they are far

from dumb. Tommy knows more about horses than anyone in the state except Clay. And Cissy runsâ€” isâ€”the home delivery part of the Del yâ€¦and we al know, our Gertrude donâ€™t suffer no fools lightly.â€

We al laughed, and I asked, â€œWho are the three Harpies with our Gertrude? Beulalandâ€™s retired motorcycle club?â€

Lou raised her chin high and pursed her lips. â€œHoney, you ah speakinâ€™ of the very coah of the Ladiesâ€™ Altar Guild of St. Lukeâ€™s Episcopal Church. The flowers donâ€™t dare to wilt in theyah presence.â€

We laughed so loud, we got looks from around us. Fortunately, before we could carry this conversation further, waiters began clearing the tables, and the orchestra grew silent and departed the stand.

In a few minutes a whole new group of musicians filed in, wearing blue overal s and workshirts, topped with various styles of straw hats. Last in line was a thin man dressed in jeans and white shirt with a string tie and

tuxedo jacket. He had to be the cal er.

Tuning procedures complete, the band struck up a brisk tune and the tuxedo man cal ed, â€œPick yo pahdners and form in foahs.â€

Lou and Gale excused themselves and headed to the dance floor. Other twosomes joined them, including Gertrude and her companionsâ€”who else would have dared partner them? Cindy looked at me, and I said,

â€œDonâ€™t be absurd.â€

At that moment Peter Minot approached with a wide grin. â€œWhich of you ladies wil do me the honor?â€

â€œCindywil bedelightedto,â€ I blurted. I was taking no chances.

â€œI am delighted,â€ she said as she rose and took his arm. â€œSee you later, chick-chick-chicken.â€

The participants made their way â€™round and â€™round the room, docilely fol owing the high-pitched instructions. I sat happily alone. I love to dance, and I am pretty good at it. But I feel that, unless you are in a Broadway

chorus line, dancing is a two-person contact sport, not a groupie affair. I do not like being yel ed at while I am dancing, and told what steps to take, when I am perfectly capable of fol owing the music without directions from

the sidelines.

I was basking in my superiority, when a figure appeared beside the table.

â€œHowdy, Ms. Alex, would you do me the favor of the next set?â€ It was Branch Redford, looking quite gentlemanly in light gray pants and a darker blazer.

â€œThanks, Branch, but I donâ€™t square dance.â€

â€œDonâ€™t square dance or donâ€™t dance with me?â€ He sat down, uninvited. â€œMs. Alex, I am persona non grata in my own hometown. Part of it is my own fault, I freely admit, but part of it ainâ€™t. For example, those photos of

the old-folks home. Yes, I got the county to pay for half of it and a couple of banks to pick up the slack in a mortgage. But the trouble there isnâ€™t that I sold sub-par work.â€ He took a generous sip of a dark highbal .

â€œThen what is it?â€ I smiled, disbelieving.

He waved at a waiter and ordered a drink for us both. â€œThe units were built on limestone with hol ow areas underneath. The weight of the buildings caused some of it to col apse. So now one building slants, and the

other opened up a spring. Now, that was for the engineers to realize and tel us not to build there! I think maybe they did know and just took a chance. But I didnâ€™t know it when I sold it! Now the old folks are in â€˜temporaryâ€™

quarters I wouldnâ€™t wish on a weasel, and I would never have done that to them. I sincerely would not!â€

â€œSo why did you stay with Advantage?â€ I looked for our waiter. By now, I wanted the drink.

â€œI was so naÃ¯ve,â€ he explained, â€œI believed â€™em when they said it would never happen again. And this mountain development sounded great. I figured if I did an effective, fast job, it would put me in good with Advantage

and be a gold mine for Beulaland. We might wel become another Gatlinburg!â€

â€œDidnâ€™t it occur to you, not everyone might want to be another Gatlinburg?â€

â€œFrankly, no. I figured property values would go up, businesses would have more traffic. Thereâ€™d be lots of B&Bs and restaurants andâ€¦oh! Just loads of things. But I was wrong. These damned old dirt farmers donâ€™t

know nothinâ€™ about business. And then Advantage saddled me with Mickey.â€

â€œAh, yes. Mickey. Are you aware of what heâ€™s been doing? What he did to your own sister?â€

â€œI know what they say heâ€™s been doing. I havenâ€™t seen him do anything. Heâ€™s got a rough tongue. He scared the bejesus out of some old people. And I tel you, I wouldnâ€™t be surprised if he hurt them dogs and shot that

sheep and al â€¦though I canâ€™t prove it. You cross him and youâ€™re on his shit list forever. Pardon my language, maâ€™am. But I never saw anything, so what can I do?â€

I realized Branch had had a drink or three, and I wanted to keep him talking.

â€œBranch,â€ I suggested, â€œletâ€™s go in the bar. I need a drink, and these waiters are al jammed with orders.â€

â€œDance one set with me, Ms. Alex, and Iâ€™l buy you the whole bar.â€

I final y figured out that he simply wanted to be seen dancing with me. I was staying at Ken Wil inghamâ€™s. I had made friends with Beulaland locals. I would clothe him in my respectability. Okay fine. Iâ€™d get what I wanted

out of him in the bar.

â€œAl right, Branch, you win.â€ The band was tuning up again. â€œJust donâ€™t blame me if I step al over you.â€

He offered me his arm. â€œYou canâ€™t hurt these shoes, maâ€™am. Letâ€™s go trip the light fantastic.â€

I automatical y looked down and saw he was wearing the sneakers like mine, and probably the same size. Even for a short, chubby guy he had smal hands and feet. Maybe I couldnâ€™t hurt the shoes, but I could sure hurt

the tops of his toes. Wel , he had asked for it. On whether we would trip the light fantastic or trip each other, the jury was stil out.

The less said of our dance, the kinder.

In the crowded bar I managed to get Joeâ€™s attention and ordered a bourbon on the rocks. Branch duplicated my order and doubled it, and then leaned forward and said softly, â€œRun this on Clayâ€™s tab, wil ya, Joe?â€ Joe

looked unhappy, but complied. I figured it was to the Bromfield benefit.

â€œClay was pretty upset about Frank Al en, wasnâ€™t he, Branch?â€

â€œWe al were,â€ he answered stoutly. â€œTerrible thing to do to a sweet, beautiful animal! Now there, I have to say I truly doubt Mickey had anything to do with it. After al , he knows Sara and Clay and I are family.â€

â€œYou think that would stop him? After al , Clay is the one who hired Peter Minot and told him what he wanted done.â€ I sipped my drink grateful y.

â€œYes. But family is family.â€ I thought he was trying to convince himself. He was gulping his drink. His hand had a slight tremor.

â€œSay, howâ€™s that big ole dog of yours?â€ He was trying hard to sound casual.

â€œOh, heâ€™s at the cabin sulking.â€ Actual y he was in the boathouse sixty feet away, being careful y watched by the squad of car valets, who took shelter from the rain there. At least one of them would be with him at al

times. They were to bring Fargo directly to me at onceâ€”dogs al owed or notâ€”if Mickey showed up anywhere on the premises.

I continued the fairytale. â€œHe always sulks when heâ€™s alone, but he gets over it. By the way, I hear you and Mickey are leaving Monday. So are we. Weâ€™l be sorry to leave, but Iâ€™l bet you wonâ€™t.â€

My hope was that if he repeated that our departure was planned for Monday to Mickey, Mickey would hold off any attack on Fargoâ€”or usâ€”until Sunday night, when we would be far, far out of range.

â€œNo, I wonâ€¦wonâ€™t be sorry to leave this sorry town.â€ He was beginning to slur. â€œThey never have appreciated me and I donâ€™t â€™preciate them. Now, Mickey, thass another bal of wax. Joe! Another round here.â€

I handed my first glass back to Joe with some liquid stil in the bottom and took a very smal sip from my second.

â€œMickey doesnâ€™t want to leave?â€ I prompted.

â€œI donâ€™t know what theâ€¦heck he wants. He stays mad at the world. He takes any disagreement as grounds for a fight. Heâ€™s nearly always half in thâ€™ bag, but he gets so violent, I wunner if he isnâ€™t adding something to the

booze.â€

â€œYou mean like steroids?â€

â€œYeah, or somethinâ€™ like that. Makes him think heâ€™s God and nobody canâ€™t stop him. If I were Clay Iâ€™d leave town for a day or so, but he wonâ€™t leave his precious horses. Even though heâ€™s got a bunch of men guarding the

stables. I tel you one thing, Ms. Alex, Mickey can be one scary critter.â€

â€œI canâ€™t argue with that,â€ I agreed. â€œI was surprised to see Sara and Tommy here tonight.â€

â€œTheyâ€™l be okay. Clay has two men guarding the stables and them, too. Night nâ€™ day.â€

Did he realize what he had said? That Clay had men guarding themâ€”Sara and Tommyâ€”not just the stable? What did he think Mickey was going to do? Frankly, a mass murder with an Uzi was not beyond

imagination, and I didnâ€™t want to be on the six oâ€™clock news.

â€œCanâ€™t you have the sheriff do something to cool him down and get him out of here. I think most people would be happy to cut their losses if he were just locked up until somebody from Advantageâ€”other than you

â€”came and got him. Thereâ€™s always public drunkenness or DWI, or even â€˜insultingâ€™ the women who hang out at the Dew Drop Inn.â€

He looked at me with a sad smile, and the put-on southern col oquialisms disappeared. â€œMs. Alex, donâ€™t you understand? Iâ€™ve tried al thatâ€”and more. But Jeffie Johnson is scared to death of him. And after Peterâ€™s

letter to the Advantage brass, they are scared of him. Heâ€™s a loose cannon and nobody but poor Branch is left trying to hang on to the rope. I wish I knew some Marines.â€

â€œHow about Deputy Spitz. He seems levelheaded, and heâ€™s big.â€

â€œHe wouldnâ€™t interrupt his breakfast to tel me my clothes were on fire. Two of the people in that old-folks home are his grandparentsâ€”and you know who he blames.â€

I was about to ask him another question, when I heard the faint tril of a cel phone. I knew it wasnâ€™t mine. Mine was on the kitchen table in Provincetown, where I had put it so I wouldnâ€™t forget it. After searching several

pockets, Branch came up with his. I listened shamelessly to his end of the conversation.

â€œHel oâ€¦oh, hi, Mildredâ€¦ Whatâ€™s up?... Where are you?â€¦The Dew Drop?â€¦ I thought you would be at the No-Tel by nowâ€¦ What do you mean you were scared to go with him?...Oh, I donâ€™t think he would have hurt you

â€¦Why would he be planning to teach you some manners?â€¦ Wel , cal ing him a foul-mouthed bul y is hardly being nice to himâ€”which is what I paid you forâ€¦ He slapped you right at the bar and Jake threw him out?â€¦ Oh,

God, wel . No wonder you didnâ€™t go with himâ€¦ Heâ€™s going to take care of what? Who?â€¦ Oh, I seeâ€¦ No, keep the moneyâ€¦Where is he now? The No-Tel, you thinkâ€¦ Okay, Iâ€™l try to calm him down. You go stay with your

sister for a while, honeyâ€¦you hear? Thanks for cal ing.â€

He folded the phone and stuffed it back in his pocket. As he spoke, the color had slowly drained from his face as if someone had pul ed a plug. Ashen now, and apparently sober, he somehow treated me to his

professional smile.

â€œWel , Ms. Alex, Saint George is off to find the dragon. Wish me luck.â€ He squared his shoulders and walked away.

I did wish him luck. He would need it. He made an almost comical figure of a knight, but seemingly he was the only one this Camelot town had on its roster.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Returning to the table, I found Cindy sipping a Cosmo. â€œHel o, darling, I was beginning to think you had eloped with Branch.â€

â€œNo. I was giving him a bourbon transfusion after our trip around the dance floor.â€ I decided to try to keep it light; there was no point in ruining our last evening here. I just hoped it wasnâ€™t our last evening anywhere. â€œI see

the regular musicians are back. Shal we risk it?â€

â€œI thought youâ€™d never ask.â€

We danced wel together, and both enjoyed it. We stayed on the floor for the next tune, and had only taken a step or two, when Clay tapped my shoulder.

â€œMay I borrow your lady for a few minutes?â€

â€œIâ€™l be watching the clock.â€ I smiled and started to walk back to our table, when I noticed the sheriff pushing Sara around the floor with great concentration if little grace. Wel , why the hel not? The little imp inside me

asked. Why not indeed? I answered. I cut in smoothly.

He relinquished her gruffly, and we stepped away. â€œThank you,â€ she whispered grateful y.

â€œMy pleasure.â€ She felt supple and sensuous and somehow compliant in my arms, and I would always remember her differently than I would have a day ago. The music was too soon ended, and I walked her back to her

table where Tommy and Cissy sat.

Sara and I looked at each other and smiled knowingly. One of us was committed to another, and one of us was a widow and businesswoman in a smal southern town. I took both her hands briefly, and she leaned

forward to give me a cheek kiss. And the band began to play.

Cindy, Gale and Lou were al at our table, and conversation was general for awhile. Then Cindy said, â€œBy the way, Clay said to tel you goodbye, heâ€™s going to Kingsport for the rest of the weekend. He asks us to come

back next year. He thanks us for being so nice to Sara and Tommy.â€

I felt my face turn red, but managed to answer casual y. â€œTheyâ€™re nice people. Iâ€™m glad he thinks the Mickey situation is cool enough to take a weekend away. Cindy, itâ€™s getting late, mâ€™dear, and we have an early

morning. What say you?â€

â€œI say that band is actual y playing a waltz, which I donâ€™t think Iâ€™ve done since eighth grade dancing school. Waltz me to the coat check and we wil make our reluctant departure.â€

We said a hopeful y temporary goodbye to Gale and Lou, and waltzed our way to pick up our raincoats. At the door we were delighted to see we did not real y need them. The rain had stopped although trees and

gutters were stil dripping. The fog was doing its best to climb every mountain. Tomorrow should be clear.

Our car was returned to us, our dog in the front seat, sporting a carnation in his col ar, and, after giving Jerry a giant tip to share with his buddies, we headed back to the cabin.

The closer we got to it, the more nervous I got. What had Mildred told Branch when he questioned whom she was talking about? Could it be us Mickey planned to take care of? Clay? Sara and Tommy? Al five of us?

Was that why Clay left town after posting a bunch of armed guards for al the horses plus his sister and nephew? We had no guard. Any second could catapult us into disaster.

I entered in the parking area, turned out the headlights and let Fargo out. He ran around, sniffing and barking a couple of times, but he did not seem unduly excited. He was merely announcing that he was in residence.

I turned off the little overhead light and told Cindy to climb over into the driverâ€™s seat when I got out and to make sure the car doors were al locked, and motor idling.

â€œThe lights are on in the bedroom and front deck,â€ I told her. â€œIf I donâ€™t start turning on lights al over the house in a couple of minutes, flick the headlights, turn the radio to blast, blow the horn. Wake up the whole

neighborhood and cal 911. And get down to the sheriffâ€™s office and stay there! â€

I gave her a glancing kiss and got out before she could tel I was shaking. I cal ed softly to Fargo and took him by the col ar. The only thing he had ever attacked in his life was a squeaky toy, but he couldâ€”and would

â€”growl and bark.

We went silently up the back steps and onto the porch. I tried to unlock the door soundlessly, but with the big old key, it sounded like I was opening the Tower of London. We crept into the laundry roomâ€¦the mudroom

â€¦whatever the hel it was, it was pitch dark. The kitchen door was closed. Had we left it that way? Was he waiting in the kitchen? I could almost feel his big hands around my neck. I could definitely feel the sweat running

down my back.

I groped around in the tackle box where I had earlier hidden the loaded pistol. I final y felt it and pul ed the gun out, taking off the safety. I let go of Fargoâ€™s col ar, opened the kitchen door and flicked on the light.

Nobody. I took what felt like my first breath in a week.

Fargo ran room-to-room, sniffing. But he always did that when we came homeâ€”frankly, I think he was checking to make sure no strange dogs or cats had moved in during his absence. His hackles were not up, and

there were no barks. I checked the pantry and moved on to the hal light and our bedroom and bathroom. Then I walked into the living/dining room and hit those lights. Nothing.

I went out on the deck and waved Cindy to come in. At this point I figured she was safer inside the house. She scampered up the steps and across the deck and gave me a fast, hard hug.

â€œOh, God, Alex. I thought you never would come out. And you are soaking wet. You were sure he was here, werenâ€™t you? How could you walk into that laundry room? I would have fainted, I think.â€

But she was made of sterner stuff than she thought. When I told her I had yet to check the upstairs rooms, she grabbed her trusty fireplace tongs and fol owed me every inch of the way.

Final y satisfied no one was lurking in the house, we col apsed at the kitchen table and let the shakes take over. Fargo was the only calm one of us. Cindy final y poured us a stiff tot of Kenâ€™s expensive brandy, and while

it may have stiffened our backbones, tonight it unsurprisingly did nothing for our libidos.

We knew there would be no bed sport and little bed sleep this night. Cindy made coffee, and after the machine finished its gurgle, she got up to pour us a mug. Fargo picked that moment to whine to go out. Startled,

Cindy whirled around and caught me with a sharp blow to the cheekbone with an empty mug. I yelped and bent over, hand to face. The damn thing really hurt!

â€œOh, Lord, you go through an eight-room house where a lunatic might have hidden and you are fine until I almost kil you with a coffee mug!â€ She began to laugh in a pitch I didnâ€™t like.

â€œShut up,â€ I mutteredâ€”was my cheek broken?â€”â€œAnd get some ice!â€

â€œYes, yes, of course. Oh, darling, I am so sorry. â€œShe kept apologizing as she wrapped ice in a clean dish towel and held it gently against my cheek.

And so the night went. We moved from the kitchen to the living room couch and took turns dozing, and final y al three of us fel asleep, tumbled together like a litter of overgrown puppies.

Sometime before we al faded out last night, Cindy had set her little travel alarm for seven a.m., and had put it on the dining area table so one of us would have to be up and moving to shut it off. It woke me with a

surprisingly loud noise that sounded almost like a siren.

I worked myself free from pil ows, Cindy and Fargo and staggered toward the clock. When I got near it, I saw the time read six fifteen. While I was puzzling that out, I realized the sound I had heard real y had been a

siren at the foot of the mountain, where the little private road met the main road into town. And it now sounded like two police cars and the whoop-whoop of an ambulance. There must have been an accidentâ€”and

apparently a serious one.

Beulalandâ€™s finest would have to handle it without my oversight. I made it to the bathroom and turned on the cold water. A face-wash and tooth-brush would have to be enough until I had some coffee and maybe

something solid in my stomach. When I looked in the mirror I recal ed that my headache was not entirely due to Kenâ€™s brandy. I had a sizeable, colorful shiner, and my cheek was sore as hel . It even hurt when I brushed my

hair.

Just as I poured the coffee and took my croissant out of the micro, Cindy and Fargo arrived. Their timing was always good. I opened a door for one and poured coffee for another.

â€œWhy are we up so early?â€ she asked plaintively. â€œOh, your poor cheek!â€ she added.

â€œThere was some sort of accident down on the main road. The cop sirens woke me, and I thought it was the alarm clock.â€

â€œShould we go down?â€

â€œThe cops are there. Leave it to the pros.â€

At that moment there was an authoritative knock at the front door. As I reached the living room, I could see through the window: our guests were the sheriff and Deputy Spitz.

â€œItâ€™s the cops,â€ I cal ed over my shoulder and heard Cindy scamper for the bedroom. I figured they were looking for possible witnesses to the accident, but I did quickly shove the pistol under a couch cushion as I

passed. I opened the front door. Fargo scooted in, the two men stood like statues.

â€œGood morning Sheriff, Deputy. May I help you with something?â€

â€œWe hope you may have some helpful information. May we come in?â€ Johnson looked about as untidy as I did. His clothes were rumpled and sagging, his hair had been hastily combed and his eyes were bloodshot.

Dave Spitz looked like a recruiting poster.

â€œCome on in the kitchen, thereâ€™s coffee and some pastry if you like.â€ I didnâ€™t want them in the living room.

We sat at the kitchen table, and I poured coffee. Jeffie refused a pastry, which surprised me, and Spitz could hardly have one if the boss-man didnâ€™t. So I had my second.

â€œThatâ€™s a nasty bruise, Ms. Peres,â€ Johnson remarked.

â€œIt feels nasty, and my own dog is to blame. He startled Ms. Hart last night, and when she turned around she accidental y clocked me with a coffee mug.â€

â€œReal y?â€ Spitz asked me neutral y.

Johnson didnâ€™t bother to comment, but asked. â€œIs she here? Ms. Hart I mean.â€

â€œSheâ€™s dressing. I imagine sheâ€™l be here in a minute.â€

And she was, looking fresh and wel -groomed. I now felt doubly grungy.

â€œGood morning, gentlemen. I understand there was an accident at the foot of the hil earlier. I hope it wasnâ€™t serious.â€

â€œWel , it may have been an accident. We havenâ€™t entirely ruled that out.â€ Johnson gave a wolfish grin. â€œBut it was certainly serious, al right. In fact it was fatal.â€

â€œDamn!â€ I took a sip of coffee. â€œThatâ€™s too badâ€¦hel uva way to start your day.â€

Cindy looked concerned. â€œWas it anyone we would have known?â€

â€œWel , now, I donâ€™t know. We arenâ€™t sure of his identity ourselves.â€ Johnson sounded almost coy, as he removed several credit cards and what looked like driversâ€™ licenses from his shirt pocket and began to read off the

names on them. â€œDo either of you know a Michael Cul y of Galveston, Texas?â€ As we each shook our heads, he moved on to the next. â€œA Michael Sul ivan of El Paso, Texas? A Michael McNulty of Gadsden, Alabama? A

Michael McCurry of Rome, Georgia?â€

â€œWel of course, we know a Michaelâ€”actual y Mickeyâ€”McCurry.â€ Cindy stated. â€œBut I thought he was from Knoxvil e. Is he dead ? â€ She was not a good poker player; she looked as relieved as one who has just learned

that the giant meteor is going to by-pass the Earth by ten miles.

â€œIs there real y a Rome, Georgia?â€ I asked. â€œI guess I stopped with Venice, Florida.â€

â€œThere is a Rome.â€ Johnson looked irritated. â€œAnd Mickey is dead.â€

I lit a cigarette before replying, and Johnson looked at the pack hungrily. I did not offer one. I figured a senior police officer on an official cal should not smoke a cigarette. Especial y one of mine.

â€œThen, of course, we know the man cal ed Michael McCurry. I assume they are al the same manâ€”he stuck with Michael to have a first name familiar to him, and since al the last names are Irish I imagine thatâ€™s what he

real y is. Of course any one of the namesâ€”or none of the namesâ€”could be his real one. Same with the towns. Did he have a car here? The only car I ever saw him in was Branchâ€™s. Strange.â€

Johnson was frowning. Obviously he hadnâ€™t figured on the licenses being fraudulent with regard to the cities as wel as the names. And I doubted he had picked up on the Irish surnames.

â€œCar? Yes, he had a car,â€ Spitz put in. â€œIn fact, itâ€™s parked at the bottom of the road. Have you any idea when he parked it there?â€

â€œNo.â€ Cindy answered. â€œThere were three cars parked at the intersection when we came home. I didnâ€™t pay attention to themâ€”I just assumed one of our neighbors was having a party. Iâ€™m sorry, I donâ€™t remember. I do

recal one of them was light-colored.â€

â€œYes, wel , hmmnâ€¦could have been his. Now, moving right along. Could you ladies give my deputy here your names and home addresses and where you work, while I just have a little look around?â€

What the hel was he trying to pul ? â€œSheriff, weâ€™l be glad to give you our proper names and home address. I donâ€™t believe our places of work would be of any value to you. Neither Ms. Hart nor I own or rent this property.

We are guests here. While Ms. Hart is a cousin of the owner, neither she nor I have the authority to al ow you to search it. To â€˜look aroundâ€™ the outside grounds or the interior of the house, youâ€™l need a warrant. And just in

case you want to shuffle through my carâ€”youâ€™l need a warrant for that, too.â€

Cindy put her coffee mug down with a bang that made my cheek hurt al over again. â€œFurthermore, Sheriff,â€ she announced, â€œneither of us saw a thing. We were both asleep until your sirens woke up Alex. So we have no

idea who was at fault in the accident. But Iâ€™d be wil ing to bet you find that Mickeyâ€”your Michael McCurry was driving while drunk.â€

â€œI may find that he was drunk.â€ The sheriff gently placed his empty mug near hers. â€œBut he wasnâ€™t driving anything. He parked on the main road by the turnoff and got out of the car. Then somebody bashed the back of his

head in with a rock and tossed him in the creek.â€

CHAPTER TWENTY

I looked out the living room window as Johnsonâ€™s car backed out. Spitzâ€™s stayed parked, with him leaning against the hood.

â€œHeâ€™s obviously making sure we donâ€™t take off, or remove anything from the car or house. Wel , by the time Jeffie gets back and takes the house apart, weâ€™l never get out of here today. Damn!â€ I gave the door a kick.

â€œAlex, I donâ€™t care if itâ€™s two in the morning, weâ€™l drive twenty miles up the road and find a motel. Iâ€™m beginning to hate this place.â€

â€œYou hate the sheriff and you hated Mickey. The place is stil nice.â€

â€œSometimes you irritate the hel out of me, my sweet.â€ Cindy scowled. â€œDonâ€™t you see, that sheriff is getting al ready to blame this on us. That way he wonâ€™t have to arrest a local who might vote for him next year. Clearly,

heâ€™s been lousy at the job, but if he makes an arrest right away, heâ€™l be a heroâ€”especial y if itâ€™s a furriner. Sometimes you are too damn trusting, Sherlock. Youâ€™d do better to figure out who real y did this.â€

â€œClay,â€ I said. â€œOr Branch. Or more likely Clay and Branch. If Mickey was as drunk as Branch said he was last night, he probably was passed out at his motel. They tied him up and dumped him in a smal horse trailer,

one of them drove Mickeyâ€™s car out here and parked it so it would look as if he were coming here and/or to Saraâ€™s. The other drove the trailer. They bopped him one and tossed him in the creek to suggest he fel off the

bridge. That guardrail is low; he could have overbalanced. They drove home in the trailer, hosed it out, put down new straw. Case closed,â€ I said.

â€œNot bad,â€ Cindy said. â€œIf he wasnâ€™t passed out, but was actual y here or at Saraâ€™s, why did he leave his car down by the main road?â€

â€œHe wouldnâ€™t have wanted anyone to see him driving to this place or Saraâ€™s and parking nearby.â€

â€œPretty nifty. Now, if you can just convince SuperCop. Where are you going?â€

â€œOnly to the living room,â€ I reassured her. â€œEven SuperCop might find a big revolver under a couch cushion. I want to get it back in the holster.â€

â€œSure. But real y what difference does it make? He wasnâ€™t shot. Certainly not by that gun.â€

â€œOur Jeffie is liable to say we planned to shoot himâ€”which we didâ€”only the opportunity to kil him down by the road somehow presented itself first.â€

â€œSee how clever you can be? Now, make us a Cosmo and Iâ€™l set the Scrabble up on the deck.â€

â€œA Cosmo? Itâ€™s nine oâ€™clock in the morning!â€ I was shocked.

â€œOh, al right. Make it a double.â€

I actual y won two games. Cindy pleaded exhaustion and fel asleep in the sun. I was dead tired but jumpy. I walked to the edge of the deck. Three deputies had arrived at some point and run yel ow crime-scene tape al

over the place and were now walking slowly up the path. Two of them literal y had out large magnifying glasses and occasional y one of them would stop, pick something I couldnâ€™t see off a bush and put it in a glassine

envelope. The other had a camera and took shots here and there.

Then there was great pointing and gesturing and picture taking. Spitz even risked leaving his squad car and trotted up to where the path and creek made a left turn and disappeared up the side of the mountain.

Eventual y the men al came back down and al but Spitz left.

I was thoroughly confused. Johnson had clearly said Mickey was found near the intersection, which was down the mountain from Kenâ€™s cabin. Had Mickey walked past our cabin and gone on up to Saraâ€™s? Had her

guards belted Mickey in the head and brought him to the foot of the road? Were she and Tommy al right?

I picked up the phone. Sara was as relieved as the rest of us that Mickey was dead, though she tried not to sound too happy. No, they had had no sign of a trespasser during the night. She was horrified at my tale of the

sheriff and his men.

â€œWatch Jeffie,â€ she warned. â€œHe thinks everyone considers him the fat, stupid country cop from the movies. The fact that it is true has not yet dawned on him. And he particularly dislikes people who are not locals. You

might want to cal Peter Minot. Heâ€™s not a criminal lawyer, but even if he went to Podunk U., he could go circles around Jeffie.â€

She did not offer to come down, and I was glad. I donâ€™t think I could have stood kindness and pity at that point. Instead, I went out the back door, so as not to wake Cindy, and strol ed down to where Dave Spitz stood at

his lonely outpost.

â€œHi, Dave, itâ€™s getting warm. Would you like a Coke or something?â€

He looked embarrassed. â€œNo thanks, Alex. Iâ€™m okay.â€

I pul ed out my cigarettes and offered him one. He started to reach for it, then pul ed his hand back, as if he didnâ€™t want to accept anything from me.

â€œWhat was al the excitement earlier? Clues jumping from every bush?â€ I blew smoke casual y and leaned against the other fender of his car.

â€œI real y canâ€™t discuss that.â€ He turned beet red. â€œIâ€”ahâ€”look, Alex, it wouldnâ€™t do either one of us any good if we were talking when Jeffie comes back. Which could be any time now. Andâ€”wel â€”it might be a good idea

if you had Pete Minot here. Heâ€™s a sharp guy.â€

He stunned me. They were treating usâ€”meâ€”like a prime suspect. Cindy had been right.

â€œThanks for the tip, Dave. Sara Blackstone already told me Jeffie has it in for nonlocals. I may give Peter a cal .â€

I went briskly up the deck steps and interrupted Fargoâ€™s nap, who interrupted Cindyâ€™s.

â€œWhatâ€™s up?â€ She yawned.

I told her of the earlier activities and my brief conversation with Spitz.

â€œDamn!â€ She reached in my shirt pocket for her monthly cigarette. I admired and disliked her self-control. â€œWel , do you want me to go cal Peter? Funny, he gave me his card last night. Maybe he also reads tea leaves.â€

â€œDonâ€™t cal him yet. Letâ€™s see what our Jeffie pul s next. Spitz apparently expects him soon.â€

The sheriff arrived a little before noon, waving two warrants. One for the house and grounds, one for my car.

I suppose the search made some kind of sense as a precaution, but not much else. If Jeffie knew Mickeyâ€™s head had been hit with a rock, presumably he had the rock. Was he expecting to find blood-stained clothing?

Weâ€™d had al night to weight it down and take it up to the â€œbottomlessâ€ tarn. Obviously his wal et had been found intact, and apparently his face had not been disfigured in some effort to prevent identification. So he would

not find a bloody hammer in the mudroom.

Surely he did not expect to find a half-written letter: â€œAnd so, Mom, weâ€™l be home as soon as we kil Mickey.â€ Perhaps he deduced that one of us kept a diary and had made some guilt-ridden or triumphant entry.

Johnson and Spitz came inside, two other deputies started on the car. Cindy supervised the car search, while I went upstairs to oversee Johnson and the obviously nervous Spitz. They found literal y nothing in the guest

room except linens and soap in a smal cabinet and extra blankets in the closet.

The kidsâ€™ rooms held a few games and books, some odds and ends of clothing and the ubiquitous linens. I fol owed them downstairs to see Cindy climbing the deck stairs. The car apparently had yielded nothing of

interest. The deputies, she said, had moved on to the yard.

In the living room, Jeffie had ordered Dave to take the half-burned logs from the cold fireplace and out to the deck. Meantime he scraped around the ashes, scattering soot over himself and a large portion of the carpet.

Cindy came in and immediately lost her temper.

â€œWhat the hel are you doing, you oaf! Youâ€™re ruining the carpet! By God, youâ€™l get the cleaning bil . What are you looking for? The plans for a nuclear bomb?â€

â€œThere might have been burnt clothes. Itâ€™l probably vacuum clean.â€

â€œIt wil require professional cleaning,â€ Cindy was now al sweetness. â€œMr. Wil ingham wil love to hear that.â€ Johnson looked slightly uneasy.

Spitz came in, holding his blackened hands before him like a gift.

â€œGo wash them in the mudroom,â€ I ordered, â€œbefore you touch anything! You, too, Sheriff.â€ He gave me a dirty look, but complied.

They returned marginal y cleaner and looked around the rest of the living room. Al the pil ows were careful y shaken and felt, and Cindy and I exchanged a fast look. Johnson discovered a stack of household bil s in a

table drawer and went over them in detail.

â€œMr. Wil ingham wil be thril ed that you took such an interest in his personal business,â€ Cindy gushed. She was on a rol , and I didnâ€™t envy the sheriff.

â€œMcCurry could have been blackmailing him,â€ Johnson pointed out.

â€œAnd sent him a monthly bil which he filed along with the gas and electric companiesâ€™?â€

Spitz gave the bookcase a fast once-over. Finding no secret panels, he announced he was moving on to the kitchen. I heard a drawer or two open and close, a cabinet door click shut and the squeaky oven door come

open for a fast look-see. And the heartfelt kitchen search was ended. I heard his footsteps come out of the mudroom as we trailed Johnson into the master bedroom. I was last in the line of three, and Spitz crooked his

finger at me in a come-here motion.

I quietly joined him in the mudroom, where he stood staring at the three guns.

â€œWhatâ€™s this armory al about?â€ he asked softly. â€œIs there ammo for them?â€

â€œThey were here when we got here. I assume they are Kenâ€™s. None of them had been fired or cleaned in a hundred years. None of them are loaded, but ammo is in that drawer. Take a look at the .22â€”itâ€™s more a

danger to the shooter than his target.â€

He gently lifted the rifle from its pegs and turned it toward the window. Pul ing back the bolt, he grimaced. â€œJesus, what a mess.â€

â€œThe shotgun is the same and so was the pistol.â€

â€œWas?â€

â€œYes, I cleaned and loaded it a couple of days ago, just for general safetyâ€”two women alone, a rather isolated cabin, unfamiliar territory. It has not been fired, nor would it have been without extreme provocation and

immediate threat.â€

â€œYou sound like a cop.â€

â€œIâ€™m a licensed PI, my brother is the cop.â€

He stifled a guffaw, pul ed the pistol from the holster, smel ed it and looked it over careful y. Returning it to the holster, he reached as high as he could and placed it and its box of cartridges atop a bare rafter. They were

out of sight from floor level, but where it had hung, there was a light spot on the wal . I looked around and took a ful length apron from a wal hookâ€”Mrs. Foutsâ€™?â€”and hung it on the nail that had held the holster.

We looked at each other, smiled slightly and returned to the kitchen in time to hear Cindy yel , â€œYou bastard!â€

Dave Spitz ran for the bedroom, with Fargo and me hard on his heels. His broad shoulders blocked my view, but, looking around his arm, I glimpsed Sheriff Jeffie Johnson holding a brief, diaphanous, lace-trimmed

black nightgown against his corpulent body and seemingly doing a little dance step.

â€œWhat happened?â€ I ducked under Daveâ€™s arm and yanked the gown from Johnsonâ€™s unresisting grip.

Cindy was red with rage. She pointed to Johnson. â€œThis dirty-minded pervert of a law officer held this gown of Francesâ€™s up to his body and did his elephantine dance with it while he asked me if it is what I wear when

you and I go to bed.â€

â€œJesus, Jeffie! What the hel were you thinking?â€ Dave looked mortified.

â€œHey, folks, I was just kidding around. I didnâ€™t mean nothing.â€

â€œDid he touch you?â€ Iâ€™d kil him!

â€œNo.â€

â€œEven soâ€¦I imagine you report to the town council?â€ Spitz nodded for the frozen Jeffie.

â€œGood.â€ I tossed the gown back in the bureau and slammed the drawer. â€œI imagine they wil be almost as interested as Mr. Wil ingham to learn you were cavorting with his wifeâ€™s lingerie and asking their cousin what she

wears to bed at night!â€

â€œI stil donâ€™t see why yâ€™al are makinâ€™ such a fussâ€¦â€

A deputy interrupted Jeffie by marching past us and dumping three river rocks on the bed.

â€œLook what, I found on the back porch, Sheriff.â€

They were three of my four bookends-to-be. â€œThere should be a fourth, Deputy. Why didnâ€™t you bring that one in? Itâ€™s right beside the others,â€ I explained.

â€œThere wasnâ€™t no fourth. Just these three lined up along the edge of the back porch.â€

â€œOh, shit,â€ I sighed.

Jeffie laughed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

We al trailed the sheriff down to his car, where he stil had the fourth rock in a plastic bag in the trunk. It seemed a rather carefree way to handle evidence in a murder investigation.

He handed me the bag and I looked thoroughly at the rock, trying not to see the caked blood and little gobs of hair caught in the rough, almost flat underside of the rock I had once thought so pretty. It was brown with an

orange cast and a couple of yel owish areas I had found interesting.

â€œWel ,â€ I said, handing the bag back to him. â€œIt could be mine or one very much like it.â€

â€œSo you admit it is yours.â€

â€œNo, Sheriff, I admit the possibility. And even if it is mine, it was kept on the back porch with three others in plain view, as your deputy can verify. Anyone on the pathâ€”or even the mountain roadâ€”could have noticed it

and picked it up.â€

â€œAnd I can tel you,â€ Cindy added, now demure and helpful, â€œyouâ€™l find Ms.Peresâ€™ fingerprints on it, probably mine and Mr. Mel onâ€™s from the next cabin up. He noticed it and asked to look at it. And, of course, if you are

lucky, you may find the prints of the kil er.â€

â€œMel on was the one who found McCurry. He walked down early to the mailboxes to get his Sunday papers from his mailbox and saw the body. Heâ€™s the one who cal ed it in. He thought McCurry, maybe with some

drinks in him, had fal en off the bridge. Mel on said a fel ow did fal there, some years ago, and landed on his headâ€¦but he lived. Loony, but alive.â€ Dave seemed happy to provide this information, and Jeffie not pleased to

hear it.

â€œPerhaps McCurry would have survived if heâ€™d been found sooner, the night was pretty cold,â€ I put in. It was a weak effort, but any red herring in a storm, I always say.

â€œThat doesnâ€™t explain your rock being the weapon.â€

I propped my foot casual y onto the carâ€™s bumper and lit a cigarette, wil ing myself to look like a good olâ€™ mountaineer. â€œWel ,â€ I drawled, â€œmaybe itâ€™s not my rock at al . Maybe somebody saw mine and liked it and just

helped themselves to it. It could be in California by now. Maybe the one Mickey landed on was just coincidental y similar to mine.â€

â€œAnd maybe not. Law of averages makes it mighty strange you find one unusual rock somewhere in the creek and then another one just like it turns up right where Mickeyâ€™s head landedâ€¦if he did fal .â€

â€œIf we hypothesize that it was my rock, it stil makes no sense, Sheriff. There are probably dozens of rocks within reach of where he died. Why would I carry that one, which might be identified as possibly mine, down the

hil ? Why not just use one that came easily to hand?â€

â€œWho knows? Maybe it was symbolic or something.â€ He smirked.

â€œAnother question for you, Sheriff. What are those little scratches on the rock? They were not there when I picked mine up last week. They look like tiny little thumbtack scratches.â€

â€œI donâ€™t know myself. They were there when we first saw it. I was hoping you could tel us what they were.â€

I shook my head and shrugged. â€œNo. Iâ€™ve no idea. But it leads me to think that it is definitely not my rock at al . I most certainly would not have picked up one that was already marred. As I told you, we were going to use

them in the house as bookends. These marks, of course, ruin it, and prove that either it was never mine, or someone had it after I did.â€

â€œSheriff,â€ Dave Spitz added, â€œMr. and Mrs. Mel on did have guests last night. Maybe McCurry was coming up the trail as they were coming down and he made a drunken remark to one of the women and her husband

objected and they fought. The husband was losing, so one of his friends picked up the rock and hit Mickey in the back of the head, just meaning to stun. And they took him down to the bridge where he was likely to be

seen. Weâ€™l have to interview Mel on and his guests before we start coming to conclusions.â€

Johnson tightened his lips and shook his head. â€œOh, we wil do that, Dave, and we both know not a thing wil come of it.â€

I believe that was the first thing I had ever heard our Jeffie say that I heartily agreed with.

â€œDave.â€ I leaned against the windowsil . â€œDid you say he was hit in the back of the head? I thought it was the top.â€

â€œIt was the back, but almost to the topâ€”kind of where the crown of your hair grows. Why?â€

â€œWouldnâ€™t that lead you to think the assailant was shorter than Mickey? The short kil er would have been swinging his arm and reaching up. If he were as tal or tal er than Mickey, he would have lifted his arm and

brought the rock down on top of Mickeyâ€™s head. Yes?â€

Dave looked thoughtful, as if he were trying to visualize the attack. â€œI see what you mean. Iâ€™d have to check it out.â€

Johnson sighed. â€œIf weâ€™re goinâ€™ to spend the day with â€˜what-ifâ€™sâ€™ and â€˜ainâ€™t it possibles,â€™ letâ€™s go sit down. These shoes are murder.â€ He laughed at his accidental humor. I uncrossed my feet and took a step toward the

kitchen, when he held out his hand to stop me. â€œNow Ms. Peres, I bet those sneakers are comfortable. Would they maybe be Champion brand, the ones with the funny tread design?â€

â€œThey are Champions. I donâ€™t know that the tread is unusual.â€

â€œOh, it is, it is. Weâ€™ve got some pictures and a cast of a shoe just like yours, even down to the size, I think, and the photos were taken right up where McCurryâ€™s body lay. Iâ€™m going to ask you to let me borrow them,

maâ€™am. What shoes would you like Dave to get out of your suitcase in the car?â€ Sugar wouldnâ€™t melt in the bastardâ€™s mouth, now that things were going his way.

â€œAnd that print, if it is from my shoe, could have been made any time in the last week. Get my loafers, please, Dave.â€ I kicked off my sneakers and left them in the middle of the floor for Jeffie to pick up, and padded into

the kitchen,where Cindy had started another pot of coffee. I could have used something stronger, but not now. I needed al the wits I could muster.

For example, Johnson had said up near Mickeyâ€™s body. And the deputies had earlier gotten al excited about something they found up the trail. Yet the body had presumably been found down near the main road. Were

they confused? Were they not tel ing us something? Were they trying to get us confused? They had certainly succeeded, but I was damned if I would ask.

While Cindy poured us al coffee, Jeffie thought heâ€™d found a gold mine with the guns in the mudroom. Dave didnâ€™t even get up, he just cal ed. â€œBreak that shotgun and look down the barrelâ€¦and the .22 is worse.â€

Johnson came back and took a chair. â€œItâ€™s a shame to let weapons get in that shape.â€

â€œYes, it is.â€ I thought to establish a bit of rapport. â€œItâ€™s a good shotgun, and the pump-action .22 is antiqueâ€”probably a 1912 model.â€

â€œYou know your guns.â€ Jeffie looked interested. â€œYou own any?â€

â€œSeveral handguns,â€ I smiled. â€œAl in my safe at home. If I go skeet shooting, which is rare, I borrow my brotherâ€™s shotgun.â€

While Jeffie was stil pondering my col ection, Dave informed him why I had it. â€œMs. Peres is a licensed private investigator, Jeffie, and her brother is a cop.â€

Jeffie tried hard to look cordial y interested, while I would have bet he was regretting some of his morningâ€™s actions that werenâ€™t exactly according to the Police Officerâ€™s Handbook.

But I had to give him credit: he was clumsy, he was also tenacious.

â€œLadies, I would like to get your fingerprints, just for elimination purposes, on those three river rocks. Our kil er may have hefted them al before he made a choice, and hopeful y he didnâ€™t wear gloves.â€

â€œDonâ€™t forget, your deputy handled them al ,â€ I reminded him.

â€œOh, I wonâ€™t forget.â€ His smile was sour. â€œAnd neither wil he.â€ He raised his voice. â€œBailey! Get the fingerprint kit out of my car and bring it in. And when you finish with the two ladies, remember to take your own.â€

â€œTake my own?â€ The man looked confused, and then the light dawned. â€œOh, yeah. Gosh, Sheriff, Iâ€™m sorry.â€

â€œNow there you got it right. You are sorry. I guess now Iâ€™m goinâ€™ to have to try to find Sayles and Emory. I know it takes some time to cover twenty acres of property, but they been gone long enough to have a picnic and a

nap. I thank you for the coffee, Miss.â€ He was back to the Policemanâ€™s Handbook.

As he began to shuffle his obviously stil hurting feet toward the back door, he was hailed through the kitchen window.

â€œSheriff, can you please come out here? We donâ€™t want to bring this mess into the house.â€ The missing officers were heard from.

â€œStay right there!â€ Johnson bel owed, with a sideways glance at Cindy. â€œIâ€™m on my way.â€

His curiosity put a little speed in his step, and his face held a satisfied expression. What did he think they had found? Surely not another body! A cold fire with scraps of burned clothing? I hoped so: any police lab

would prove in a hurry they were not Cindyâ€™s or mine.

The sheriffâ€™s minions had al fol owed him out. Cindy and I looked at each other, shrugged and mental y agreed we had as muchâ€”moreâ€”right in the backyard than anyone else, so out we went.

The two deputies were truly a sight to behold: they were nearly covered in mud for a base coat, sprinkled liberal y with what looked like sawdust and dotted artistical y with last winterâ€™s leaves. They looked as if they had

posed for some surrealistic Jackson Pol ack painting, and their associates were enjoying one of those particularly satisfying laughs that say. â€œBetter you than me, buddy!â€

I was enjoying a laugh along with the rest, when I spotted what one man had clutched in his arms. It was a piece of dark clothing, and I thoughtâ€”fearedâ€”I knew what it was.

â€œWhat you got there, Emory, and where in the name of God did you go to find it?â€ Johnson was stil chuckling.

Emory gave an embarrassed grin. â€œWent nearly al the way up the path to the edge of Blackstone Farm. We found this just off the trail under an old pine log that was literal y rotting apartâ€¦as you can see.â€ He brushed

fruitlessly at his uniform jacket.

â€œYou stil ainâ€™t showed me what treasure was worth ruining a uniform for.â€

â€œOh, sorry.â€ The deputy held the article of clothing out at armâ€™s length. Underneath al the forest detritus was a manâ€™s blazer, dark green except where it produced a blue glint in the sunlight flickering through the smal ,

early tree leaves. In addition to being decorated much like the menâ€™s uniforms, it also held what I was certain was a large splotch of half-dried blood in the area of the right shoulder.

And I was almost certain where I had seen it last.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

â€œWel , wel .â€ Once out of the house, Johnson had lit a cigarette and now took a satisfying puff. â€œBefore it fel on hard times, Iâ€™l bet this was someoneâ€™s handsome jacket, wouldnâ€™t you say so, Ms. Hart?â€

â€œPossibly, Sheriff. Itâ€™s hard to tel . But before you ask, I do not ownâ€”never have, as I recal â€”a green blazer. I have a green sweater, but it is a much lighter green and an entirely different weave. Youâ€™l find it in the larger

Coach bag in the car.â€

â€œThe Coach?â€

â€œItâ€™s the name of the luggage, boss.â€ Dave stifled a smile. â€œWant me to get it?â€

â€œNot right now.â€ Johnson turned to me and pointed at the grime-covered blazer. â€œMs. Peres, how about you modeling this piece of finery for us?â€

â€œI wouldnâ€™t touch it, much less put it on. But if you have Deputy Emory hold it up by the shoulders, I can point some things out to you.â€ I picked up a smal fal en limb to use as pointer.

I moved closer to the ruined jacket and began my lecture. â€œYou wil note that the shoulders are too wide for me, and the sleeves at least three or four inches too long. The body of the jacket is way too long for me, it

would reach down around my knees. And I certainly do not own a jacket with a big splotch of blood on it.â€

I turned to go back to the house. I was getting tired of every possible clue being manipulated to fit Cindy or me.

Remembering one last shot, I turned back again. â€œAnd the only blazer I brought with me is navy blue. It is also, like Ms. Hartâ€™s sweater, a lightweight wool, not polyester, as I believe your dark green jacket wil prove to

be.â€

Johnson fired off some order to his deputies, and they departed, having taken Cindyâ€™s and my fingerprints. I took it more or less as a necessary nuisance. But Cindy took it very personal y. I wasnâ€™t at al sure whether

she was about to col apse into heartbroken sobs or pour boiling oil out the window over the lot of them. And Iâ€™m not sure which choice I preferred.

This left the three of us, standing on the back porch staring at each other.

â€œI got rid of my boys so we could talk in private, and I reckon your boy donâ€™t gossip much.â€ He reached down and patted Fargo. I was surprised to see a tail wag.

â€œAssuming youâ€™re not wired, Sheriff. What was it you wanted to discuss?â€

â€œFirst,â€ he admitted. â€œIâ€™m tired. I ainâ€™t slept much lately. And I got a pint of the best first-run white lightninâ€™ from a copper pot stil . You ladies may not be up on the details of making our Crooked Creek Mountain Dewâ€”but

you want a copper pot, and you want that first, smooth, sweet run. Itâ€™s a glorious experience I plan to share with you, if you got some ice and some Coke.â€

I had to laugh. I had been dying to taste some good white lightninâ€™; I was exhausted both mental y and physical y; and I figured this might just get the sheriff and me talking sense instead of can-you-top-this?

â€œSheriff, if you got the booze, we got the mixinâ€™s.â€ I brought out three glasses, two cans of chil ed Diet Coke, and put some ice in a bowl with tongs. Jeffie brought out an unlabeled pint bottle from his coat, shook it up

and turned the bottle sideways.

â€œYou see how them bubbles al float half above and half below the line of liquid? That means itâ€™s one hundred proof, so Iâ€™l let you mix your own.â€ He placed the bottle in front of me.

I poured about a shot and a half of the liquor, added about four ounces of coke and three ice cubes and let it set while Cindy made hersâ€¦about half the size of mine. Jeffie settled for more booze, less Coke and some

ice.

We clinked glasses, and I said, â€œHereâ€™s to better understanding and a fast, honest solution to this miserable case.â€

The other two said, â€œHear, hear,â€ and we drank.

I sipped my drink, and it went down like a dream. Then it kicked like a mule. It was Jack Daniels with attitude. I would watch my intake. Cindy took a tentative swal ow and did her eyebrow trick. Jeffie had a thirsty

swal ow, with no obvious reaction.

â€œOkay,â€ I said. â€œLetâ€™s talk this out. Correct me if Iâ€™m wrong. Branch sold Advantage Construction on a development for summer people and maybe some year-round people, with time-share condos and houses of

various sizes al along the private road and crest of Crooked Creek Mountain, going up around the tarn. The only holdback was getting easements to run a public road or two across various private properties.â€

â€œRight,â€ Jeffie agreed. â€œThe problem was most farmers, most current summer people and just about al of the retirees were against it. I donâ€™t think Branch had got more than three or four releases. And Advantage was

losing money by the day. So they sent McCurry up to be their closer. In al honesty, I donâ€™t think they knew what kind of man McCurry real y was. He was supposed to up the ante a little bit, explain al the benefits and money

it would bring into the vil age, and tel them how sorry they would be if they missed out on it.â€

â€œInstead they got some psycho drunkâ€”and maybe a druggie.â€ Jeffie lit a cigarette and continued. â€œEverâ€™ body Iâ€™ve talked to said he was threateningâ€”but not in a way you could cal the cops over. Like he might say,

â€˜Now, Ms. Peres think how much better for your car to have a nice paved road instead of this rutted track.â€™ And you stil wouldnâ€™t sel your right-of-way. So next morning, you got up to four flat tires and no clue who did it.â€

â€œI think he loved hurting animals,â€ Cindy added. â€œAnd Iâ€™m sure he was thril ed when someone mourned an animal they loved, like Sara or Mrs. Lauter. I would not be surprised if he got some kind of sexual kick out of it.â€

â€œI would not argue with you, maâ€™am. And the thing that scared me bad, was I was afraid he was workinâ€™ up to people, not animals. I know he had it in for Clay and Sara and the two of you, and, maybe not quite so much,

Peter Minot, since Minot was workinâ€™ for Clay, you might say.â€

â€œHow did you know that?â€ I asked.

â€œMickey hung out at the Dew Drop Inn, and he had a big mouth when he was drunk. A gal named Mildred clued me in. Sheâ€™s aâ€¦wel , she kinda hangs out there, too, and she donâ€™t miss anything. She was worried he

was going to hurt someone, and she named Clay and Sara and you two, plus Peter Minot.â€

A chil went over me, and I took a swal ow of my drink. It didnâ€™t hurt at al . I wished Cindy hadnâ€™t heard him, even though McCurry was no longer a threat. An unbalanced man was one reason we were on vacation here in

the first place. But she was not down for the count. She asked him a toughie.

â€œSheriff, youâ€™ve been in the law business for some time. Iâ€™m sure you know that most of us are fairly peaceable and rarely break any laws of consequence. But Iâ€™m equal y sure there are little legal no-nos that we al

commit which would let you arrest us on some far-fetched old law. Couldnâ€™t you have done that with Mickey? You could have safely locked him up til somebody either sued him or Advantage got him out of town. You didnâ€™t

do that, and many bad things happened, including, actual y, his own death.â€

â€œYes, maâ€™am I admit to that.â€ He paused and poured himself and me a smal dividend. I added lots of Coke and ice. Cindy just covered her glass. â€œWhy, weâ€™ve got a law on the books that I can arrest you for not

attending church on Sunday. Thereâ€™s another that prohibits social contact with people of dubious morals, whatever that may be these days. But I didnâ€™t enforce none of them. I knew heâ€™d be out on bail in an hour or so, and

likely to be more violent than ever. Unless I could have proved something serious, I thought it was safer to just watch himâ€¦or try to.â€

I believed there was some truth in what the lawman said, but I stil wondered if the person he most wanted to protect from Mickeyâ€™s wrath wasnâ€™t himself.

â€œSheriff.â€ Cindy had had enough of this waltz. â€œI know you are a busy man. Is there something you wanted to ask us?â€

He took a deep breath, like one final y facing something he had thus far managed to avoid.

â€œNot ask, maâ€™am: tel . First of al , I looked through Mr. Wil inghamâ€™s bil s and canceled checks for anything which might have indicated blackmail or even an attempt to buy off McCurry once Ken heard what al he was

doing. And second, I want to apologize about your cousinâ€™s nightgown. You looked so pale and sad, I thought maybe it would look sil y and youâ€™d get a laugh out of it. Iâ€™m sorry.â€

Cindy looked as if she couldnâ€™t make up her mind whether to lace into him or burst into tears. I thought Iâ€™d better rescue her from either choice.

â€œI must say, Jeffie, you did look a sight. You might keep that getup in mind for Hal oween. Now whatâ€™s real y on your mind? What can we clarify for you?â€

He gave me a serious, almost paternal look. â€œItâ€™s what I need to tell you, Ms. Peres, not ask you. Please let me finish; then we can talk about any disagreements you have. Okay?â€

â€œOkay,â€ we chorused.

â€œDoc El is says Mickey died between two and five a.m. Itâ€™s hard to pin it down. The night was chil y, and he was lying partly in the creek, which was also cold. I doubt if twenty people in Beulaland have an alibi for that

time. Most of them would say they were asleep with their other halfâ€”and whoâ€™s to say nay?â€

He smiled and continued. â€œ For example, your coat check from the Bromfield Inn was time-stamped for 12:03 a.m. Assuming you came straight home, you were here in no more than ten minutes, so you would probably

tel me you were sound asleep between two and five.â€

We both nodded, although the phrase â€œsound asleepâ€ would hardly describe our restless night.

â€œNow, Doc El is is doing an autopsy as we speak, but earlier this morning he told me something interesting. He says that many times a person with a serious head wound wil remain semi-conscious, or wil regain

consciousness. Sometimes for hours, usual y for maybe half an hour or less. During this time they may carry on intel igent speech with another person, although usual y they babble to themselves. Sometimes they remain

where they were struckâ€”or fel â€”other times they may wander or walk with a purpose, such as returning to their home. Eventual y they lose consciousness again, or die. Now bear that in mind for later.â€

Cindy and I gave each other a look that passed for a shrug. Very interesting tidbit, but hardly anything to do with us. But our sheriff was far from finished.

â€œNow hereâ€™s how I think your evening ended. You arrived home a little after twelve, to find McCurry waiting nearby. He attacked you, Ms. Peres, wanting to get even for the morning at the Del y, and you two fought. He

was stronger than you, and when he hit you in the face, you went down. Meantime, however, Ms. Hart had spotted the river rocks and picked one up. His back was to you, maâ€™am, and you hit him in the head with the rock,

hoping to stun him until the two of you could get in the house, or perhaps back to your car. You got up, Alex, and looked at Mickey. He was obviously much more than stunned. In fact, you thought him dead.â€

This would have made a hel uva TV story if Cindy and I had not been starring in it. And I was having trouble staying quiet. Cindy looked mesmerized.

Jeffie took a drink and lit a cigarette. Inspired, I fol owed suit, as he went on with our presumed actions.

â€œYou didnâ€™t want a body on your doorstep, and you didnâ€™t want blood on your clothes. Between Miss Cindyâ€™s probable efforts and the heavy rain, we found no blood on or near the house. Weâ€™l never know for sure if it

was there or not. But we will know about the gray fibers al around where you dragged his body and laid it down by a tree, up where the trail turns, wonâ€™t we, Alex? You even remembered to take the rock and place it near

his head, like he fel on it. And we found your footprint there also, probably shielded by his body from any rain stil fal ing, so we got a good print...good enough to see if you either have a worn place on the side of one shoe

or you slipped in the mud.â€

â€œGray? I thought you said green. The blazer they found earlier wasnâ€™t gray. Not the one I saw. And Iâ€™ve been up and down that trail half a dozen times in the last few days. If itâ€™s my footprint, it isnâ€™t new. What are you

pul ing here?â€

I had sort of fal en for his gentle approach, but he was trying mousetraps again.

And Jeffieâ€™s mild avuncular attitude was fading fast.

â€œIâ€™m pul ing damned henâ€™s teeth tryinâ€™ to get you two to tel me exactly what you did. You keep sayinâ€™ Iâ€™m wrong, but you ainâ€™t come up with anything you say is right.â€

â€œLetâ€™s try once more, then,â€ Cindy said reasonably. â€œWe did not kil or injure him. The last time we saw him was at the Del y the morning he threw me against the tableâ€”and Alex took lovely pictures of the bruises. Peter

Minot wil have a set in his mail Monday.â€

She picked up her drink, sniffed it and put it down. â€œTo continue, we have already told youâ€”McCurry was not here when we arrived home shortly after twelve. The dog ran around the yard and found no one and no odors

of interest. Once in the house, Alex col ared the dog and I picked up the fire tongs and we went from room to room. McCurry was not here, and from Fargoâ€™s reactions, had not been here.â€

â€œWe had some brandy to calm down and went to bed. So, Sheriff.â€ I shrugged. â€œIf McCurry was kil ed near this building, it was before we got home. Had we been here, we might have slept through whatever kind of fight

went on, but Fargo would not. And just for the record, my gray blazer is in Provincetown. The only blazer I have here is navy blue wool. To the best of my knowledge, Cindy has no gray blazer anywhere.â€

â€œOh, itâ€™l turn up somewhere, Iâ€™m not worried about that. But just to finish our little play here. Alex, I think you about got back to the house, when you heard something behind you. I think Mickey had woke upâ€”like Doc El is

says they sometimes doâ€”and was staggering down the trail. In his mind he might have been trying to get to his car, or might even have been coming here for help, forgettinâ€™ it was one of you who had hit him in the first

place.â€

He lit his last cigarette and winged the crumpled pack into the wastebasket.

â€œYou couldnâ€™t let him just go on, so you yel ed for Cindyâ€™s help. And she gave you that old green coat she was wearing, which she had found, probably tossed by who knows into the mudroom. You pul ed it on and

supported Mickey on down the hil , hoping to get him into his car. But we saw a badly mashed shrub about halfway there and guessed he final y fel . After that, you carried him to a level spot near the road and laid him out

again, like he fel . Either you put his face in the water to make sure he stayed put, or he moved and accidental y did it himself. Anyway, Iâ€™m pretty sure Doc wil find he drowned. Then you went back to the first place, walked

around until you found a log where you could hide your coat, then got your rock, and put it by him. Case closed.â€

I was almost tempted to laugh, and to cover it turned and asked Cindy to make some coffee.

â€œCase crazy.â€ I told him. â€œJeffie, I am in fairly good shape, but Mickey was a heavy man. Not fat, muscle. Maybe I could have dragged him up the trail. But heâ€™s my height and solidly built. Iâ€™m not at al sure I could do it.

And I can tel you, I could not carry him from here to the back door! And then trot a half-mile up the trail to get the rock, run down again to put it near him and come back up the trail to the house? Next youâ€™l have me leaping

tal buildings in a single bound! And after al this, you are saying he drowned? If you got this as far as a courtroom, the jury would be rol ing on the floor.â€

The bastard just smiled and looked smug.

I thought of another point to burst his thick bal oon. â€œYouâ€™l have to send a bunch of stuff to your county forensics people. That wil not only take time, it wil prove you wrong.â€

â€œOh.â€ He gave me a sweet smile. â€œIt wonâ€™t take long at al , our own forensics department wil have it put together in a day or so, and Doc El is is doing the autopsy.â€

â€œYou have a forensics department?â€ I couldnâ€™t believe it.

â€œYep. One of our girls is pretty darn good at stuff like this.â€

Cindy careful y handed me a mug of coffee and got back into action. â€œOne of your girls? How old is she, fifteen?â€

â€œFifâ€¦oh, I see. Pardon me. The young woman is thirtyish. Have to have a couple of female deputies these days or weâ€™d be in trouble. Anyhow, Gloria is fascinated by it and has read a lot on the subject.â€ He actual y

looked proud.

â€œOh, God,â€ Cindy murmured. I about choked on my coffee.

â€œNow Iâ€™m not about to arrest you ladies today. I know the case is a little wobbly in spots. They wil be cleared up shortly, however. And I am tel ing you: do not leave town. I mean it. You wil not get a hundred miles. And I

assure you, you are much more comfortable here than in our little jail. Good-day, ladies, Iâ€™l be in touch.â€

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

We sat and looked silently at each other for a few minutes. Then Cindy snapped into cleaning mode.

â€œThrow those terrible drinks outâ€”they are poisonousâ€”and put the glasses in the dishwasher. And wash those ashtrays.â€ She, in the meantime, was scrubbing the white pine kitchen table as if she were removing the

Ebola virus. I tried the vacuum in the living room, but it was far from a total success. Professionals would indeed be needed. As I finishedâ€”or gave upâ€”she came in, plumped and straightened the sofa pil ows and

plopped onto it.

â€œWel , Mr. Moto missed a big fat clue that would have yanked the filthy rug out from under our calm nightâ€™s sleep story.â€

â€œWhatâ€™s that?â€ I felt drained and groggy.

â€œWhen he came into the living room this morning, the sofa was a mess, where the three of us had tried to sleep on it, and the bed in our room was neat as a pin, where I had made itâ€¦ yesterday morning.â€

â€œSo it was. I just had my mind on getting the gun out of his way.â€

â€œYes. You know, this whole plot of Johnsonâ€™s would have me thinking I was living in a sequel to Weekend at Bernieâ€™s, if it werenâ€™t so serious. Changing clothes, running up and down the trail dragging and carrying a body

thatâ€™s not a body, going back for the rock. Itâ€™s Keystone Kops al the way.â€

I wasnâ€™t so sure. There was a dul ache in the back of my head where certain little ideas were trying to take shape. If I were absolutely sure we would not be arrested I might have simply crossed them al off. A bad,

dangerous man was dead, frankly that bothered me not at al . But if I did nothing there was bound to be publicity of a type that would tie Cindy to Ken and certainly damage his political ambitions and, to a lesser extent, not

do Sonny any good either. Cindy and I, of course, would have our fifteen minutes in the spotlightâ€”and not in a flattering manner.

In al probability, we would eventual y be released for lack of evidence. Of course, that was not proof of innocence. It was just that nothing criminal could be proven. Or, if it went to trial, a good defense lawyer, whom I

knew Ken would provide, could probably make a fool out of the local prosecutor. On the other hand, however, juries were fickle. A good solid Baptist jury might not be too anxious to believe two interfering furrinersâ€”and

lesbians to boot.

I had some serious thoughts about one piece of evidence, but had trouble letting my mind even drift in that direction. It was painful and seemed somehow unfair.

Cindy was staring at me. â€œYou were a mil ion miles away.â€

â€œYeah, I guess I was.â€

â€œAnything I can do?â€

â€œNo, I think Iâ€™m just overtired.â€

â€œGee, I wonder why?â€ She gave me her gamin grin. â€œAl that running up and down the mountain lugging a body alongâ€¦I never knew you had it in you. But if you are okay, Iâ€™m going to go cal Ken. I donâ€™t want him to hear

this in some public way.â€

â€œGood idea. I think when youâ€™re finished, Iâ€™d better cal Sonny. I donâ€™t think he can do anything, but he should know whatâ€™s happening and why we are not going to get home on time.â€

Returning to the living room, Cindy looked white and worn out. But she was smiling. â€œKen is livid that we have even been on Jeffieâ€™s short list. He says donâ€™t let him back in the house, that thereâ€™s a shotgun if you need it.

I didnâ€™t tel him the shape itâ€™s in. And heâ€™s going to cal my parentsâ€”I told him I didnâ€™t have the nerve. And he says heâ€™l be here by noon tomorrow.â€

â€œMaybe Iâ€™l clean it for him later. Itâ€™s the least I can do for al the grief weâ€™ve given him. Wel , let me go cal big bro. I donâ€™t look forward to this.â€

Actual y Sonny proved understanding and comforting, until he said, â€œYou know Iâ€™l have to tel Mom.â€ That brought the first tears I had shed over this mess, and brought fast replies and fast goodbyes from my brother who

couldnâ€™t stand weeping women. â€œI wonâ€™t alarm her, donâ€™t worry, everything wil be fine, I wil see you sometime tomorrow. Donâ€™t panic. So long.â€ Click.

Sonny certainly had no legal authority in Tennessee, but God, I was glad he was coming down. Cassie would probably fly him. If she couldnâ€™t, he had sounded like he might turn to the Air National Guard. He could

frequently be a know-it-al big brotherâ€”but from the time since I had been old enough to yel for help, he had never, ever let me down.

With our numbers about to grow, we made up the bed for Ken in the master bedroom, one for Sonny in the guest room and the two twins in little Frances Jr.â€™s fril y pink room for us. I would feel like an oversized

Cinderel a, but hopeful y we wouldnâ€™t occupy it for long. Next we put out towels and assorted toiletries. We were glad of something to do.

When we finished, we realized the sun was low, and the deck too chil y to be comfortable. I made a fire in the fireplace while Cindy took the last filets mignon out of the freezer and cut up a salad for later. I set the dining

table. We were being determinedly normal.

I heard steps on the deck and squared my shoulders to turn the sheriff away. But instead of a beer-bel y man in a sloppy uniform, I saw a rather handsome young man in a light gray suit, a black vest and a backward

col ar. Probably a matter of car trouble and he needed a phone. Cel s worked intermittently here, and land lines were stil much in demand.

I opened the door. â€œHel o, Father, can we be of assistance?â€

â€œHel o. Iâ€™m Vicar Alan Reed Hampton of St. Lukeâ€™s Episcopal Church in Elizabethtonâ€¦but please cal me Alan, and you must be Alex.â€

â€œAhâ€”yes, yes, Iâ€™m Alex Peres. But how did you know?â€

â€œFrom your Aunt Mae. She is concerned that you and Cindy have been beaten and thrown into some old Confederate dungeon, eating moldy corn pone and drinking water with tadpoles in it.â€ He was trying to look

serious, but his dark brown eyes danced, and his lips twitched.

I laughed aloud. â€œThatâ€™s Aunt Mae, al right. But I only spoke with my brother about an hour ago. How did she get hold of you so soon?â€

â€œThrough the Bishop of East Tennessee. She apparently doesnâ€™t start at the bottom.â€

â€œOh, good grief!â€ I stood aside. â€œDo come in, Alan. I hope you havenâ€™t been put to a lot of trouble. And hereâ€™s Cindy Hartâ€”Cindy meet Vicar Alan Reed Hampton. Alan has been sent from Aunt Mae, via the bishop of this

area, to check on our welfareâ€”or lack thereof.â€

Cindy shook her head. â€œThat woman could penetrate the Kremlin if she set her mind to it. Bless her heart, she real y is a love. We were just about to have a glass of wine. Wil you join us? White or red?â€

â€œWhite if itâ€™s handy, red if it isnâ€™t. But, seriously, are you two al right? Why on earth is Johnson thinking of you two as suspects?â€

We told him, and when we finished he was leaned back in his chair wiping his eyes and laughing aloud. Final y he sobered.

â€œI hate to laugh at a manâ€™s death. Even such a one as this McCurry. But this sounds more like a marathon than a murder! Your dragging a body up a mountainside and then having it come to life and walk partway down.

Then you casual y carry the corpse again down the mountain and go up one more time to get a rock! I run five miles a day and I tel you, I could not do al that if I had to. I cannot believe this tale wil ever come to court!â€

â€œThatâ€™s what Ken says,â€ Cindy added.

â€œThatâ€™s also what my brother says, heâ€™s a cop back home. He and Ken wil both be here tomorrow, by the way. Look, Alan, we are about to have a dividend of wine and a little dinner. Wonâ€™t you join us? Youâ€™ve been so

kind to come out here, and we real y do appreciate it.â€

â€œIt has been my pleasure, but I must get back for Evensong. I know you have both been going through a terrible time. This is when faith grows faint, but try not to lose it. God hasnâ€™t gone away, heâ€™s just a little dim behind

the cloud of human ignorance and meanness. He is with you. Be of good cheer. Iâ€™l report to Aunt Mae later tonight.â€ He shook hands with both of us and started out. â€œLet me know if I can be of helpâ€¦of any variety.â€œ

â€œIâ€™l walk you to your car,â€ I offered.

â€œWhy, thank you.â€

As soon as we were out of earshot from Cindy, I cleared my throat. â€œAh, Alan, I need to talk to you in, uh, your professional position. Can you promise this wil go no further?â€

â€œWeâ€™l consider it a confessional, so my lips are sealed. Whatâ€™s troubling you? What have you gone and done?â€

â€œItâ€™s more what I havenâ€™t done than what I have,â€ I answered. â€œI know some things and am pretty sure I know some others that would wreak havoc on Jeffieâ€™s theory of how this kil ing went down. And to reveal part of it

seems criminal in itself; remember the book To Kill a Mockingbird?â€

â€œYes, very wel . Do you want to tel me what mockingbird you feel you would be kil ing?â€

I lit a cigarette and offered him one. He looked around guiltily and then took it.

â€œOkay,â€ I said. â€œItâ€™s like this.â€ And I told him. When I finished, his face looked grave and pained.

â€œLord, Alex, what a burden youâ€™ve been carrying! I donâ€™t know much about criminal law, so remember that my advice to you wil be based on some laws I do know about. Since you have not shared these facts and

possibilities with Cindy, if you keep quiet about al this, she has no vote in what you doâ€”although she is equal y suspect in Johnsonâ€™s mind. You place her in jeopardy, when she might not wish to be there, especial y since

she is suspected of delivering the fatal blow to McCurryâ€™s head. You and she would be tried, technical y by your peers, but actual y by people who are very different from you.â€

I fieldstripped my cigarette and tucked the filter in my pocket.

â€œI thought of that. I just figured it was so ludicrous weâ€™d never be convicted.â€

â€œBut you would be tried. Think what that would put you both throughâ€¦not only your presumed actions against McCurry, but your personal lives as wel . Any trial makes the tried look bad. Would your clients continue to

trust you with their personal problems? Would Cindyâ€™s clients trust her not simply to put them in the investments that gave her the largest commission?â€

We reached his car and he jabbed the cigarette in the ashtray. He sat in the driverâ€™s seat with the door open. I leaned against the door.

â€œYour families are already suffering,â€ he pointed out, â€œBut letâ€™s cast a wider net. The people you are protecting may know or guess you covered for them. This would make them feel indebted to youâ€¦for life! Although

they could never thank you. And they would always wonder if someday you might tel the truth. And they would grow to hate you, because they were desperately afraid of you.â€

â€œOh, hel , Alan!â€ I hit my fist on the top of the car. â€œI certainly donâ€™t want to risk Cindy. I love her very much. But Mickey was such a bastard, it just seemed unfair to rat on someone who was trying to keep Mickey from

kil ing somebody even if he was an angel with kind of dirty wings...oh, you know what I mean. And the other person, I strongly believe, was honestly trying to help Mickey survive.â€

â€œYou can make those feelings quite plain to the police and to the defense lawyers, Alex. This is a bit more serious than catching me at age twelve having a cigarette behind the gym and not tel ing the teacher. And when

you take the oath on the Bible, to tel the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truthâ€¦you wonâ€™t have to cross your fingers.â€ He smiled.

He reached out and took my hand. â€œDonâ€™t answer me, Alex. You may need to think about this, but ask yourself: Am I doing this because it is rightâ€¦or because it seems noble, and I wil feel good about myself? Now, I

real y donâ€™t mean to rush, but I am running very late. God bless you.â€

â€œYeah. Good night.â€

I walked slowly back up to the cabin, boiling. Smarmy jerk throws a curve and then drives away. I wasnâ€™t being noble. I just felt probably one of them had saved my life and Cindyâ€™s, and the other had been a good

Samaritan with muddled results. Iâ€™d had some childish idea weâ€™d al laugh about it someday, but, of course, that would never happen. Alan hit that one square and hard.

In a yearâ€™s time Iâ€™d bet one or the other of them would tel someone and that would open the floodgates. And if I had beat the murder charge, Iâ€™d be re-arrested for perjury. And Cindy would hate meâ€¦but I would have

acted nobly.

How could I ever explain why I ratted? Then a thought hit me: Iâ€™d send them both to Alan for priestly wisdom. I was grinning as I crossed the deck.

Cindy was touching up the fire as I entered. â€œWel , welcome home, my dear. I was beginning to think you might have decided to make your annual appearance at church.â€

â€œI needed some advice, and I got itâ€”in spades. I felt like a fool. Except I stil feel bad, no longer being the fool. I feel guilty as hel , but Iâ€™m relieved at knowing what I should do and why I didnâ€™t. And I feel better about you.â€

Leaning against the mantel, she nodded sagely. â€œThatâ€™s one of the things I love about you, Alex, you express your deepest feelings so clearly.â€

â€œIâ€™m glad youâ€™re so calm about it al . I thought you might be pissed.â€

She lifted the wine bottle from the ice bucket and fil ed our glasses. Handing me mine, she pointed toward the sofa and said, â€œSit!â€

Fargo and I both moved to the couch and sat. â€œNow,â€ Cindy ordered, â€œtel me what the hel you are talking about. Iâ€™ve heard people speaking Chinese that made as much sense.â€

I told her.

When I finished, she shook her head in wonderment. â€œI told you when we first met: the thing that would always cause me the biggest problem with you was your damn masochistic sense of honor! You are a good

person, Alex. There is no need intermittently to nail yourself to a cross to prove it!â€

â€œI never thought it would go to trial,â€ I countered.

â€œYou never thought. About me. About how things like that never stay a secret. About our families. About how much fun weâ€™d have scrubbing floors, as that would be about the only job we could get! And where was your

honor going to be when you lied in court?â€

â€œThatâ€™s about what Alan said. But I wouldnâ€™t have lied, I would just have stayed quiet.â€

Cindy laughed. â€œYou couldnâ€™t stay quiet if you were gagged. Thank God for those three-name baritone Episcopal ministers!â€

â€œFor what kind of ministers?â€

â€œThree-name. Havenâ€™t you ever noticed? Episcopal ministers al have three names. Alan Reed Hampton. Ours at home was Robert Malcolm Seale. The one in Ptown is James Winston Hockney. And they always have

these lovely wel -modulated baritone voices.â€

â€œYeah, so?â€

â€œNothing, I just thought of it. Now, may I assume that since you have solved the McCurry Mystery, you wil share it with our two relatives tomorrow, so they may tel Jeffie to buzz off?â€ She threw her wineglass into the

fireplace with a crash.

â€œCindy! â€

â€œWeâ€™l buy them a new setâ€”now that we wonâ€™t have to do it by mail order through the Wardenâ€™s office.â€

â€œOh, okay.â€ I stood, took aim and added my shards to hers. Then I pul ed her onto the sofa beside me.

With Fargo stil obediently sitting at one end, it was a bit crowded for what I had in mind. â€œGet down, Fargo.â€

He gave me a dirty look that clearly said, â€œNag, nag, nag!â€

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

â€œLetâ€™s have breakfast at Gertrudeâ€™s,â€ Cindy suggested. â€œWe have to get the papers anyway. And we canâ€™t just hide. God knows how long weâ€™l be stuck here.â€

â€œHopeful y about an hour after the troops arrive. Yeah, letâ€™s go.â€

The rain was long gone and the sun was a bright yel ow towel, rapidly drying the freshly bathed trees and meadows. It seemed impossible to have troubles on a day like this.

We picked up the papers at the Grandma and Grandpa store and waited while they went out to the car to greet Fargo. He was the spittinâ€™ image, we had been told several times, of a dog they had owned years ago.

And a champion he had been!

At Gertrudeâ€™s the local regulars we had come to know by sight, mostly greeted us as usual. To a few, we had become invisible. Gertrude was ful of cheer. As she escorted us to a table, she advised us in a stentorian

whisper, â€œDonâ€™t worry about nothing! Theyâ€™l never find a jury in this county that would convict you!â€

I gave her what felt like a sickly smile, and Cindy muttered something I didnâ€™t catch. We didnâ€™t have much left to sayâ€”to each other or anyone else. We mainly hid behind the Sunday Timesâ€”a day late but welcome.

Fargo later received a generous doggie bag.

Shortly before one oâ€™clock I was not surprised to see a car pul in with Ken sitting in the front passenger seat and two menâ€”one in ful State Patrol regaliaâ€”climbing out of the back. I was, however, surprised and

delighted to see my brother unfolding himself from the driverâ€™s seat. How had they connected?

There were hugs and kisses al around from Ken and Sonny. We were introduced to a Dr. Thalman, a forensic specialist, who said to cal him Ray. And to the State Patrolâ€™s Captain Vonley, of the criminal investigation

unit, who didnâ€™t say what to cal himâ€”obviously â€œCaptainâ€ would suffice.

We learned that Cassie had indeed brought Sonny down, but could not stay due to a charter early Tuesday morning. She sent her love. Ken and his companions had flown in also, and the group had met at the car

rental office in Elizabethton. They had stopped for an early lunch at a place Ken knew that had great ribsâ€”which took me a moment to understandâ€”so we neednâ€™t worry about feeding themâ€”which was fortunate.

Ken and Sonny asked for a beer. The Captain nobly requested coffee. I took a beer. Cindy poured two coffees. We retired to the living room, where Ken looked with dismay at his carpet.

â€œDamn fool Jeffie! Did he real y think youâ€™d be dumb enough to burn a bunch of clothes in the house you were living in?â€

â€œPeople under great stress are not always logical,â€ Vonley pontificated. â€œBut personal y,â€ he said with a grin. â€œIâ€™d send him the cleaning bil .â€ I liked him a little better.

â€œWel .â€ Vonley set his cup on the coffee table. â€œCindy, Alex, I got a tale from Ken that sounded absolutely lunatic. Please tel me what actual y happened.â€

â€œWel , first, I think you should know the story you wil get from the sheriff,â€ Cindy began. â€œHe thinks we returned from the Bromfield Inn around midnight and discovered McCurry lurking in a bush. He and Alex grappled, he

hit her in the face and she went down. He was off-balance for a moment, with his back to me. I grabbed one of the river rocks we were going to take home for bookends and hit him in the back of the head to stun him. But

he didnâ€™t move and I couldnâ€™t feel a pulse. So we figured I had kil ed him.â€

I lit a cigarette. Everyone looked pained but Sonny, who reached for my pack.

Ray reached for the door to the deck.

I took up the tale. â€œI managed to get up and dragged the presumed corpse up the trail to the creek. I laid him down near the water where it was exceptional y muddy, as if he had slipped, fal en and hit his head. I went

back to the house, got the rock and placed it by his head. I then took off the gray blazer they insist I was wearing and hid it somewhere. They have not found it yet, Johnson says.â€

Taking a sip of beer, I continued. â€œThere are numerous shrubs and some blackberry bushes along the way. Johnson says his deputies found fibers on them that wil match McCurryâ€™s chino shirt and pants plus some gray

ones that wil match my blazer. I do own such a jacket, but itâ€™s in Massachusetts. I had just arrived back at the cabin from wherever I went to hide the blazer, when Mickey staggered down the path, muttering to himself.â€

â€œEver helpful,â€ Cindy said with a smile, â€œI ripped off a big old green coat I had found in the mudroom and had worn as I policed the area for blood or anything. I gave it to Alex to keep blood from his head wound off her

clothes, and she began to support Mickey as they went down the path toward where the creek goes under the main road.â€

â€œI donâ€™t remember any green coat in there,â€ Ken interrupted.

â€œThere wasnâ€™t one in the cabin, that part was al Jeffie, Iâ€™l explain later,â€ I answered. â€œAnyway partway down the trail thereâ€™s a crushed bush which tel s Jeffie that Mickey fel into it, and from here on, I carried the hundred and-eighty-pound babbling corpse down the hil and placed him by the creek. Jeffie says either I put him where he would breathe some water, or he moved. Anyway, I then remembered the bloody rock with hair stuck in it,

went up the trail, got it, came down the trail and put it beside him and went up the trail past the house. Nearly at Blackstone Farm, I shoved the green coat under a rotting log, where it was found, covered in leaves, dirt, etc

â€”plus a splotch of blood. They also found a footprint they say matches my sneakers near the first place Mickey was laid out.â€

â€œAs Jeffie then said: Case closed.â€ Cindy gave a little bow from the sofa.

â€œFunny, Alex,â€ Vonley said, â€œyou donâ€™t look like an Olympic wrestler.â€

Ray laughed. â€œIâ€™m not sure even one of them could have done al that. You say he weighed one-eighty, Alex?â€

â€œClose to it. He was almost exactly my height, but square-built and very muscular. I imagine he worked out a lot.â€

We gravitated toward the deck. Ken went to the kitchen and came back with crackers and a slab of Stilton we had bought. We al refreshed our drinks. Swal owing a sizable bite, Vonley muttered, â€œOkay, ladies what

real y happened?â€

I began.â€œWe were at the Bromfield with two friends we had made here in town. Later I ran into Branch Redford and had a drink with him in the bar. He had had a few, but wasnâ€™t real y drunk. He was upset about

Mickeyâ€™s actions and obviously afraid of what else he might do. Mickey was particularly, Branch told me, angry at Clay and Sara and us for putting a wrench in his works. Branch got a phone cal from a woman cal ed

Mildred at the Dew Drop Inn. He had hired her to â€˜be niceâ€™ to Mickey, hoping that would keep him entertained overnight. I judged from the cal she was refusing to go to a motel with him; he had already slapped her around

and got bounced out of the Dew Drop, and she was scared of him.â€

I grabbed the last morsel of Stilton and talked around it. â€œBranch said Mickey was a loose cannon, and he was the only man left holding a rope. He wished for Marines. He had begged Jeffie to arrest Mickey on any

kind of charge and hold him til this morning, but Jeffie said he had no reason to. Then Branch squared his shoulders and said something like, â€˜Here goes St. George to find the dragon. Wish me luck.â€™ Wel , when St.

George found the dragon, he kil ed him.â€

â€œThatâ€™s not proof of anything!â€ Vonley exploded.

â€œI know, but itâ€™s indicative of how he saw himself: he had to save Mickeyâ€™s would-be victims. Also add thisâ€”two things I final y remembered. Branch was wearing a gray blazer and, I think, gray pants. He also had on

sneakers of the same brand and design as mine. I had noticed them once before. And that night, dancing with him, I noticed them again. What particularly got my attention was how smal his hands and feet wereâ€”almost

delicate. Heâ€™s about Cindyâ€™s height, but his hands and feet are smal , even for a short man. And if you find the sneakers, I think one of them wil have a worn spot on the edge of the sole.â€

â€œNow there, my good Captain, you have something!â€ Ken sounded very relieved.

â€œItâ€™s enough for a search warrant, at least,â€ Vonley admitted. â€œHow did the actual fatal blow come about?â€

â€œI donâ€™t know. But a good guess would be: Branch was driving up to his sisterâ€™s to see that al was wel . He either saw something or just stopped on impulse to see if the cabin had been entered. Mickey was here and

he wasnâ€™t afraid of Branch, he held him in contempt. He would not have been leery that Branch would hurt him. Branch found opportunity to hit Mickey with the rock to stun him, so he could cal the cops to arrest him for

trespass. But for whatever reason, he thought he had kil ed him. Rather than leave him near the cabin, he dragged him up the trail to the creekside and placed the rock nearby. He probably went home, thinking Mickey was

out of things for good.â€

â€œItâ€™s al possible,â€ Sonny agreed. â€œHow did you get that black eye, by the way?â€

â€œLater. Itâ€™s al Fargoâ€™s fault.â€

â€œThe dog ate your homework, eh? Wel , go ahead. How did this peripatetic corpse get down the trail?â€

Cindy returned to the deck wearing a sweater and bringing one for me. As I put it on, she took up the narrative.

â€œThe sheriff told us some story about people with head wounds suddenly regaining consciousness. They carry on conversations, sometimes walk around and sometimes even get back to their homes. I donâ€™t know if

thereâ€™s a word of truth in it. He says a Dr. El is told him aboutâ€”â€

Ray interrupted. â€œItâ€™s quite true. And Iâ€™ve known Butch El is since med school. He could have been chief surgeon at any hospital you could name, but he married a nurse who didnâ€™t like big cities any more than he did. So

they opened a smal clinic here. He is a fine doctor.â€

â€œIâ€™m glad to hear it,â€ Cindy nodded. â€œBecause what we think happened depended on that. We think Tommy Blackstone was walking up the trail. Why he was walking in the pouring rain while his mother had a perfectly

good SUV we have not guessed. Anyway, at some point he met Mickey stumbling down the trail, and we think he was probably muttering something about getting to his car. Tommy supported him, headed down to the

main road where Mickeyâ€™s car was found. Once again, cloth fibers were al over the place.â€ She took one of her rare cigarettes.

I wrapped it up.

â€œAt some point we guess Mickey passed out and fel into the brush, and Tommy carried him the rest of the way to where he was found. He obviously had spotted either the wound or the rock or both, because at some

point he brought the rock down, placing it near Mickey. He may have thought Mickey had hit his head and now diedâ€¦maybe he had.â€

â€œHow do you know it was Tommy?â€ Ken asked. â€œI hate to see him mixed up in a kil ing. It wil destroy Sara.â€

â€œAt the Bromfield Inn earlier, he was al dressed up,â€ I answered, â€œand his jacket was dark green with blue glints in it. Then a deputy found one that looks like it and seems to be about Tommyâ€™s size.â€

Cindy patted Kenâ€™s arm. â€œDonâ€™t worry about Tommy. Al he did was try to help. If he hurt Mickey in any way it certainly was accidental.â€

â€œWel .â€ Vonley grinned. â€œYouâ€™ve told a story somewhat more believable than Jeffieâ€™s, if the evidence holds up. And you have accounted for everyone but yourselves.â€

â€œOh,â€ I felt myself blushingâ€¦damn, always at the most inauspicious times. â€œOh, our night was frightening but uneventful except for my black eye. We left the Bromfield about midnight. It had final y stopped raining but was

stil wet as hel when we approached the cabin. We were scared to death Mickey was around somewhere. I let Fargo out of the car. He made no fuss about anything. We explored the whole house inside and outâ€¦no

Mickey.â€

I said nothing about the pistol. It was so old I doubted it was registered, and we had not been forced to use it, so why mention it?

Cindy grinned at Ken. â€œWe raided your good brandy and I made coffee to go with it. Fargo whined to go out and startled me. I spun around and clocked Alex with a mug.â€

â€œSo you say.â€ Sonny teased.

â€œIâ€™m sticking to my story,â€ she fired back. â€œAfter ice packs and brandy the three of us piled on to the sofa. We tried to stay awake til daybreak, but kept dozing off until the police sirens woke Alex. We thought it was a

traffic accident on the main road until Jeffie arrived on the doorstep.â€

â€œAnd from there it was al downhil ,â€ Vonley finished for her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

We were stuck in Beulaland until Tuesday late afternoon. I knew it was not a long time, at al , to wrap up a murder case; and God knows everyone involved was moving at top speed. But to those two of us who were

prohibited from leaving, it lasted an eon.

Vonley, who had gotten around to tel ing us to cal him Lewis, decided to make his headquarters the cabin instead of the town jail. The jail was smal and crowded, he explained, and any questions asked or information

given would be al over town in an hour. And anyway, it didnâ€™t have Cindyâ€™s great coffee. Actual y, I felt I was the coffee expert, but I was glad to let her accept this election.

The captain then got Jeffie on the phone, chewed him out for not reporting the murderâ€”if it stil was oneâ€”and told him to get a search warrant for Branchâ€™s quarters at Clayâ€™s house. The search warrant was to be

carried out by the two female deputiesâ€”specifical y looking for a gray blazer, gray pants and Champion sneakers. Two other deputies were to find and arrest Branch for assault and bring him to the cabin. Johnson was

also to send Deputy Spitzâ€”and only Spitzâ€”to find Tommy Blackstone and request his presence at the cabin. He was also to offer to bring along Tommyâ€™s mother.

He had the speakerphone on in the dining room, and I could hear Jeffie sputtering and â€œbutâ€¦butâ€¦but-ingâ€ like a faulty outboard. Lewis simply said, â€œStay where I can reach you,â€ and hung up.

Earlier I had suggested to Vonley that Johnson not be included in Tommyâ€™s interview. â€œTommy and Sara would in al probability talk to you,â€ I told him, â€œand would doubtless feel reassured if Ken were presentâ€”or even

me, if Ken wants to stay wel clear of this mareâ€™s nest. But Jeffie has the unreciprocated hots for Sara, and neither mother nor son particularly like or trust him.â€

Lewis nodded thoughtful y. At least he was a good enough cop to listen!

Ray had a joyous telephone reunion with Butch El is and took the rental car to go to the clinic and assist with the autopsy.

Ken cal ed Gertrudeâ€™s Del y and ordered enough food to provide dinner for a regiment, plus sandwiches to have later for snacks. He also made out a list for the Bromfield bar that would have the owner smiling for

several days. I offered to pick up the orders, but he insisted on doing it himself, saying that if he were in town and didnâ€™t say hel o to Gertrude she would never forgive him. He did, however, sheepishly ask to borrow my car

to make his rounds.

While the phone was temporarily free, I cal ed the Bromfield Inn and got them to add up the various checks we had signed. I then wrote out my check for Ken and tucked it in the corner of his desk blotter. I wondered

why we stil have desk blotters, when we no longer write letters that need to be blotted? Then I wondered why I cared.

Vonley pried Cindy loose from the coffeemaker and they walked down the trail to get some air and to see where McCurry had last been laid to his uneasy rest.

During their absence, a cal came in from Jeffie. Sonny took it in the kitchenâ€”not bothering to explain he was Detective Lieutenant Peres from Massachusetts, and learned that Branch had been found, very drunk, in a

bar over on the state road. Did they want him at the cabin or let him sleep it off? He was real y plowed.

â€œWhy not bring him over?â€ Sonny answered. â€œIn vino veritas, right? â€

â€œNo,â€ Jeffie replied. â€œThey were over on the state road, like I saidâ€¦in the Hil side Restaurant and Barâ€¦not in the Vino, wherever that is.â€

Sonny actual y took the phone from his ear and stared at it. â€œOhâ€”uhâ€”good! Very good. Bye,â€ he managed to say before he burst into laughter. â€œOh, boy,â€ he said, â€œI canâ€™t wait to tel this one to Lewis.â€

Lewis came in as if on cue and laughed dutiful y at Sonnyâ€™s anecdote. Then he held up a plastic bag with a glove inside it. The glove had tiny sharp metal points sticking out of the palm and the bottoms of the fingers.

â€œEither of you know what this is for?â€ he asked us. â€œCindy spotted it beside a bush near the bottom of the trail. It looks like a medieval torture device.â€

Sonny shook his head. I nodded mine. It was one of those minor little inventions you wondered why you hadnâ€™t made yourself. It would never make you famous, nor particularly richâ€¦but it came in awful y handy when you

needed it.

â€œI donâ€™t know the proper name but you use it scaling fish. You put the fish on a wood table, or board, put on the glove and rest your hand on the fishâ€™s tail. It keeps your hand from slipping on the slippery fish so it doesnâ€™t

skid off the table when you scale and gut it. Also prevents cut hands, I imagine. It could be Tommyâ€™s. I saw him using one the other afternoon.â€

â€œAh! Weâ€™l have to ask him when we find him. Any news on that?â€ Vonley inquired.

â€œNothing on Tommy.â€ Sonny pul ed a beer from the refrigerator. â€œBranch is on his way in, as you know.â€

I looked at the glove again. â€œYou know what?â€ I asked the air. â€œIâ€™l bet thatâ€™s what made the scratches on the murder weapon! For some reason Tommy must have been wearing the glove when he picked up the river

rock.â€

Vonley looked at me seriously. â€œWhose job are you after? The sheriffâ€™s, mine or your brotherâ€™s?â€ He grinned. â€œYou probably could have your pick at this point.â€

â€œFlattery wil get you many things, sir, with a few exceptions. But unfortunately, three cars are pul ing into the parking area as we speak.â€

Dave Spitz was the first, advising us that Tommy and Sara would be along as soon as they had fed the horses. â€œI offered to wait,â€ he added, â€œbut Ms. Blackstone said they preferred to bring their own car. And I had a

definite feeling I should not put any pressure on them, so I just thanked them and left.â€

â€œYou done good,â€ Lewis nodded. â€œThey are a prominent family, and we donâ€™t believe Tommy was out to hurt anyone.â€

The second car held Ken and a bunch of goodiesâ€”both solid and liquid. I went down to help him carry them in.

The third, of course, held Branch and two deputies. As I went down the steps from the deck, one deputy almost lifted Branch out of the backseat. He was not his usual natty self. Unshaven, uncombed and general y

grungy and bedraggled, he tried to throw himself into my arms, but the deputy held on to him.

â€œOh, Alex,â€ he cried, â€œIâ€™m so glad youâ€™re here! You can tel them my heart was innocent. It was al Mickey, every bit! He was going to kil you and Cindy.â€

I had been feeling a combination of pity and humor, but his last sentence took me instantly back to the terror I had felt at the cabin door Saturday night. A cold sweat popped on my neck and I began to shiver.

Afraid my voice would break if I spoke, I simply waved and turned toward my car, which Ken was starting to unload. I managed to hang on to the bundles he handed me, and staggered up the steps.

Had Branch truly saved our lives, or was he now simply trying to save his own? But how did a chubby, short, out-of-shape guy like Branch manage to kil a tal er, heavily muscled Mickeyâ€”with a rock, of al thingsâ€”if he

were not genuinely desperate? A bul et, maybe a golf club, even poisonâ€”but a rock? Up close and very personal for a nonviolent man!

Had this ineffectual little fel ow indeed become St. George just long enough to slay the dragon? I knew from experience that fright, for yourself or a loved one, could sometimes bring to the surface a courage you didnâ€™t

know you had. I found myself betting on Branch and hoping very hard that I was right.

Lewis was using the living room as his â€œoffice.â€ So we set out Kenâ€™s buffet dinner in the dining room. It gave Lewis and anyone with him the il usion of privacy, although the sound of normal conversation carried into the

dining room quite clearly.

Lewis had provided Branch with some food and a mug of coffee, which seemed to restore himâ€”if not to sobrietyâ€”at least to coherence. They spoke of inconsequentials while he ate and then turned to serious

interrogation.

Branch succinctly went over the Advantage plans for a mountaintop development, his difficulties in obtaining easements for even one road to reach it, McCurryâ€™s appointment as closer and his deliberate

misunderstanding of how he was to approach prospects. Branch had not seen McCurry commit any of the vandalism that accompanied his arrival, but strongly suggested he was guilty. McCurry was drinking heavily and

Branch was almost certain he was on steroids or some other drug.

Branch had several times asked the sheriff to arrest McCurry for disturbing the peace or some equivalent minor infraction of the law and â€œlet him cool offâ€ until Branch could get help from Advantage, but Johnson said

he had no cause. Advantage final y recal ed McCurry and Branch, when they received the letter from Clayâ€™s attorney, and Branch was trying desperately to keep McCurry under control until their ordered return to Knoxvil e

on Monday. Branch smiled rueful y and added, â€œIt was like tel ing a six-year-old to put a runaway Newfoundland on leash.â€

I was cal ed in when they began to speak of Saturday night and Branchâ€™s time at the Bromfield Inn. He had known that Clay, Sara, Tommy, Cindy and I would be there where he could, for a time, keep an eye on us. We

were his main worries. Clay and Sara for retaining Attorney Minot. Cindy and me for giving them the idea to get a lawyer and for giving his macho ego a bad bruise in the Del y. Tommy as a sort of hostage for Clay and

Sara.

He and I had danced once, Branch said and then, since the waiters were backed up with orders, went into the bar for a drink. I blessed him silently for being gentleman enough not to mention how and how long we

danced, and then I confirmed what I could of his phone cal from Mildred.

I added that Branch was badly shaken to learn that instead of being with her at the Dew Drop Inn or the No-Tel Motelâ€”I didnâ€™t know its proper nameâ€”Mickey had belted Mildred, been bounced from the Dew Drop and

disappeared. Branch left the Bromfield right away to go look for him.

When asked what he had been wearing he immediately said, â€œGray. Pants and blazerâ€¦gray.â€

â€œWhat kind of shoes?â€ I appended.

He stuck a foot out from under the coffee table. â€œThese.â€

They were Champion sneakers, would have fit me and had a worn spot on the right sole. So much for my footprint, Jeffie, old boy!

Until now, Branch had been quite calm, but now that he had left the Bromfield in his narrative, his nerves began to show. He began to shift the dishes around on the coffee table. He pul ed out cigarettes and dropped the

lighter, final y recovered it and began to speak again.

â€œI knew he wasnâ€™t at the Dew Drop. I hoped he had gone back to his room at the No-Tel and passed out, but he wasnâ€™t there. So I tried Clayâ€™s and one of his men, toting a shotgun, told me Clay was in Kingsport for a

few days and that he had not seen Mickey al evening. That left my sister and Tommy, and Cindy and Alex.â€

â€œYou knew where they al were, safe at the dance,â€ Sonny put in.

â€œYes, but I didnâ€™t know for how long. I knew Sara and Tommy and his girl wouldnâ€™t stay late. Horses and a couple of cows get you up early. And I wasnâ€™t sure how good the two guards Clay had hired for their place were. I

wasnâ€™t sure about the two ladies, either. I thought if they were home, maybe Iâ€™d convince them to spend the night at Clayâ€™s. I knew his men were good and had no use for Mickey.â€

â€œSo you went next to Kenâ€™s?â€ Lewis asked.

â€œIn a way. I meant to go first to Saraâ€™s and then check Kenâ€™s on the way back down. But when I got to the turnoff, Mickeyâ€™s car was parked on the side of the road. That about worried me to pieces. He could be at either

place. I cut my lights and went on down the road a couple of hundred yards and parked.â€

Branch looked longingly at my highbal and I pushed it over to him, ignoring Sonnyâ€™s and Lewisâ€™s scowls.

â€œThanks, Alex.â€ He sent me one of those winning smiles and I wondered for the thousandth time how we had al gotten mixed up in this. â€œAnyway, I walked back and started up the dirt road. I noticed lights on in the cabin,

but Alexâ€™s car wasnâ€™t there, so I moved on, going to go first to the farm. Then, a movement caught my eye. It was Mickey, on the back porch of the cabin.â€

â€œDid he see you?â€ Lewis asked.

â€œHe would have, so I cal ed out and asked him what he was doing here. He saidâ€¦he told meâ€¦do I have to say this here?â€ His hands gripped the edge of the coffee table until his knuckles whitened.

â€œCome on, Branch, we havenâ€™t got al night.â€ Sonny sounded irritable.

Branch spoke very quickly. â€œHe said he was going to show those two dykes what a real man was like and then he would kil them. Iâ€™m sorry Alex, but thatâ€™s what he said.â€

I couldnâ€™t answer. I felt my face go white, I felt dizzy, I reached for what had been my drink and couldnâ€™t quite make it. Sonny was swearing and beating the coffee table. I was vaguely aware of his wishing he had Mickey

alive right now. Then Lewis had his arm around me and was holding the communal drink to my lips. I got down a swal ow and nodded. I was back among the living.

â€œTel me Cindy didnâ€™t hear this,â€ I whispered.

â€œNo, sheâ€™s in the kitchen,â€ Sonny replied. â€œAre you okay?â€

â€œI guess, but Iâ€™d like a drink of my own.â€

â€œIâ€™l get it, Cindy wonâ€™t know itâ€™s for you.â€ He stood and headed for the kitchen.

â€œAl right, Branch. Keep going.â€ Lewis sounded angry.

â€œUh, yeah. Wel , Mickey started laughing about what a party they would have, and he dropped the screwdriver he was using to try to jimmy the door. He was bent over, feeling around in the dark for it. I thought I saw a

gun stuck in his back pants pocket. If he had a gunâ€¦and if the women came home nowâ€¦ not even the three of us would have much of a chance against him! I looked around and saw some river rocks lined up. I didnâ€™t

even think. I just grabbed one and hit him in the back of the head with it, just as he found the screwdriver and stood up. I only meant to stun him and cal Jeffieâ€¦surely even he would come out now!â€

Branch swished the ice around in the glass and drained the watery drink. â€œMickey fel over. I took the gun and found the screwdriver where he had dropped it again, and put them in my pocket. He hadnâ€™t moved, and

when I tried to wake him up, I couldnâ€™t. He didnâ€™t seem to be breathing and I couldnâ€™t feel a pulse, either, although Iâ€™m never sure what part of the neck to push.â€

He looked up hopeful y as Sonny returned with my drink, but this time I didnâ€™t share. â€œIt was funny.â€ Branch shrugged and continued. â€œIdeas just seemed to come to me. I didnâ€™t want to leave him parked on Kenâ€™s porch

with a hole in his head. I got him under the shoulders and managed to drag him up near that little footbridge across the creek. The creek was up a few inches from the runoff of the rain and the end of the bridge was under

water. I laid him down like he had slipped on the wet wood or in the mud and hit his head. Remembering what he was supposed to have hit his head on, I went back and got the rock and put it beside his head. I tossed the

gun and screwdriver, along with my bloody jacket, into the creek. You can probably find them.â€

He put his hands over his face and squinted his eyes tightly closed, like a child denying he has swiped the cookies. â€œHonest! I only meant to stun him, I real y never meant to kill him!â€

â€œThatâ€™s good,â€ a voice boomed from the front door, â€œbecause you didnâ€™t.â€

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

â€œWhat do you mean?â€ I think everyone in the house asked that question at the same time.

Doctor Ray Thalman completed his entrance and leaned, grinning, against the fireplace. â€œJust what I said. Mickey McCurry was alive, if not wel , when Mr. Redford left him lying by the bubbling mountain brook.â€ Ray was

obviously enjoying himself.

Lewis made a come-on gesture with his hands. â€œStop teasing us, Ray, this is not the time for a joke.â€

â€œI never thought it was.â€ He smiled. â€œI just thought this man youâ€™ve got here might be glad to know he is not a murderer.â€

He pointed at Branch, who looked up at him with adoration fit to bestow on angels. Ray made a sign of sipping a drink with his hand. â€œIâ€™l make the drink,â€ Sonny volunteered. â€œTalk loud.â€

â€œItâ€™s been a long day,â€ Ray explained. â€œButch and I just finished the autopsy, Iâ€™l give you the short version. Time of death? Hard to guess in a guy who spent considerable time lying in cold mud, spattered with cold rain

and sprayed by a cold creek. We know he was alive about midnightâ€¦so, any time between then and five a.m.â€

Ray nodded toward the front door. â€œI stood outside a few minutes and listened to Redfordâ€™s confession. I can tel you it is essential y true. The rock is definitely the weapon. Itâ€™s Mickeyâ€™s blood and hair caught in it. The

tops of his boot toes are caked in mud where he was dragged up the path, and the backs of his clothes are muddy from lying down.â€

â€œBut he was alive al this time?â€ Sonny asked on his return.

This was the weirdest criminal interrogation I had ever witnessed or even heard of! I had thought Sonny was sometimes rather informal, but he had never served drinks and dinner while he questioned aâ€”I guess

â€”prisoner. Nor had the forensic specialist made his report in the presence of that prisoner and various other interested parties.

It reminded me of a situation I had stumbled upon a couple of years ago while looking for a woman who had inherited from her uncle in Ptown. The heiress and her lover had â€œburiedâ€ her sister in a Louisiana bayou.

After turning themselves in, they were sentenced to provide a new air conditioner to the sheriffâ€™s office and put new paint on the juvenile detention quarters...and told to go and sin no more.

â€œHe was alive al this time,â€ Ray agreed. â€œThe blow was somewhat of a sideswipe. I judge Branch may have been off balance already or slipped on the wet step as he wielded the rock. There was a hairline fracture,

Mickey was concussed and, of course, there was an open wound which bled fairly freely. It did not, however, bleed into the brain in any large amount to cause swel ing of the brain. Thatâ€™s what is usual y fatal. It was a

serious wound, he should have had immediate medical attention. But even when he was ultimately found, he probably would have been aliveâ€”and possibly able to be savedâ€”had it not been for other factors.â€

â€œWhat other factors?â€ Cindy cal ed from the dining room where, as she so often did, was making order out of chaos.

â€œWel -l-l, there was a great deal of alcohol in his blood, plus signs of steroids and cocaineâ€”canâ€™t have helped his general health or his attitude. Andâ€¦and, there was a minor amount of pink froth in his lungs and mouth.â€

The good doctor should have been on stage.

â€œYou mean he drowned? â€ Lewis was on his feet now and looking incredulous. He glared at Branch. â€œHow in Godâ€™s name did he drown?â€

Branch glared right back. â€œHow the hel do you think I know? I certainly didnâ€™t drown him!â€

â€œWel , neither did I!â€ cried a strained voice from the dining room. I think he died when he fel in the bush.â€

â€œAnd just who the hel are you?â€

â€œIâ€™m Tommy.â€

The Blackstones had arrived via the kitchen door.

If Ken was bewildered at this influx of loud people to his quiet mountain retreat, youâ€™d never know it. He swept Sara and Tommy into a double embrace with a kiss for Sara.

â€œWel , look whoâ€™s here! Two of my favorite peopleâ€¦and just in time for a drink and maybe a little snack from the buffet table. What wil you have?â€

Sara was obviously no stranger to the cabin. â€œKen, I think I am a prime candidate for a snifter of that lovely brandy you hide in the highboy. Weâ€™ve had dinner, thanks.â€

As the older pair walked into the dining room, I turned to Tommy. At my invitation he looked in the refrigerator and chose a Mountain Dewâ€¦I thought it apt. He looked toward his mother, as if he would join her and Ken,

but there was something I wanted to know from him before we got al bogged down on who was alive and when.

â€œSay, Tommy, what on earth were you doing running around soaking wet in a rainstorm Saturday night? You trying to catch pneumonia so weâ€™l al come and bring you cookies?â€ I smiled, casual y, I hoped.

He grinned back. â€œIt was some rain wasnâ€™t it? You see, when we left the Bromfield Inn, Mom dropped Cissy and me off at her folksâ€™ house. We had some coffee and cake, and talked awhile. Then Cissy was going to run

me home in her dadâ€™s car. But when we got just above yourâ€” Kenâ€™s place and the road wasnâ€™t gravel anymore, it was just awful.

â€œI knew Mom would have been okay in the Hummer, but I was afraid Cissyâ€™s little Hyundai would never make it through al the mud and might even skid off into the creek. So I had her pul into your parking area. We sat

in the car for a whileâ€¦uh, you know. After a bit, she went home and I started walking.â€

He laughed and took a swig of his soda. â€œUsual y itâ€™s an easy little hike, but that night man, it was wet! The mud was real y deep and I was super glad Cissy hadnâ€™t tried to drive in it.â€

Wel , that took care of my question.

Deputy Spitz slid into a seat at the kitchen table and patted a chair near him. â€œHiya, Tommy, have a seat.â€

I took one, too. Why not? This was definitely a communal affair.

â€œNow, Tommy,â€ Dave asked quietly, â€œwhen did you first run into Mickey McCurry? On Saturday night after you started walking home.â€

â€œNot sure, Dave, maybe twelve or after. He was up where the trail and the creek take a left bend. He was kind of trying to get up, resting on one knee and hanginâ€™ on to a tree. When he saw me, he asked me to help him

up and get him back to his car. He was talking funny, like he was drunk, and I didnâ€™t want to make him mad, especial y when he said Jake had sold him bad hooch and he had a mother of a headache. He might have real y

got mean, you know?â€

â€œYou bet. So what did you do?â€ I prompted.

â€œI didnâ€™t know what to do. I wanted to get homeâ€”I knew Mom would be getting worried and might even come looking. And, then too, I didnâ€™t think Mickey oughta drive. But he started muttering and kind of growling and I

was scared not to help him. I got his arm around my shoulder and pul ed him up and noticed blood. Then I saw his head and it made me kind of sick. I thought maybe when we got to his car he would let me drive him to the

clinicâ€¦he looked awful bad, Dave.â€

â€œIâ€™l bet he did. But he managed to walkâ€”with your help?â€

Dave smiled and nodded toward Cindy, who had put mugs of coffee in front of us. I patted the one remaining chair and she sank tiredly into it. I wanted her out of here and far away as soon as we could possibly

manage it. Sheâ€™d been playing kitchen maid long enough.

Tommy continued. â€œYeah. He took a step or two and tripped on a rock. We both looked down and saw this bloody river rock. Mickey started cussinâ€™ and saying somebody hit him with it and heâ€™d get them yet, and

somethinâ€™ about somebody named Mildred and I donâ€™t know what al . I just wanted him down that hil and in his car. In the hospital, real y, so I could leave him and not feel guilty.â€

Why anyone would feel guilty leaving Mickey any place at any time in any shape was beyond me. Iâ€™d have left him dangling over the Grand Canyon on a clothesline without a murmur.

Tommy finished his soda, flipped the can into the garbage and took a deep breath.

â€œWe made it almost to the foot of the trail. At least the rain had quit, although everything was stil dripping. Al of a sudden Mickey groaned and kind of col apsed. He pul ed me off balance, and the two of us fel into this

soaking wet shrub. He wouldnâ€™t answer me and I couldnâ€™t get him to sit up. I felt his neck like they do on TV and didnâ€™t feel anything. I sat for a minute. I figured he was maybe dead, and I didnâ€™t want to touch him. But I

couldnâ€™t leave him sprawled in that bush. He was heavy but I managed to get him over my shoulder and carried him on down to the little clearing and laid him down. At least it had been downhil ! I put his head near the

creek in case he woke up and was thirstyâ€”Lord knows I wasâ€”but I did not drown him! Why would I after I had gone to al that trouble?â€

â€œRight you are, Tommy, why would you, indeed? Iâ€™m sure you had simplyâ€”and very bravelyâ€”just tried to help him.â€ Ken agreed. He and Sara had been standing in the dining room doorway, watching Tommy and

listening careful y to his every word.

â€œSatisfied?â€ Sara asked Dave. â€œYou have a Good Samaritan here, not a kil er.â€

â€œWe were pretty sure of that al along, maâ€™am,â€ Dave replied. â€œJust two quick questions, Tommy and weâ€™re finished. What did you do with the rock you tripped over?â€

â€œOh, I wasnâ€™t sure what to do. But I final y decided: if somebody had hit him with it, the police should see it. And then I thought, but they shouldnâ€™t see my fingerprints on it, since I didnâ€™t do it. So I went back up the trail,

took my scaling glove out and carried the rock back to where he was.â€

â€œI see,â€ Dave looked serious. â€œWhat were you doing with a scaling glove at a dance, Tommy. We found it alongside the trail, near Mickeyâ€™s body.â€

â€œIf the rain had stopped earlier, Cissy and I were going to try a little night fishing to see if we could nab a couple of catfish for her old man. He likes â€™em, who knows why? I had the glove in my jacket pocket and my knife

folded up in my pants pocket. I guess the glove fel out when I thought I put it back.â€ For the first time, he looked guilty as he looked at his mother.

â€œWhere is that jacket, Tommy, come to think of it?â€ Sara was aiming stern irritated-mother looks at her son.

â€œWel , uh, wel , it had a couple of tears from when we fel in the bush, and it had some blood on the shoulder and it was awful muddy and wetâ€”you could wring it out. So Iâ€¦I didnâ€™t know what to do with it, and I hid it

under an old rotten pine on the way home. Iâ€™m sorry, Mom.â€

She sighed and then flashed a radiant smile and rumpled his hair. â€œI suppose if a blazer is the only casualty this family suffers from this chaos we should thank our blessings. I take it Tommy is clear?â€

â€œAbsolutely.â€ Dave grinned. â€œGo in peace. Tommy, you are a good man.â€ Tommy blushed a vivid red.

Sara turned to Ken. â€œIf there is anything we can do for Branch, please let us know. Heâ€™s family, and Iâ€™ve always had a soft spot for him. And thank you, my dear, for your generosity and support and especial y the brandy

â€¦it works wonders, doesnâ€™t it?â€ She gave me a sly wink, and I matched Tommyâ€™s color scheme.

By the time I thought of a reply, they had gone.

Apparently things were calming down in the living room. There was a low murmur of voices, but no more yel ing. Sonny came in the kitchen bearing a mug and asking where the tea was kept. â€œMy stomach is revolting at

the thought of coffee.â€

I pointed at a cabinet. He studied the selection kept there. â€œCan you have English Breakfast tea at eight p.m.?â€

â€œYes. And you can tel us how Mickey drowned while you make it.â€ I reached over and turned the burner on under the teakettle.

â€œHe didnâ€™t.â€ Sonny gave his shark grin. â€œHe had a heart attack.â€

â€œOh, sure,â€ I said. â€œAnd then he up and died of an infected toenail.â€

â€œHonest.â€ He put a teabag and two sugars in his mug and stood by the stove. â€œRay said Mickey had a very minor bit of pink foam in one lung and in his throat. Not nearly enough to indicate drowning. Just that he

probably inhaled a little water and then coughed it up.â€

â€œSo he was stil alive when Tommy laid him by the creek,â€ Cindy remarked.

â€œWho was that Russian guy they couldnâ€™t kil ?â€ She mused.

â€œNever mind Russians. When did Mickey have a heart attack?â€ I was lost.

â€œIt was Rasputin. Neither Doc is absolutely sure, but they imagine it was when he col apsed into the bush. He lived some minutes after that. At some point he moved a little and got his face in the water, but reflexively

coughed up the water he had inhaled. Then he died. Final y.â€

â€œDid the head wound cause it?â€ I asked.

â€œNot directly.â€ The kettle whistled and Sonny poured his tea. â€œHe was dragged, carried and walked al over the place with a serious wound; he was laid in cold mud and had to be bone chil ed; he was soaking wet; he

was ful of booze and drugsâ€”not a real good guarantee for longevity.â€

â€œSo now where does this leave Branch?â€ Cindy looked hopeful as she made herself tea.

â€œYour hero is now charged with assault and battery. In my opinion that wil last about five minutes after he gets a lawyer. There is no direct proof the wound caused the heart attack. At the very least, Branch stopped

Mickey from il egal trespass into a house where two women were stayingâ€¦never mind al the other plans he had.â€ Sonny stopped short, he hadnâ€™t meant to get into details with Cindy.

I covered for him. â€œYes, he had said something to Branch about trashing the house so Ken would think we left it that way.â€

Sonny quickly resumed his tale. â€œI would bet Branch wil walk. With the way this town feels about Mickey, they may give him a medal. Ken is going into town with them in a minute and post bail for him and bring him back

here to spend the night, since Clayâ€™s away.â€

â€œWhere wil he sleep?â€ It seemed to me we were running out of beds.

â€œThere are two beds in the room Iâ€™m using. I guess weâ€™l be roomies for a night. Unlessâ€¦ Iâ€™ve been thinking. How tired are you two?â€

My first thought had been to answer, â€œExhausted,â€ but then I realized where his question was leading. I changed my answer to, â€œIâ€™m tired, but jumpy, not sleepy.â€

Cindy just said, â€œDead.â€

â€œOkay.â€ He grinned. â€œThen you get the first shift in the backseat with Fargo.â€

Hearing his name, Fargo crawled out from under the table and cocked his head. Were we going somewhere? It looked as if we might.

â€œAre you crazy?â€ Cindy couldnâ€™t fathom what the Peres kids were suggesting.

â€œLook,â€ Sonny explained, â€œI real y need to get back, and I canâ€™t believe you arenâ€™t ready to leave, too. Nothing is holding us here. Iâ€™l take the first driving shift. Alex can take the second after a nap, and if you feel like it,

you can take the third. By this time tomorrowâ€¦or earlierâ€¦weâ€™l be home!â€

Cindy straightened. â€œNow that you mention it, Iâ€™m brimming with energy. Alex, letâ€™s get those bags back in the car.â€

â€œWait.â€ I held up a hand. â€œLetâ€™s say goodbye to Branch and Ken in case we leave before they get back.â€

We caught them at the front door and explained our plans. Ken, too, would be leaving early tomorrow morning, along with Ray. Lewis might need to stay longer. So everyone understood Sonnyâ€™s need to get going. They

politely didnâ€™t mention that Cindy and I might be eager to get the hel out of Dodge City.

Branch was tearful y grateful of our support and insisted that next year we come again and stay with him and Clay. I wondered if Clay was aware that Branch had become a permanent fixture. We thanked Branch for

â€œsolving our problemâ€ and assured him we would be available if he needed us â€œat a later time.â€ We thanked Ken for his â€œgracious hospitality,â€ declared how we had â€œenjoyed the natural beautiesâ€ of the area and were

â€œcharmed by many of the townspeople we had met.â€ Having been right up there with the politicians at saying everything while saying nothing, we both kissed both men on the cheek as they left.

And I whispered, â€œHang tough, Saint George!â€ to Branch.

While Sonny loaded suitcases in the trunk, Cindy and I cleared the dining room table and jammed food into the refrigerator. We stacked seemingly endless plates, cups and glasses in the sink, Cindy remarking that

Mrs. Fouts would have a field day. I said it would simply confirm her opinion of Yankee women and men in general.

I took the cookies and fruit and put them in the bag with Fargoâ€™s remaining food and treats. We took our light jackets from the hal closet and went out the kitchen door, leaving Lewis, Ray and Dave huddled over the

coffee table fil ing out the endless reports that accompany this kind of event.

We stopped in Beulalandâ€™s one late-night store and bought six-packs of caffeine-packed sodas. As Sonny pul ed rapidly away, I cautioned him to slow down til we were out of town. â€œYou donâ€™t want a speeding ticket at

this point,â€ I warned.

At that moment from behind the town gasoline station came a flicker of lights and the universal horn greeting: Shave and a haircut. Sonny answered with: Two-bits.

We had received and acknowledged our final salute from Beulaland.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The first half of the drive home was very different from our drive down to Beulaland. The road seemed very black, and our headlights felt as if they encapsulated us even more from any life or scenery that might be near.

We saw some semis, a few cars and a surprising number of RVs.

We rarely could make out the person driving or any passengers, and I wondered giddily if the vehicles drove themselves up and down the road just to give the few real people the il usion of company through an

otherwise empty land.

There were, of course, the oases. Bright lights, vehicles pul ed evenly into marked slots. Surprisingly clean restrooms, typical diner menus with almost every dish known to man included, and waitresses of al agesâ€”but

neat and usual y friendly.

We stopped every three to four hours, mainly to give Fargo a run, occasional y to get fuel and usual y to eat something. And that something became different for each of us as the hours on the road expanded. At one

point a waitress placed a hamburger and fries in front of Sonny, presented Cindy with a fruit salad and gave me a generous stack of pancakes with bacon.

I was driving when I noticed the headlights didnâ€™t seem to have as long a range as they had on my last shift. I worried that something was wrong with the alternator but hated to waken Sonnyâ€”I tried fruitlessly to

remember how long it had been since he had slept through a night in his own bed. But the lights grew dimmer yet. Where was an oasis when you needed one?

I looked from side to sideâ€”and suddenly realized the â€œproblem.â€ Al night, whenever I had driven, I had stared ahead along the beams of light, not looking toward the blank black sides. Now, I could see things alongside

the car. It was early daylight! I was thril ed. I tried to think of a poem about the dawn and could not.

But I felt that I must share this wonderful event with my companions, so I quoted the only reference to the sun I could remember.

I cried, â€œâ€˜Tis morning and Juliet is the sun!â€™â€ I threw my right arm out as I spoke and my fingers clipped Cindy on the side of her head.

â€œJesus Christ! Alex, pul over. Youâ€™ve final y lost it.â€

Sonny sat up in the back. â€œWhatâ€™s going on? Whatâ€™s wrong?â€

â€œAlex is quoting Shakespeare, complete with artistic gestures.â€ She rubbed her temple.

â€œAre we stil on the road?â€

â€œYes.â€

â€œThen leave her the fuck alone. You got something against Shakespeare?â€ He sank back down, Fargo his pil ow.

At last, in mid-afternoon, we crossed the Sagamore Bridge over the Cape Cod Canal and began, what seemed to me, the longest leg of our journeyâ€¦the seventy miles between the bridge and the dunes of

Provincetown. I had lived in Ptown al my life and never realized there were so many towns to pass.

Long after I had given up, we reached the Orleans traffic circle, which spit us out into Eastham. That left only Wel fleet, Truro andâ€¦ home! Sonny was driving at the time, and a few hundred yards down the road, he

pul ed over near a wooded area.

â€œSorry, ladies, gotta go.â€

â€œGod, Sonny, we are only about twenty minutes out! Canâ€™t you wait?â€

â€œNope.â€ He opened his door, and Fargo squeezed into the front to go with him. They seemed to be gone a considerable time, and returned with Sonny explaining that Fargo had to sniff a dozen trees before finding the

right one.

Al journeys must end, as ours final y did when Sonny nosed the spattered, road-filmed car into the driveway.

The back door to the house opened and erupted people. Mom and Aunt Mae ran to Cindy and m

La e

i .

n T

e r

y is

a h

n k

d is

C s

a e

s d

si th

e, e

Pb

ee

t a

err d

a e

n d So

W n

ol n

f, y

w

W i

a tlh

t

e n

r o

a a

n p

d p

Ba

il r

l e

y, n

t

E lp

l r

e o

n,blem.

and Choate El is al hung back for a few minutes and then joined the hugfest. And I realized why Sonny had had to â€œgo.â€ He had phoned Mom to tel her where on the highway we were, and she had done the rest.

Peter and Wolf had of course come armed with champagne. Peter lifted his glass in a toast: â€œWelcome to your gorgeous, newly extended home!â€

Cindy and I looked at each other and broke into a run toward the back of the house. There was our unpainted, unfurnished Master Suite in al its glory. The bathroom of my dreams, complete with bidet. When had Cindy

found time to cal Orrickâ€™s from Beulaland? I had forgotten al about it. I gave her a hug and kiss, and we turned to the sliding doors leading to our smal , private deck. Beyond it was a petite trickling fountain and the

beginnings of a flower bed. Mom and Aunt Mae had been busy.

â€œWas it worth al the trouble?â€ Mom asked from the doorway.

Cindy laughed. â€œMy dear Jeanne, compared to our restful bucolic vacation, it was al a very minor irritation. But you and Aunt Mae have been busy. I never imagined weâ€™d come home to a working fountain and live

plants.â€

Her look became dreamy, and she turned in a slow circle. I knew she was decorating. Choosing just the right paint, carpet, draperies, furniture. She could see the completed Master Suiteâ€”oh, al right, the name kind of

fitâ€”where I could not. But Cindy had a marvelous eye for color. It would be perfect when she finished. Go for it, sweetheart.

â€œExcuse me for interrupting, girls.â€ We would never be quite adult to Aunt Mae. â€œYour guests know you are tired and donâ€™t wish to prolong their welcome, but theyâ€”and I, I must admitâ€”are dying to learn what on earth

went on down there. And how on earth you survived it.â€

I managed not to sigh, put my arm around her shoulder and smiled. â€œWhy shoâ€™ nuff, honey chile, it wil be our pleasure.â€

Fortified with champagne, we gave the briefest possible account of our time in Beulaland. They were horrified, saddened, amusedâ€¦much as we had been when it was going on. Only we had also been good and

scared, which was difficult to put across in the safety of our living room, surrounded by relatives and friends.

Even their comments sounded familiar to ones we had made.

â€œHow can anyone hurt or kil an innocent animal?â€

â€œThat poor old ladyâ€”so scared she got chest pains!â€

â€œBastard was sure hard to kil . Reminds one of that Russian fel aâ€¦his name just slips my mind.â€

â€œRasputin,â€ Sonny supplied. â€œHavenâ€™t I had this conversation before, or am I just groggy?â€

â€œThat Sheriff Jeffie ought to be on TV.â€ There was general laughter at this comment.

â€œHe may soon have time to look in to that possibility,â€ Sonny added. â€œThe State Police captain intimated that our Jeffie may presently receive several suggestions that he resign to â€˜spend more time with his familyâ€™ if he

has one, or â€˜to pursue other endeavorsâ€™ if he doesnâ€™t.â€

Everyone was laughing, but I was not especial y amused,

â€œWhatâ€™s the matter, dear?â€ Mom asked. â€œYou seem very solemn.â€

â€œI just have wondered sometimes if we werenâ€™t simply a couple of busybodies. We didnâ€™t live there or own property there, or expect to. We real y knew no one, except very casual y. That planned â€˜developmentâ€™ had no

real effect on us. Perhaps we should just have kept quiet. Jeffie aside, they are bright folks down there. They would have worked it out in their own time and way. I am not entirely certain we didnâ€™t just make matters worse.

Maybe Rasputin the Second didnâ€™t real y have to die.â€

â€œListen, Sis.â€ Sonny poked a finger at my chest. â€œMcCurry was on the fast track to disaster. If it hadnâ€™t been you and Cindy, it would have been someone else who just happened to say the wrong thing when Mickey had

ingested the right amount of alcohol and drugs. Maybe he would have kil ed that Mildred woman, maybe Sara, or that outspoken Dermott guy or Branch himself. But it would have happened. Trust me.â€

Choate El is nodded. â€œIâ€™m sure Sonny is right. Heâ€™s experienced in such matters. And I know it resulted in a terrifying experience for the two of you. But perhaps you wil feel slightly better about your intervention if you

remember the words of the Parliamentarian Edmund Burke: â€˜The only necessity for evil to win is for good men to do nothing.â€™ Of course.â€ He smiled. â€œNowadays that means women, too.â€

And that about said it al .

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Peace. Itâ€™s wonderful!

And we had had a whole eleven days of it. From the Wednesday afternoon when we got home, and for the entire weekend, we simply reveled in being home. Not to mention alive and wel .

We final y got back to sleeping normal y and eating normal y and doing normal little things. Like housecleaning, getting the car washed and waxed, putting away heavy winter clothing, spading up the garden,

housecleaning, planting radishes and sugar peas and housecleaning. I wil leave it to you to figure out who did what.

The pets were also glad to be home. Fargo was assiduous in his patrols of the yard and announcements of visitors. We had one smal problem with him. The minute we turned the fountain on, he was delighted with his

new wading pool. We were stil working on convincing him that taking a drink from it was fine, splashing in it was not. I had the feeling it might be a lifetime project.

Wel s, too, was some concern. She was stil a little nervous at having been leftâ€”even with her favorite auntâ€”and spent a bit too much time alternately under the bed grumbling to herself or demanding to be petted. But

the vet assured us those extremes would wear off.

When Monday came, we both went back to work. I reclaimed my clients from Harvey Weinberg and took him to lunch. I visited the art gal eries that handle my photos and got some good, some fair ordersâ€”enough to

keep me busy for a while signing, numbering, matting and framing.

Cindy played some catch-up at the bank, but was general y pleased with the way her department had functioned. Since we hadnâ€™t managed to get souvenirs for anyone, she did the lunch bit also, and everyone seemed

happy.

I was especial y pleasedâ€”relieved might be a better wordâ€”at Cindyâ€™s manner since our return. When Sonny informed her that retired officer Edgar Fountain would be back in place as her lookout when she started

work Monday, she accepted the fact almost casual y.

â€œI suppose itâ€™s wise,â€ she admitted. â€œBut somehow I donâ€™t feel threatened.â€ She laughed. â€œPerhaps after our Beulaland adventure a simple stalker is just a minor passing annoyance.â€

Sonny was a little more serious. â€œWel , he could have been a transient and has now moved on. He could have given up on you and is now busy adoring someone else, or he could have been waiting impatiently for your

return. Letâ€™s give the good Edgar one more week.â€

â€œAl right, whatever you think is best. But, Sonnny, thereâ€™s one part of this I was too frightened and upset to tel you about earlier. And that whole situation at Beulaland didnâ€™t help.â€

She told him of her experience with the menâ€”particularly the supervisorâ€”working on the broken water main.

â€œI hope this hasnâ€™t caused you to waste a lot of time and taxpayer money. I was just too rattled even to bring it up. Alex didnâ€™t know, either,â€ she added, â€œuntil shortly before we came home.â€

Sonny just shrugged. â€œIt could wel have caused you to think you were being fol owed, and you actual y may have beenâ€¦by him or someone else. Edgar and I wil get a look at this guy if theyâ€™re stil dawdling along with

those repairs. At least weâ€™l know who weâ€™re looking for.â€

Later in the week we received a bouquet that would have been quite at home in the winnerâ€™s circle of the Kentucky Derby. The enormous card hoped we would visit Beulaland again soon and was signed by al the

people we had met and several we couldnâ€™t recal . Even Jeffie had managed to get his signature included.

We kept the card, divided the bouquet into quarters and took it to the clinic to be given to those who might be lacking in that sector.

We thought about the card for a few minutes and decided it was too soon to say whether we couldnâ€™t wait for next spring to go backâ€¦or whether it was the last place we would ever set foot.

When I returned from the usual errands Friday morning the phone answering machine was flashing peremptory blinks that indicated three cal s had come in.

For some reason, even not knowing what they were, I was not inclined to listen to them. I had a feeling I wasnâ€™t going to want to know. I put away the groceries that needed the freezer or refrigerator. I let Fargo outâ€”the

fountain was not running, although it was stil the first area he headed for.

I went in the bedroom to check on Wel s. Although the Orrick crew was long gone and she knew Fargo and I were now at home, she was stil in hiding. I crawled under the bed to give her a pet and coax her to come

out. Suddenly I heard the dim distant chirp of my cel phone.

I lay there a moment wondering where it could be, and then remembered the T-shirt I had worn briefly yesterday. It was in the pocket. To answer or not to answer? Three cal s on the tape, at least one cal on the cel .

Somebody real y wanted me.

Reluctantly, I rol ed out from under the bed and over to my bureau. See, I knew right where the little phone was!

â€œHel o.â€

â€œWhere the hel have you been? Weâ€™ve been looking al over for you half of the morning.â€

â€œAnd itâ€™s nice to hear your voice this lovely day! Stop yel ing, Sonny, thereâ€™s no law saying I have to report to the police before I do the weekly shopping. What do you want?â€ I sat up and leaned against the bed.

â€œI want you to get Cindy and bring her over here to ID the so-cal ed stalkers, and I figured she would be more comfortable if you were with her.â€

â€œThatâ€™s very thoughtful. Of course I wil . What do you mean so-called stalkersâ€”and stalkers, plural? Did Edgar catch them?â€

â€œNot exactly. He and Larry Wismer were both involved. They are at the clinic getting patched upâ€¦nothing serious. Old Mrs. Wismer is on her way here, so get a damn move on.â€

â€œWhat has she got to do with this?â€ His sweet little olâ€™ granny? How could she be involved?

â€œShe may have to post bail for Larry, and heâ€™s a minor so she has to be here anyway. Just move it!â€ He hung up.

I moved it. I cal ed Cindy and told her Edgar had caught the stalkerâ€”I made it singular. I did not say Edgar was injured, I didnâ€™t mention Larry at al . I told her Sonny needed her â€œfor identificationâ€ purposes, and that I

would pick her up in the bank parking lot in fifteen minutes. I saw no reason to have her as befuddled as I was.

I read once that Einstein on one occasion gave a flip description of his theory of relativity: Five minutes seems only a second when you are dancing with a lovely woman; it is an hour when you are sitting on a hot

radiator.

Wel , I was with the lovely woman, but the ten-minute drive was feeling like an hour. Cindy was one long question, from the minute I picked her up. How did Edgar identify and arrest the stalker? How would she know

him? She had never real y seen him in action. Was he a local she would recognize? Did Iâ€”Alexâ€”know him? Did Sonny think he was dangerous?

I muttered vague answers, since I had no concrete ones. After an eternity, we reached the police station and I practical y ran inside, leaving Cindy to play catch-up. I couldnâ€™t face another question.

Sonny met us at the door with some questions of his own before he took us into the conference roomâ€”a transparent euphemism for interrogation room.

â€œCindy,â€ he asked at once, â€œdo you remember where they had Commercial Street dug up for days, looking for and final y fixing that water main leak?â€

â€œUh, yes, sure.â€ She looked bewildered.

â€œAnd you did have more than one occasion to be in that area while it was being worked on?â€

â€œOh, probably a number of times. I have lunch down that way fairly often. I remember going to the drugstore onceâ€¦and maybe to Lenaâ€™s Little Boutique to pick up some stockings. Why?â€

â€œDo you remember how many workers there were and what any of them may have said to you?â€

She leaned against the wal and stared at the ceiling for a minute.

Final y, she nodded. â€œAs I told you the other day, there were anywhere from two to four young guys and an older man. The older guy was not in coveral s. He had on a blue shirt and pants, like maybe he was some sort of

boss. He looked cleaner, too. Some of the young guys said stuff like, â€˜Hey, honey, got time to go for a beer?â€™and â€˜Meet me after work and wear that tight skirt you had on yesterday.â€™ And one said I looked tired and did I

want him to tuck me in. Oh, yes, one of them said I had a nice ass. You know, typical male macho stuff. I simply ignored it al â€”I didnâ€™t even bother to tel them to go to hel .â€

â€œWhat about the older man, what did he say?â€ Sonny watched her sharply.

â€œNothing at first. Then one day s-something real y nasty, as I told you the other day...I just ignored it, tried to forget it.â€ She was pale and obviously frightened.

â€œHoney, you real y should have told me. Exactly what did he do?â€ I asked.

â€œI didnâ€™t quite hear every word, but I got the gist of it. It scared me, but I thought if I told you, youâ€™d confront him and get hurt. And I wasnâ€™t even sure of exactly what he looked like. Oh, God, Iâ€™ve handled this whole thing

wrong!â€

I could see tears about to rol and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

â€œNo, you havenâ€™t. Weâ€™l straighten it out.â€

Sonny took her arm gently. â€œLetâ€™s go inâ€¦so we can get out fast.â€ He smiled down at her.

I fol owed them down the hal . Cindy looked back at me. I shrugged. She knew as much as I did.

In the conference room sat three young men in grubby coveral s bearing the logo of the Water Department and looking scared. There was also an older man with graying hair and looking somewhat like Edgar Fountain.

I found myself wondering if they could be brothers. Then I noticed he wore a blue workmanâ€™s uniform with an ID tag on his shirt pocket: R.J. Travis. Wel , maybe they were cousins.

Sonny motioned for us to sit, while he remained standing and cleared his throat as he turned on the tape recorder. He gave the names of everyone present and final y got to specifics.

â€œCynthia Hart, do you recognize these four men, and from what encounter?â€

Cindy looked puzzled for a moment, and then hit her stride. â€œYes, I do. They were working on the water main leak on Commercial Street about two weeks ago.â€ Then she again went down the list of their comments to

her.

Sonny indicated Mr. Travis. â€œDid this man make any similar comments?â€

â€œYes. Later. Something about a van and a hot potatoâ€¦andâ€¦uh, having sex. I didnâ€™t hear it al clearly.â€

â€œAh!â€ Sonny sounded triumphant. â€œBut someone else did hear it clearly! â€

He turned to Travis. â€œYou see, Mr. Travis, although Ms. Hart was almost out of earshot, a young man happened to be standing in front of the drugstore, where he was to meet a friend. He clearly heard you sayâ€¦â€ Sonny

looked down at a three-by-five card with writing on it. â€œYou said, â€˜Tuck her in? I may just toss her into the van and fuck her up. Us older guys know how to treat a hot potato.â€™ You did say that, didnâ€™t you?â€

â€œI donâ€™t recal saying that,â€ Travis mumbled.

â€œUh-huh.â€ Sonny gave the men his sharkâ€™s grin. â€œAl four of you are guilty of making lewd solicitations in public. You also may wel have infringed on this young ladyâ€™s civil rights: any woman is entitled to walk down the

street without being subject to such remarks as you made.â€

Cindyâ€™s eyebrows had done their moving toward the top of her forehead act. I wondered if Sonny was making up laws as he went along, although his accusations did sound logical. But he wasnâ€™t finished.

â€œBut you, Mr. Travis, are also guilty of threatening kidnap and rape.â€

Cindy turned pale again; obviously just this phrase frightened her badly. It frightened me.

Travis banged the table with his palm. â€œI didnâ€™t say no such thing! I may have said she was good-looking or something. Whoever says I was going to rape her is crazy.â€

â€œSure.â€ Sonny looked at him pityingly. â€œWel , maybe these young oafs wil remember what you said if the prosecutor drops their charge to a misdemeanor.â€ The three oafs began grinning and winking at each other. They

would remember Travis threatened to shoot the president if it would get them off lighter.

Sonny frowned portentously and made a note on the card before him. I saw that it read: Pick up chicken and squash for Mom.

â€œWel , Iâ€™m not holding any of you until we evaluate Mr. Wismerâ€™s statement, but donâ€™t plan any trips. You may goâ€¦for now.â€

They cleared the room with three-alarm speed. As soon as they were in the hal , I turned to my brother. â€œLarry Wismer? Is that kid everywhere? Isnâ€™t he that young stock market whiz hanging around Cindy al the time?

Whatâ€™s this with Wismer being a witness?â€

â€œThatâ€™s what I want to know,â€ said a womanâ€™s wel -modulated voice from the doorway.

Larryâ€™s dear old granny had arrived: tal , slender, attractive and late fifties max.

She wore navy slacks and an undeniably blue shirt with white col ar and cuffs. Her only real sign of age was her white wavy hair, partial y covered by a jaunty panama hat that matched her shirt.

Sonny was on his feet, introducing himself, Cindy and me, helping Mrs. Wismer into a chair, thanking her for being so prompt and straightening his tie al at the same time.

â€œDid Larry actual y hear such a terrible threat? Why didnâ€™t he tel me? And where is he, by the way? Not in your custody for some reason, surely.â€

Sonny took a deep breath and began. â€œThe four men were working on a water leak on Commercial Street when Cindy Hart crossed the street. One of them made a rather harmless come-on comment to her. She

ignored him. Your grandson was outside the drugstore, waiting for a friend. He heard both this remark and the more serious one made by the older man, a supervisor named Travis, which comment I believe you overheard

from the hal way. Yes?â€

â€œYes.â€ Mrs. Wismer nodded. â€œSickening. I wish Larry had told me. I would have cal ed the Town Manager at once. Believe me, he would have had that Travis man fired in a heartbeat.â€

I felt an automatic liking of the lady, but I couldnâ€™t let Travisâ€™s threat be foisted off on to the dubious efforts of the town council.

â€œIâ€™m afraid it is a little more serious than that, Mrs. Wismer. That kind of threat is not only a crime and possibly a hate crime, it has caused Cindy a great deal of on-going fear and stress.â€

â€œI suppose you are right, and Iâ€™m terribly sorry about what Cindy has gone through. I must admit, however, Iâ€™m not happy with Larry being involved with the police.â€ She cocked her head at Sonny. â€œAnd I ask again: where

is he?â€

At that moment the intercom buzzed. Sonny picked it up, listened and said, â€œThanks, Nacho. Send them in.â€ He turned to Mrs. Wismer. â€œHeâ€™s here.â€

The hal door opened, and Larry and Edgar came in. Mrs. Wismer gasped and Cindy did her eyebrow thing again. Sonny leaned over to me, stifling a giggleâ€”we both have an unfortunate tendency to giggle at

inopportune timesâ€”and he wasnâ€™t helping me much right now.

He whispered, â€œThey look like two guys from that painting of the three Revolutionary War soldiers, al bandaged up and marching along with a drum and fife and flag.â€

They did indeed. Larry had a splint taped to his nose, which also looked to be packed with cotton, and a thick Ace bandage around his right thumb and hand. Edgar Fountain had a blossoming black eye and was

walking very strangely and delicately.

â€œMy God, my poor baby! What on earth happened to you?â€

Obviously embarrassed, Larry tried to speak nonchalantly, no easy task when youâ€™re talking with half a bale of cotton in your nose.

â€œIâ€™m okay, Gran. Itâ€™s just a busted node and a sprained thub. Bud the doc gave me a pain pil and I feel funnyâ€”like I did thad time I drank the cookinâ€™ sherry.â€ He sat down abruptly. â€œAnd Iâ€™m real sorry Offider Fountain

thad I hit your eye and kicked you id theâ€¦id the lower stomach.â€

â€œLarry! You had a fight with a policeman? Youâ€™re lucky he didnâ€™t kil you!â€

â€œIâ€™d like to,â€ Edgar muttered. Mrs. Wismer stiffened and glared. She took a deep breath, ready for a verbal artil ery blast, but Sonny beat her to it.

â€œAl right, everybody quiet please so we can wrap this up and let our wounded heroes go home.â€

He shuffled some papers and continued. â€œLarry, you were in front of the drugstore, waiting for a buddy, and you heard what Travis said, right?â€

â€œYes.â€

â€œAnd you got a very good look at him, didnâ€™t you?â€

â€œUn-huh. I walked over toward him to tel him he should neber speak to a lady lide that, especial y Mid Hart. Bud I chickened oud; there were too many ob them.â€

â€œA smart move. Your next smart move would have been to tel the police what had happened. But it was spring break, you had several days to do what you wished, so you decided to handle it yourself.â€

Larry dropped his head. I hoped he didnâ€™t start the nose bleed again.

Sonny winked at me and continued. â€œNow, Larry, we know you haveâ€”shal we sayâ€”a warm feeling for Ms. Hart, so you began to fol ow her to make sure nothing bad happened to her.â€

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Of courseâ€¦Larry.

Cindy whispered, â€œOh, my God, why didnâ€™t I see it?â€

Mrs. Wismerâ€™s feelings were more audible. â€œOh, Larry, what the hel were you thinking? You asinine young pup! Having a crush on an older woman is one thing, turning into the Avenger is another! I could just shake you!

Look at al the trouble youâ€™ve caused and now your lovely nose wil never look the same!â€ She burst into tears.

Larry fol owed suit. And this was not good for packed noses. I reached down the table, patted his hand and put my oar in the water.

â€œNow, Larry, listen to me. You werenâ€™t the only one to make a mistake. Cindy was frightened and should have told me or Sonny, but she was afraid one of us might be hurt. So she walked around figuring this Travis might

appear any minute, toss her in a van and molest her.â€

I paused to light a cigarette, ignored my dear brotherâ€™s meaningful glance and did not hand it to him. So he took up my commentary instead.

â€œCindy had not gotten a good look at Travis, so any man over forty frightened her. You didnâ€™t fal into that category, Larry, so even if she noticed your fol owing her, her radar classified you as friend, and it never occurred

to her that you were her â€˜stalker.â€™â€

I casual y moved my cigarette pack out of Sonnyâ€™s reach, smiled and picked up on what I had been saying.

â€œYour note on her car was not one of your brighter moves, but in the long run, it was good. It upset Cindy to the point that she told Sonny and me of her â€˜stalker,â€™ and Sonny set things in motion to find him. That has been

done. By the time it comes to trial, you wil be able to speak English again. Your heart is as big as New Jersey, Larry Wismer, and it was in the right place al the way, even if the rest of you wasnâ€™t.â€

â€œHear, hear,â€ cheered Cindy and Sonny. Mrs. Wismer managed a smile. Edgar Fountain let out something between a moan and a growl.

â€œYes, Edgar, I understand your displeasure.â€ Sonny gave him a sympathetic head shake. â€œIf I have it correctly you were in your car in the bank parking lot, not realizing Cindy was busy and working through lunch. Larry On-Patrol mistook you for Travis, pul ed you out of your car and popped you one in the eye, while yel ing for someone to cal nine-one-one.â€

I took pity and handed Sonny the lighter and cigarettes. He lit one, took a puff and went on.

â€œDeputy Fountain, you tried to cuff Larry, but he somehow twisted away and you grabbed at him, spraining his thumb, the pain causing him to kick out at you and cause you considerable smarting in the, as he said,

lower stomach. Fortunately, two security guards then ran out of the bank and separated you. Now I know you both have a beef here. And you could each hire a lawyer and keep him or her in fine old brandy for the next five

years, until you settle anything.â€

He took a drag. â€œMy ardent recommendation is that you both forget it. Larry, I hope youâ€™ve learned a lesson. Edgar, you know pain sometimes goes with the jobâ€¦just send us your bil .â€

Sonnyâ€™s fingers did a little tap dance on the intercom, and within seconds Nacho and Hatcher came in briskly. Sonny gave them their directives. â€œHatcher, please help Larry to his grandmotherâ€™s carâ€”heâ€™s a little woozy.

Then drive Officer Fountain home in his car. Nacho, fol ow Hatcher and bring him back. Thanks. Now, Mrs. Wismer, let me walk you to your car. You know, that hat is perfect with that outfit.â€

She looked up at him and grinned. â€œCharmer!â€

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Cindy and I stood looking at each other for a moment, perhaps feeling like schoolkids no one had told that class was over and they could leave the room. Final y we laughed and skipped out, arms around each otherâ€™s

waists and singing that we were off to see some wizard.

Reaching my car, we agreed that lunch was in order and the Wharf Rat was the place. It didnâ€™t take us long to get there.

A weekday meant it wasnâ€™t overcrowded this early in the year. I was glad to note that Harmon and The Blues Boys were not in session. I wasnâ€™t up to another chapter of Cassie and her Three Musketeersâ€¦or to some

other wild drug plot he thought he had uncovered.

I was surprised to see who was there. My mother and Aunt Mae were having lunch. With other customers stil fairly thin on the ground, they had made themselves comfortable at a table for four and waved us over.

â€œDarlings! What a nice surprise. I hope you can join us?â€

Of course we could, and as we sat, a waiter appeared asking if weâ€™d care for a drink. Cindy ordered a double scotch and soda; I opted for a double bourbon old fashioned and did a credible imitation of Cindyâ€™s

eyebrow trick, and Aunt Mae gave us her best myopic stare. Then they both looked at their watches and took a meaningful sip from their iced tea glasses.

â€œItâ€™s been a hectic morning,â€ I offered as our excuse.

â€œItâ€™s been a hectic spring,â€ Cindy underscored.

â€œWhat on earth happened to warrant double drinks barely after noon? I assume this is not an everyday occurrence,â€ Aunt Mae asked, her mouth a prim, disapproving little pout.

I remembered what my mom had told me about Aunt Mae and Uncle Frank when they were first marriedâ€”that they were definitely members in good standing of the wild party set. I was in no mood for her rare holier

than thou act, and came very close to tel ing her so.

Fortunately, the waiter came with the drinks and asked for our food order. Cindy grabbed a menu. I ordered my favorite, a pastrami on rye with french fries and a half-sour pickle.

Cindy handed the menu back to the waiter and said, â€œJust double that.â€ She was real y in a recuperative mood to pass up her usual healthy salad for my kind of lunch. I was delighted.

When he left, I looked at Cindy and said, â€œYou start.â€

She sipped her drink and began to tel them the tale of the stalker. She was unaware I had told them a portion of it before we went on vacation, and theyâ€”fortunately for meâ€”were shrewd enough not to let on. Now, at

least, it was presumably history. As we told them of the various events, including this morningâ€™s wrap-up, they registered, sympathy, outrage andâ€”at the endâ€”amusement.

Happily our food arrived then, and we could eat while we mumbled answers to their questions.

Even Cindy had one for me. â€œAre they going to hang the SOB?â€

â€œNo,â€ I replied, â€œand I doubt heâ€™l even walk the plank. Probably heâ€™l technical y get maybe six months in jail, but actual y heâ€™l get probation and a bunch of community service hours.â€

â€œWhat about the three young men?â€ Mom inquired.

â€œProbably just some community service. Frankly, Iâ€™m not sure they even broke any laws, unless Ptown has some weird antiquated ones on the booksâ€”which wouldnâ€™t surprise me.â€

â€œIâ€™m glad.â€ Cindy finished her highbal and waved her glass at the waiter. Obviously the drink was a mel owing influence. â€œThey werenâ€™t real y bad. They just havenâ€™t figured out yet that an approach like that gets you

absolutely nowhere with anyone you real y want to date anyway.â€

She shook her finger at me for some reason. â€œBut that Travis! I stared at him the whole time this morning and he never would look at me even once! He never even said he was sorry. And I say hang â€™im!â€

â€œCindy dear, would you care for some coffee and dessert?â€ Aunt Mae inquired. I managed not to laugh at the look Cindy gave her.

At the same time Mom asked me, â€œIs this Travis a danger?â€

â€œI think not,â€ I replied. â€œI donâ€™t think he real y intended Cindy to hear him. I think he is simply a crude man, trying to impress his young workers with the idea that heâ€™s a macho man of the world who knows how to handle

uppity broads and make them like it...that he is stil a better â€˜manâ€™ than they wil ever be. His police record is clean except for parking tickets, Nacho told me, and his work record is al quite normal. He was scared to death

this morning.â€ I chortled, â€œif he owns a van himself, itâ€™s on the market by now. I think heâ€™s al talk.â€

Mom nodded. â€œI hope youâ€™re right. I know Loretta Wismerâ€¦lovely lady. I must cal her and see how Larry is, poor boy. She adores himâ€”heâ€™s real y al she hasâ€”but I give her credit, she hasnâ€™t spoiled him. Wel .â€ She

checked her watch. â€œWe must be goingâ€¦â€

â€œWhither bound?â€

â€œOh, nothing exciting. Barbara Kincaid is stil on a walker with that broken fibula. So we are running her errands and doing some shopping for herâ€¦probably al wrong, but sheâ€™l be too nice to mention it.â€

I smiled. â€œStil another star in your crowns.â€

â€œWeâ€™l take al we can get, right, Mae?â€ She gave us each a pat on the head and they left.

And shortly, so did we. After I dropped Cindy, munching on a mint, back at the bank, I circled around and started out toward the airport. I had spoken with Cassie on the phone since we got home, but hadnâ€™t seen her. I

thought, if she was there and not busy, a smal visit would be niceâ€¦I could find out if there was anything new with the Pittsburgh pirates.

As I turned onto the airport road, I glanced back at the town. Green spots were showing here and there, trees had lost their bare look, even the houses looked brighter and some rooftops seemed actual y to sparkle in

the sun. There was no season here I didnâ€™t love, although if winter were the tiniest bit shorter, I wouldnâ€™t complain. Even so, it was home, and I was glad to be here.

Walking into the large hangar where Cassie parked her beloved plane, I thought I was seeing double. I turned my head this way and that in confusion. Two twin-engine Beechcraft planes sat side-by-side, both painted

blue and white, both with their noses in the air as if they were above it al , even on the ground.

Cassie appeared from her tiny office in the corner.

â€œYes, madam, having a problem with double vision?â€

â€œDonâ€™t be sil y. The one on the right is painted a slightly darker blue and kind of an off-white.â€

â€œTruth to tel , itâ€™s just dirty.â€ She laughed.

â€œI see. And have you learned to fly two at a time?â€

â€œAlex,â€ she said, her tone now serious. â€œI have recently hadâ€”I thinkâ€”two pieces of absolutely fantastic good luck. Even the timing is just about perfect. I can stil hardly believe it is al true.â€

Not yet even knowing what it was, I was already happy for her; if anyone deserved good fortune it was Cassie. She was one of the most generous and caring people I had ever known.

â€œExplain, woman!â€ I commanded.

â€œCome on into the office where we can sit.â€ She began talking as we walked across the now less empty hangar.

â€œThereâ€™s a fel ow from Vermont who flies in here every month or so on business.

â€œHe told me about this plane for sale cheap at his home airport.â€

She took a seat behind the smal desk. I careful y removed a bunch of charts from the other chair and put them on the floor before I sat.

â€œI flew up to have a look at it. It seems it was privately owned by a fel a who just flew it weekends and maybe holidays and vacations. Why he thought he needed this much airplane just to circle the neighborhood, Iâ€™l

never know. He had bought it new, and the logbook showed less than six hundred hours. The farthest he ever flew was occasional y down to the casino in Connecticut and sometimes over to Buffalo to visit an ailing parent.

â€

â€œJust got to be too much for his budget?â€ I asked.

â€œWel , yes and no.â€ She took a pack of cigarettes from her desk drawer. â€œDonâ€™t tel Lainey. Iâ€™m supposed to keep them in the car, so I have to walk al the way out to the lot to get one.â€

She offered me one and I took it, figuring somebody elseâ€™s didnâ€™t count against the five I try to al ow myself daily.

â€œThe man had some bad luck,â€ Cassie continued. â€œHe blew a tire on landing and ground-looped off the runway onto the grassy area. Consequently, he had a col apsed undercarriage, a bent propel er and maybe shaft

and a slightly damaged wingtip. That accounted for the low price.â€

â€œSo what was wrong with the plane?â€

â€œI just told you!â€ She looked at me in amazement.

â€œNo, you told me that he had a col apsed undercarriageâ€¦â€

â€œOh, shut up!â€ She grinned. â€œAnyway, I thought of buying it right then and having it trucked down here. It real y was a bargain basement price. But I final y decided it wasnâ€™t worth buying when I didnâ€™t even have a pilot for it

and would have to pay someone to repair itâ€”it was way beyond my capabilitiesâ€”so, very reluctantly I told him no thanks.â€

â€œFrom time to time youâ€™ve mentioned several people who wanted to fly for you using just the one plane,â€ I recal ed. â€œGiving you a little time off in the busy season until you could afford a second plane. Arenâ€™t any of them

stil around?â€

She nodded. â€œOh, yes, but they al seemed just a little off to me. One man told me he was forty-five, but I happen to know he has a son whoâ€™s a co-pilot with United. At fifteen, maybe? Another fel ow is a bit heavy on the

booze. Another one was rough with the planeâ€¦you know how I feel about that, Alex. There was a woman I thought would be okay, but I heard her husband was dead against it, so that could have been trouble. Al of them

had just a little something that made me a tad untrusting.â€

â€œGotcha. But the plane is here.â€

â€œYep. While you were away chasing bears around the mountains and drinking mountain dew, a new woman walked into my life.â€

She laughed at my expression and explained, â€œNot that kind of woman.â€ She pointed at the new plane. â€œThat kind of woman.â€

â€œJeesh! Donâ€™t do that to me.â€

â€œSorry. One day this woman just walked into the hangar, looked around and said, â€˜How do you feel about a relief pilot and mechanic with twenty years experience?â€™ At first I thought it was a joke.â€

She laughed and continued. â€œHer name is Rhoda Bannister and she just finished a twenty-year stint with the Air Force. She wasnâ€™t a pilot, she was a mechanic. However, sheâ€™d bootlegged several hundred hours in

propel er-driven planes including ones like mine. We took it for a spin and youâ€™d think she had been born in one! She got her commercial license the day she got out of the military, I think.â€

â€œSounds perfect, Cassie. How did she end up here?â€

â€œHer loverâ€”also a twenty year Air Force non-comâ€”something in communicationsâ€”is an artist, always wanted to do seascapes as she sat in Colorado and Texas looking at mountains and deserts. So here they are,

with pensions, but wanting something extra in the way of money and activity. So Rhoda and I went up to Vermont and looked at the plane and I bought it on the spotâ€”wel , me and Choate El is and my dad. Had it trucked

down, and Rho wil start working on it Monday. If she can get it ready for the summer, sheâ€™l be flying almost every day, great for both of us!â€

I was delighted for her. In the busy summer months, Cassie was stretched so thin you could about see through her. Sometimes she had to turn down potential customers, which, of course, is never goodâ€¦al too often

they donâ€™t bother with you again. This would relieve a lot of pressure.

â€œBright idea time,â€ I said as I doused my cigarette. â€œIf you and Lainey arenâ€™t busy, why donâ€™t we see if Rho and whatsername are free for dinner at that new Italian place. And the Poly-Cotton Club opens tonightâ€”we

could see what theyâ€™ve got going to start the season.â€

â€œGood thinking, actual y a good idea to see them in a social setting. Iâ€™l check with them and Lainey and cal you.â€ We stood and started back to the main door.

â€œBy the way,â€ I asked, â€œwhat do you hear from your peripatetic Pittsburgh pirates?â€

â€œFinal y, finally, itâ€™s al locked up. One week from today at approximately two oâ€™clock we wil turn in to a fish market and depart for Findlay, Pennsylvania.â€

â€œOh, good. You got paid? You got a place to stay? Someone wil be standing on the landing strip with a candle when you get there?â€

â€œYes, Mother. Half the fee in advance, half when we get thereâ€”before we unload. New floodlights on the strip. And I am staying with a Mrs. Somebody at her nearby B&Bâ€¦her husband is a deacon in the local church.

Can I go now, Mums? I have to pee.â€

â€œI guess so, but donâ€™t say pee, dear, itâ€™s too, too gross. Say you have to use the facilities.â€

She aimed a kick at my backside and we parted.

Everyoneâ€™s calendar was clear for the evening, so Lainey and Cassie picked us up and we headed for the new restaurant in the East End. Rho Bannister and her lover Janie Al en were there ahead of us, their

apartment only a couple of blocks from the restaurant. They stood to greet us, and I noted they were both blond and both, as Harmon would say, square-rigged. Standing side by side, they reminded me of bookends. But

they were also pleasant, intel igent women and the evening promised wel .

So did the new restaurant. The menu included numerous northern Italian selections, so we were not limited to food smothered in thick acidic red sauce, which was what some of our local restaurants termed Italian. And

the service was quite good for people not yet used to working together. They even had arias from various operas playing in the background.

During dinner, I had another one of my bright ideas.

â€œSay, Cassie, are you planning on taking Rho along as co-pilot on your Pennsylvania run?â€

Privately, I was almost certain she was not, but I would feel much better if she did. Lainey gave me a grateful look, and I intuited that she had already made this suggestion and been turned down.

Cassie shook her head and swal owed a bite of food. â€œNo. The men are trying to keep the price down, for one thing, and a second pilot would run up the bil . And the trip isnâ€™t al that long. Anyway, one of themâ€”Frank

â€”is a pilot and can relieve me for a while if I need to use the facilities.â€ She gave me a sweet smile.

I returned the smile. â€œI just thought it would make a good orientation flight for Rho. You could explain that to your passengers, not charge them for her time, and pay for her B&B if they squawk about that.â€

Lainey gave my hand a squeeze under the table. â€œSee, Cassie, I told you Alex would agree with me! And I wil feel so much better.â€

Cassie grumbled, â€œI donâ€™t know which of you is more of a wuss. But al right. Rho, it real y would be a freebie on your part. The price I final y quoted them doesnâ€™t give me any money to pay you, but you can function as

first pilot and log the hours as such. Want to do that? Itâ€™s quite okay if you donâ€™t.â€

Before Rho could answer, Janie spoke up. She was obviously on the bal .

â€œI seem to sense a certain tension around this flight. Would you say there is anything unusual about it?â€

Cassie laughed. â€œOnly that we are carrying a load of fresh seafood to a cookout for about four hundred people and unless we have nose clips, we better not get stranded en route.â€

Cindy looked at me, as did Lainey, but I said nothing. Rho and Janie were new to town and would never understand that Harmonâ€™s phantom drug dealers were everywhere from the Baptist church pulpit to the mansion

of the wealthiest family in town. It was Cassieâ€™s business.

Rho final y got her answer out. â€œSuits me fine, just pray for a good brisk tailwind.â€

I managed not to take a deep breath, which was more than Lainey and Cindy could claim. But I was as happy as they that Cassie would have her own companion on the flight.

We moved on to the Poly-Cotton Club, and our evening went rapidly downhil . The entertainment consisted of two hip-hop guys who plucked frenetical y at their guitars and screamed threats to parents, cops and

bitches and, I think, the audience and possibly each other. They were too overmiked to be sure.

At the end of the set our table and most of the others were al waving for checks.

Otherwise, it had been a successful evening. It seemed to me that Rho and Janie made a good addition to Ptown.

At home, I let the pets into the yard to use whatever facilities they could sniff out to their satisfaction. By the time we got back in, Cindy was already in bed.

â€œTired?â€ I asked.

â€œNot real y.â€ She grinned. â€œWhy?â€

â€œI thought you nâ€™ me might do a liâ€™l hip-hop arounâ€™ duh bed.â€

â€œWe might do a waltz, or a salsa or even a do-si-doâ€”but donâ€™t ever suggest hip-hop to me again. Got that?â€

â€œYes, maâ€™am.â€ I undressed and got into bed, counting softly: â€œOne-two-three. One-two-threeâ€¦â€

CHAPTER THIRTY

I had been around art gal eries on the Cape al my life and had come to two conclusions about them. Men who owned or managed them tended to dress up for work, perhaps to underscore that these premises were

indeed dedicated to works of art. Women who owned or managed them were inclined to dress down, perhaps not wishing to compete with their wares for attention and appreciation.

When I cal ed upon them with my photos, I just tried to be clean and neat and hope the pictures would speak for themselves. Usual y it worked. This morning it would not have mattered had I been garbed in ragged

shorts and a T-shirt smeared with muddy paw prints or a gold lamÃ© gown with split skirt and deep dÃ©col etage.

I had already cal ed upon one of my gal eries in Wel fleet and restocked the most popular prints. They had also taken four new photos they liked and made a note to cal me the beginning of June to see what refil s they

needed.

At my second gal ery I received doubly upsetting news. Unknown to me over the winter one of the owners had developed a terminal il ness. The partners had sold the gal ery and returned to their native Texas to spend

their last months together and near his family. The new owners imparted this news in the same sepulchral but somehow disapproving tones they used to tel me that they would no longer handle my photos. Now that they

owned the place, they explained, they would handle only true art.

They turned businesslike immediately. She handed me an inventory list and a check for the six pictures they had just happened to sel in the off-season before they could get them off the wal . He gave me a carton

holding the remainder. I staggered out the door, which neither of them offered to hold, and made my way down the sidewalk toward where I was parked. I felt saddened for the two previous owners. I decided my opinion

that the two new owners bore a strong resemblance to members of the Addams family might be just a little overstated.

I would have staggered right past my friends Bil y and Walter, had Walter not literal y taken the heavy carton from my arms. They were both teachers and I wondered what they were doing wandering around the Wel fleet

shops on a Monday. The school had to be closed for two days with some dire electrical problem, they explained, and they were just enjoying the good weather.

We walked on toward my car, with me delivering my screed in the whiny voice even I hate. They offered condolences on al counts and I shut up.

As Walter placed the carton of photos in my trunk, Bil y snapped his fingers and hit me lightly on the shoulder. â€œBoy, are we brain-dead or what, Walter?â€

Walter and I both stared, assuming some explanation would fol ow.

â€œThereâ€™s that new gal ery in Orleansâ€¦the wife of one of our teachers just opened it. We know them pretty wel , and theyâ€™re good people. Letâ€™s take a run down there now. Youâ€™ve got plenty of samples to show her and

even enough to leave some if she wants them. It wonâ€™t take long.â€

We piled into my car, and I was more excited than I tried to show. I had never been able to place anything in Orleans. The introduction would help and it would be a real triumph for me if we could carry it off.

We did. Marian Prescott kept twelve shots with backups to hang in a good area.

â€œWith people getting so interested in â€˜greenâ€™ and protecting wildlife, this is a natural,â€ she said. â€œStay in touch.â€ You bet I would!

We started back to my car and I repaid them slightly by warning against the Poly-Cotton Clubâ€™s current show. They were grateful for the information and pleased that Cassie had found another pilot.

â€œTwo planes now!â€ Walter exclaimed. â€œSheâ€™l be putting Delta out of business.â€

â€œIf she lives long enough.â€ I told them of Harmonâ€™s latest drug imaginings and they got a real kick out of that. It was how we had met. Harmon had mistaken Walter for a murderous drug dealer victimizing elderly ladies.

â€œWel .â€ Bil y laughed. â€œAt least he is consistent.â€

I dropped them at their car and went home, stil sad about my ex-customerâ€™s il ness, but simultaneously elated by my new connection in Orleans.

And the week held stil more welcome news for us. Wednesday evening Sonny and Trish stopped by on their way to a movie. Sonny had good news, or at least I thought it was.

â€œThe young Lotharios and Stalker Travis pled out,â€ he announced. â€œSo neither Cindy nor the Wismer boy wil have to go through the stress of a trial. Now ainâ€™t that great?â€

I saw Cindy close her eyes and take a deep breath. I wondered if she was sending up a prayer of thanks or simply trying not to cry with relief. Possibly both.

â€œWhat did they plead guilty to?â€ I asked.

â€œAl four pleaded guilty to using graphical y suggestive and salacious language in public.â€

I laughed. â€œOh, come on, Sonny, you just made that upâ€”that canâ€™t be a law this day and age.â€

â€œIt can and is.â€ He took a cigarette from my pack, and I didnâ€™t even glare. â€œBack in 1871 the daughter of one of the bank executives attended a girlfriendâ€™s afternoon tea. Afterward she walks over to the bank and waits

for her father to come out so they can strol home together.â€

He final y got the cigarette lit and continued. â€œShe is standing on the sidewalk, leaning on her parasol. A young man mistakes her for a prostitute. He asks her, in apparently explicit words, to let him purchase what he

assumes she was sel ing. The girl beats the man about the head with her umbrel a and then goes screaming into the bank, police are duly summoned, and the law went onto the books, where it has dozed ever since.â€

â€œHow did you ever know about it?â€ Sonny occasional y surprised me to the core.

â€œOh, partly old recordsâ€”they can be fascinating, you know. And old newspapers and copies of personal journals the library has hung on to. And sometimes things the old geezers tel you about.â€

â€œHas that law ever been used again?â€ He had me interested now.

â€œThe latest account I have found was nineteen forty-two, when a drunken Coast Guardsman made essential y the same mistake with a Selectmanâ€™s young wife.â€

â€œThis is al fascinating,â€ Cindy added, â€œbut what happened to our four men?â€

â€œAh, yes. Wel the three young guys got six monthâ€™s probation, forty hours community service andâ€”what doubtless hurt them the mostâ€”one weekâ€™s house arrest.â€

â€œAnd that bastard,Travis?â€

â€œThe judge gave him two yearâ€™s probation, eighty hours community service and one monthâ€™s house arrest. And unofficial word has it, he wil keep his job of twelve years, but with a temporary demotion and a transfer up Cape.â€

â€œOh, Sonny! Thatâ€™s nothing!â€ Cindy sounded furious.

â€œCindy, itâ€™s not as light as it may sound,â€ Sonny explained. â€œTwo whole years of knowing the cops are breathing down your neck gets nerve-racking. Community service is not raking leaves in the park on a lovely autumn

day: itâ€™s cleaning the municipal restrooms, picking up trash from the sidewalks and gutters. Itâ€™s working the garbage trucks on nice hot days and mopping floors at town hal . And house arrest, Iâ€™m told, is no fun at al after

the first couple of days. Itâ€™s not so much that your house is unpleasant, itâ€™s knowing that you absolutely cannot leave it.â€

â€œAnd Travis may get rather lonesome there,â€ Trish added with a wicked grin. â€œThis is off the record, but Mrs. Travis was in our office to see Attorney Frost the other day. Of course, I have no idea as to their conversation,â€

she said with a simper, â€œBut I believe it is public knowledge, since it was uttered in the reception room, that she is now visiting her mother in Lynn while she â€˜does some thinking.â€™â€

Even Cindy laughed at that. â€œI imagine Mrs. Travis now has the excuse she has been looking for the last twenty years.â€

â€œSonny, look at the time, weâ€™ve got to run. The movie might actual y start on schedule.â€ Trish got to her feet.

They left, carrying our thanks out the door with them, and we returned to the living room. Cindy turned to me on the couch.

â€œSonny is quite the local historian, isnâ€™t he.â€ Cindy commented.

â€œHe actual y does have an intel ect,â€ I agreed. â€œHeâ€™s just afraid someone may notice it.â€

â€œStrange,â€ she mused, â€œthatâ€™s usual y a female trait.â€

â€œIn Sonnyâ€™s case, Iâ€™m pretty sure it is that he feelsâ€”perhaps with good reasonâ€”that people do not like having cops around who are too bright.â€

â€œWhat do you think of this judgeâ€™s sentencing? Not the young guys, theyâ€™l probably learn a lesson that wil hopeful y mean something to them. But Travis?â€

â€œDarling, I know Travis put you through hel and upset a number of other people as wel . But I think the prosecutor was wise to accept his plea, and the judge was wise in his sentence. Travis is not, in fact, a criminal,

heâ€™s a dirty middle-aged man. I real y do not think he is dangerous, but loss of job and pension plus a year in a prison might make him so.â€

She thought that over. â€œI suppose.â€

â€œAnd, mâ€™dear, a trial is no fun, even for the innocent victim. The defense lawyer would make you out an hysterical woman with a thing going on the side with underage Larry Wismer when you got bored having a thing

going with me.â€

â€œAlex!â€ Then she began to laugh. â€œYouâ€™re probably right. Okay, okay. I surrender.â€

I thought that was a fine idea, and leaned over to kiss her.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

I had forgotten earlier this morning to give Cindy the three checks I needed to deposit. It was Friday and I didnâ€™t want them sitting around until Monday. I had learned the hard way not to hold checks from art gal eries

overlong. Sometimes their cash flow was problematic. It didnâ€™t real y matter, I could stop in the bank on the way home from the firing range where I had a high noon appointment.

In order to protect my PI license to carry and my eligibility to be deputized to the Provincetown Police force, I had to spend an hour, twice a year on a firing range. I always forgot the time and had to wangle an

appointment whenever they could fit me inâ€”like eight a.m. or four thirty p.m. or noon. Always times I would prefer to be somewhere else. Ah,wel â€¦it was my own fault.

Right now it was not quite ten oâ€™clock and Fargo was staring intently at me, tryingâ€”I was fairly certainâ€”to implant a thought in my mind. â€œBeach, Alex, beach. Please, please, please!â€

Already there was a sign up in the parking lot, saying â€œNo Dogs on Beach.â€ In a week or so there would be enough tourists to limit our beach runs to very early mornings. Todayâ€”the few people we would encounter

would just have to share.

It was the only Ptown law I ever deliberately broke. I knew that, being Sonnyâ€™s sister and a sometime fel ow cop, I would not be hassled by any patrol ing officer unless I did something real y bad. But I did not want to take

advantage of being â€œfamily,â€ I did not want to embarrass Sonny, and I genuinely thought most laws were logical and good. But when it came to Fargo and tourists and the beachâ€¦screw â€™em.

When we got to the beach, there were a few cumulus clouds lurking in the distance over the ocean. They would sail majestical y in-shore later in the day, but they meant no harm, simply positioning themselves to form

the palette for a delicate pink and orange sunset.

Fargo busted up a meeting of loudly protesting gul s. As they flapped over the low surf, he plowed through it, apparently happy in the frigid water. He came out shaking himself and rol ed sensuously in the sun-warmed

sand.

I got what should be a wonderful shot of a smal girlchild stretching out one hand in a gesture of tentative friendship to Fargo, while he bowed to her, forelegs outstretched and hindquarters raised in the universal

invitation to play. It looked as if she were knighting him.

What could go wrong on a day like that?

Not much. My session at the firing range actual y went wel . I tried some headshots and surprisingly made most of them. My other shots were nearly al in the kil range, even with moving targets coming or going in

different directions at different speeds.

I had just reloaded my trusty Glock 9mm when the owner/instructor cal ed, â€œTimeâ€™s up, Alex. Andâ€”sorry, but Iâ€™ve got another appointment, and heâ€™s here. You done good, kid. Hereâ€™s your certification, see you in six.â€

I thanked him, and rather than hold up his waiting client stil more by taking time to unload the weapon, I merely made sure it was on safe and shoved it in the rear pocket of my jeans.

Driving back to Ptown, I found myself in the beginnings of the weekend traffic and got off onto the old road in Truro, hoping to miss a few of the early-bird tourists. Just after crossing into Ptown I caught sight of Rho

Bannister getting into her car. I pul ed in behind her, walked up and stuck my head into the passengerâ€™s window.

â€œAl set for the maiden flight of Lobster Airlines?â€

â€œYou bet!â€ She smiled. â€œI just had to come home and change clothes, I spent the morning putting the old wheel and undercarriage back on, even found a leaky old tire to go with it. And I was filthy.â€

â€œYouâ€™re going to use the old parts?â€ That didnâ€™t sound like Cassie.

â€œLord, no!â€ Rho laughed. â€œThey wouldnâ€™t last a hundred feet at takeoff speedâ€¦not that you could get to that speed with one engine. No, this just lets us push it out of the hangar and work in a better light. More room and

better air, too. Weâ€™re stil waiting for the parts to start the real work.â€

â€œMakes sense.â€ I backed out of the window. â€œGive Cassie a hug, and safe trip to both of you.â€

She gave me a snappy salute and pul ed away.

As I started to fol ow her, I remembered the checks locked in the glove compartment. The bank, Alex, donâ€™t forget the bank. I took the next left turn.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The bank parking lot was crowded early on this Friday afternoon. I had to park in the back and walk around to the big front doors. Inside, people were obviously cashing and/or depositing paychecks, taking out cash for

the weekend, paying off loans, whatever. Al of the free-form marble stands seemed in use, but toward the back I spotted one where a solitary woman was writing diligently in a smal ledger, and figured I could fit beside

her.

When I approached, she smiled and waved her hand, indicating stacks of various coins and a few dol ar bil s.

â€œSorry to take up so much room.â€

â€œNo problem.â€ I smiled back. â€œI just have to endorse a couple of checks.â€

â€œIâ€™m a Girl Scout leader, but I think the bookkeeping for a Fortune five hundred Company is probably simpler.â€ She sighed.

I started to reply courteously when I noticed Cindy come out of some back office, looking down at a clipboard and making what appeared to be check marks.

Then I noticed three men crossing the area leading to the vault. Two of the men carried pistols that looked like .44 caliber to me, and the fat one carried something that looked like an Uzi.

The vault at Fishermanâ€™s Bank had a history of being open during business hours. Centuries ago it had proved the bank was solvent; now it was tradition. There was a locked brass gril e to keep out the curious or the

souvenir-takers, and that was it.

It was not as foolish as it sounds. There was only one highway and a choice of two bridges off the Cape. Should robbers have come in a boat, there was a Coast Guard station with cutter and helicopter at the end of

the beach.

Unfortunately, I felt, there were no fighter planes at our little airportâ€”for I was now certain this was how the three men I watched would leave the Capeâ€¦in Cassieâ€™s plane, quite possibly over her dead body.

But right now Cindy was my worry. She wasnâ€™t watching where she was walking, and she was on a col ision course with one of the men headed for the vault. I quietly slid my own pistol out of my pocket.

The woman next to me looked down at my hand and screamed, â€œA gun! Help, someone, sheâ€™s got a gun!â€

â€œShut up,â€ I hissed and automatical y ducked. I pul ed her down with me just as Fatso let fly with the Uzi. Chips of marble pinged and twanged al over the place but the sturdy marble table held, and as far as I knew,

neither of us was hurt.

But the woman was stil screaming for help. I gave her a kick in the butt. â€œClose your effing mouth, you idiot! Iâ€™m a cop.â€ I stretched it a little. â€œAnd youâ€™re gonna get us kil ed. One more shriek and Iâ€™l shoot you myself.â€

Maybe I was just the slightest bit nervous.

But she did shut up and lay moaning softly to herself. It was an improvement.

I peeked around the corner. Oh, dear God! Cindy had walked right into one robberâ€™s arms as he started to shoot the lock off the vault gate. He had her left arm twisted painful y up against her shoulder as he fired three

shots into the lock. On the fourth shot it flew apart and the gate swung open.

The man yanked Cindy inside with him, stuffed his pistol in his belt and started pul ing at the large canvas bags with one arm.

â€œCome on, guys, get in here! I need some help.â€

Fatso fired off a blast from the automatic for effect and then screamed, â€œDown, everybody down or youâ€™re dead.â€ As he ran for the vault I couldnâ€™t see anyone who wasnâ€™t already down. I didnâ€™t know if any were hurt or

not.

I looked cautiously around, trying to spot the security men. I saw one of them on the floor. Hurt? Playing doggo? And I saw the third robber backing slowly toward the vault, gun in hand.

He cal ed softly, â€œNow donâ€™t panic, folks. Just lie quiet. We donâ€™t want to hurt anybody. Just be cool and weâ€™l be outa here.â€ He sounded like the â€œnice guyâ€ on my tape at home, and I was slightly encouraged.

Suddenly an aging security guard appeared from somewhere, walking slowly toward Nice Guy. His hands were held out, palms up, to show he was unarmed.

â€œAl right, son, we donâ€™t want to hurt anyone either, so just give me your gun and tel your friends to put theirs down and you can go. Nobody wil hurt you.â€

â€œShut up, Dad, and lay down. Youâ€™re bugginâ€™ me.â€

â€œNow, son, just give me your weapon.â€ God, what was wrong with him? This wasnâ€™t a kid misbehaving at the prom!

Nice Guy gave it to him, al rightâ€”high in the chest. I saw his white shirt turn red in front, and he went down.

Somebody screamed and Fatso treated us al to another spray of lead.

The guy I had decided was Frank bel owed, â€œGet in here! Now! We donâ€™t have all weekend!â€

They got, and I took a moment to look out the large front window. As I had thought there would be, a car was parked in front of the doors, a man sitting in it. The passengerâ€™s front door and both back doors were open,

along with the trunk. They were ready to rol . Would they take Cindy with them?

Probably. I imagined their plans had been to grab a female hostage at random on the way out, just in case. Cindy had just offered up herself a little early. Now she was a chip in a poker game I couldnâ€™t see the good

guys winning. But I had to think of something. I could not let them leave here with Cindy. If they did, her chances were smal . No way was I going to let that happen!

The cops would be here shortly. With Fatso Arnold Schwarzenegger, enjoying his Uzi, bul ets would fly and you can bet Frank would have Cindy in front of him.

Think, Peres!

They were moving out of the vault. First, Nice Guy carried out two big bags. Fatso managed one and, of course, his trusty weapon. Frank had let go of Cindyâ€™s arm but had his pistol firmly against her back. He carried a

large bag, somewhat clumsily in one hand, as they started across to the exit.

I could shoot him as he passed, but that had two drawbacks: even if I hit him fatal y, he might shoot Cindy before he fel , or my bul et conceivably could pass through his body and into hers. I had to get his attention away

from her. Stand up and yel ? Offer to swap Ms. Scout Leader for Cindy? Then I had my bright idea.

I stood up and fired six evenly placed shots across the top of the enormous plate glass window that covered almost the entire front of the bank. It came down in a swooshing, crackling sheet as graceful as a theatre

curtain. Smal pieces of glass covered the floor.

I screamed, â€œCindy run, turn left!â€ I meant her to turn left outside the doors. The getaway car was parked to the right of the front doors. I was parked to the left. As the glass fel , Frank looked up at our window-fal , and his

gun drifted off to the right. Cindy was already skittering across the glass. She slipped and went down on one knee but was up like a bird. She flung open one of the big doors as if it weighed a pound and was outside and

turning left.

Then I fired again. Frank dropped his gun and grabbed his wrist. He lost his balance and fel . Had I real y shot his gun out of his hand? I had been aiming for the middle of his back. Surely I wasnâ€™t that shaky! I ran after

Cindy, slowing as I passed Frank to kick his gun away. He was getting up as I went through the door.

I caught up with her at my car, we jumped in. I final y got the key into the ignition and we were away, the getaway car ahead of us and turning onto the street. I thought I heard sirens, but didnâ€™t want to wait. There was

Cassie, you see. And Rho.

As I raced a couple of blocks down Bradford and then turned to get over to Route Six, I said, â€œI think my cel phone is in the compartment. Cal Cassie.â€

â€œNumber?â€ she asked. I told her and she dialed. â€œCassie, Cindy. Hold a minute.â€

She turned to me. â€œTel her what?â€

â€œHer seafood charter just robbed the bank and shot it up and are headed for the airport. They are very, very dangerous. They wil be there in six or seven minutes. Run or hide. Do notâ€”repeat notâ€”let them find you.â€

She quoted me just about verbatim and hung up. Noticing she was shivering, I turned on the heater. I was sweating. â€œNow cal Nacho, give her the scoop and ask for backup. Iâ€™ve only got six shots left.â€ She made the

cal , put the phone back and pul ed out a packet of tissues I keep in the compartment.

It was then I noticed her pants leg was bloody. â€œDarling, youâ€™re hurt!â€ She was busy trying to staunch the blood and not having much luck. â€œAre you shot?â€

â€œNo. Just a cut from the glass. Iâ€™m okay. Thanks to you, angel, although I doubt Choate El is wil be cal ing you angel when he sees his prized window.â€ We both laughed and she leaned her head against my shoulder for

a moment and I felt wonderful.

As we turned into the airport I saw the big gray Chrysler stopped near the plane, already out on the ramp, motors idling. Frank and the getaway driver were visible in the cockpit. Nice Guy tossed the last bag into the

cabin, climbed aboard, helped Fatso up the short ladder and closed the door. There was no sign of Cassie or Rho. Hopeful y they had gotten away.

The men began to taxi toward the end of the runway to make their takeoff run into the wind. The only hope of stopping them would be to take my car out into the middle of the runway and block their takeoff. And I was not

about to get us shot or sent airborne in a firebal .

â€œWel , it looks like theyâ€™re getting away. I didnâ€™t see Cassie or Rho in the plane, did you?â€ Cindy asked.

â€œNo. I hope theyâ€™re far away.â€

The plane turned toward us and began to accelerate. It seemed slightly off kilter to me, and the engines sounded unsynchronized. I started to laugh. Then I saw a piece of metal drop down from the wheel wel and

scrape along the runway. I began to laugh hard.

Cindy took my hand and gave me a concerned look. â€œAlex?â€

â€œItâ€™s okay, honey, I havenâ€™t freaked. Theyâ€™ve got the wrong plane! Somehow Rho and Cassie got the propel er put back on and these idiots took the plane that canâ€™t fly! Just look at that right wheel.â€

As if on command, the right wheel crumpled, the right wing dropped several inches and the plane veered to the right, crossways on the runway. That move took care of the right propel er. It flew off, continued to turn in

the air for a few yards and settled gently in the grass beside the runway.

The plane stopped just in time for four police cars to scream around us and surround it. The officers jumped out, crouching behind the doors. I hoped Nacho had remembered to mention the Uzi.

Sonny was immediately on the bul horn. â€œTurn off your engines and throw your weapons out the door. Then come out slowly and lie down on the ground. Iâ€™ve got a SWAT team here and Iâ€™d love for them to get some

practice.â€

There was a moment when it seemed nothing was going to happen. Then the remaining propel er slowed and stopped, and there was silence. Then the plane door opened and the ladder went down. The getaway

driver appeared in the door and tossed out the Uzi plus three pistols. He came down the ladder and lay down. Nice Guy came out next. At the bottom of the ladder he raised his hands and cal ed â€œIâ€™ve got to help this guy,

heâ€™s hurt. Give me a minute.â€

Everyone tensed, but nothing happened except that Fatso half fel down the steps and had trouble getting down on the ground. I wondered what was wrong. Frank was the last man out, stil cradling his hand.

Sonny looked at him curiously. â€œWhich security man got you in the gun hand? That takes some shooting.â€

â€œNeither,â€ Frank answered. â€œOne of them spent the whole time lying curled up like a scared kid. The older one said we oughta surrender to him before someone got hurt and Earl shot himâ€”dead, I guess.â€ He pointed at

Nice Guy.

Yeah, I nodded, he looked like an Earl.

â€œSo who got you?â€

â€œThe woman over there.â€ He pointed at me. â€œI dropped my gun, and she and the other one ran away.â€ He indicated Cindy.

Sonny looked at me, turned beet red and hissed, â€œHow many damn times have I told you not to try a fancy shot when it matters? What if you had missed? He could have shot back. You could have hit a bystander. You

could be dead. How would I have told Mom?â€

â€œShut up!â€ I hissed back. â€œYouâ€™re babbling. If you must know, I was aiming for the middle of his back. And you neednâ€™t tel that to the world!â€

â€œJesus Christ, Alexâ€¦â€ Before we could add to this enlightening conversation, Rho and Cassie burst out the side door of the hangar and came running toward us, Cassie cal ing, â€œThank God youâ€™re here! Is everyone al

right?â€

â€œPretty much so,â€ I answered. Hugs went around. And I final y got to ask, â€œHow on earth did you rig it so they got the wrong plane?â€

She and Rho both laughed. â€œThe wheel was already on, like I told you,â€ Rho explained. â€œBetween the two of us we managed to put the old propel er back on the engineâ€”it wasnâ€™t even fastened. I canâ€™t believe it lasted

as long as it did.â€

Cassie added, â€œWe pushed the plane out onto the tarmac, and left the keys in it. We closed and locked the hangar. It seemed probable theyâ€™d be in a hurry and not look at detailsâ€¦just start her up and run for it. And

thatâ€™s what they did. Then we locked ourselves in the office, and peeked through the blinds.â€

Sonny shook his head admiringly. â€œSometimes I wonder where women get their ideas. Men would stil be shooting it out. Hatcher! Come and drive our two wounded heroes down to the clinic.â€

â€œIâ€™m not hurt,â€ I announced. But I was, I realized, shivering in the warm sun. And for the first time, I noticed my left sleeve was bloody. Now what the hel was that?

â€œTake them in her car,â€ Sonny ordered. â€œThen cal for a pick-up at her house.â€

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

So once again I sat in Dr. Gloetznerâ€™s office at the end of a total y draining day. Only this time Cindy was with me. The cut on her knee looked nasty and had taken two stitches, and she stil looked a little pale. Any

sympathy I had felt for Frankâ€™s shattered hand had disappeared.

My â€œwoundâ€ was truly minor. A smal piece of flying marble had lodged in my forearm. Gloetzner pul ed it out with one painful yank, squirted something on it that stung and slapped a large Band-Aid into place. And that

was it.

â€œHowâ€™s the security fel ow?â€ I asked. â€œDid he make it?â€

â€œMr. Penny is critical, but stable.â€

â€œIâ€™ve never understood what that meant,â€ Cindy said.

â€œIn Mr. Pennyâ€™s case it means he is out of surgery, not yet any better, but shows no sign of getting worse. With luck, he wil recover.â€

â€œWhat about the fat guy?â€

â€œHe got a sizable sliver of glass in his left buttock. We had to knock him out to go after it.â€

â€œIâ€™d have been glad to knock him out for you. Could I do it now?â€ I was feeling lightheaded.

â€œThank you, no. If needed, we wil cal you.â€

He swung one leg over the corner of his desk and said, â€œNow, ladies, I would speak seriously with you. On the matter of stress. It has come to my attention you have had a rough time of late. First a stalker.â€

Thank you, Loose Lips Lainey.

â€œThen according to your Aunt Mae, you visited Cindyâ€™s cousin, I believe, in Tennessee and were in considerable danger, plus in trouble with their local police.â€

Thank you Babbling Brook Mae.

â€œAnd now, the events of today.â€ He continued. â€œThese things add up. They not only affect your emotional balance, they begin to put a strain on your physical health.

â€œSo.â€ He reached back on his desk. â€œI have written you each a limited prescription for mild tranquilizers. They wonâ€™t make you a zombie, they just take the edge off. And if you would like to see a counselorâ€”our man is

pretty good, or there are several others you may wish to consider.â€

He handed us the scrips. â€œAnd perhaps most important of al , I recommend you get away for a truly restful vacation. Not New York or Atlantic Cityâ€”Vermont or Maine perhaps.â€

I managed not to hit him. Cindy dredged up a smile and her social voice.

â€œDoctor, thank you so much for your kind concern. We wil certainly fil your prescriptions and consider some psychiatric advice. As for vacation, I am convinced that Vermont would have an earthquake that would blow

off the end of the Richter scale, and Maine would manage a tsunami with a sixty-foot tidal surge. The gods have forbidden us a vacation this year.â€

â€œWhat we need,â€ I explained, â€œis our beautiful, calm everyday lifeâ€”Cindy dealing with idiot clients, while I try to explain to an irate tourist that their B&B is not responsible for their getting drunk and fal ing into the goldfish

pond. We need Wel s to get in a boxing match with the neighborâ€™s tomcat and Fargo to eat my sugar peas off the vines before we can pick â€™em. We need to go to the cottage for a restful weekend and spend it helping

Aunt Mae rearrange her herb garden and put up new shelves in the shop. And we look forward to a few good fights over decorating a new room on the house. This what we need.â€

He smiled. â€œIt may wel be. Wel , we are here if you need us.â€

â€œWe know that.â€ This time Cindyâ€™s smile was genuine. â€œAnd itâ€™s a great backstop.â€

â€œDo you want to stop and fil the prescriptions?â€ Cindy asked.

â€œIf you do, sure.â€

â€œI donâ€™t think so. I think a scotch and watching the sun set over the pond would do it for me.â€

â€œEspecial y,â€ I added, â€œif the furbal s are with us.â€

Cindy nodded, so we stopped by the house just long enough to col ect the little darlings and moved on to the cottage. The sunset was duly lovely. The little darlings had their usual tiff over the miniature soccer bal that

Fargo liked to drop in the pond so Wel s couldnâ€™t play with it. We ordered lots of Chinese food that we al four liked and ate al of it.

We talked about a color scheme for the new bedroom.

We discussed what sort of thank-you gift we should send to Ken and Frances. We decided on the game of Clue to add to their smal stack of rainy day board games. And a bunch of specialty breads from a very good

bakery downtown, plus some fancy bottles of various â€œwaters.â€

Satisifed with our creativity, we retired for the night.

We went back to the house Sunday evening so that Cindy could check her wardrobe for the week ahead. And so that I could make a list of things I needed to do in the coming week, a list Cindy was happy to assist me

with.

Late Monday afternoon Harmon arrived to mow the lawn, saying I shouldnâ€™t do it with an injured arm. How he knew it was even slightly damaged, I would never knowâ€”Provincetownâ€™s jungle drums never missed a beat.

I usual y did the lawn, and could have easily done it today, but I didnâ€™t want to hurt his feelings.

And truth to tel , I was rather glad to let him do it. I had spent the morning at Peter and the Wolfâ€™s B&B dealing with an obnoxious guest who had been sitting on the porch banister, lost his balance and fel into an azalea

bush. They had been happy to apply a soothing ointment to his several scratches, but thought that covered their responsibility.

He, on the other hand, wanted a doctor to check out his back plus punitive damages for his â€œemotional trauma.â€ He planned to sue. I pointed out to him that there had been four empty chairs on the porch, when he

chose to sit on the railing. I added that he had been drinking. If he sued and lost, I added, he would be out enough money to have spent his vacation on the Riviera. He final y agreed.

While Harmon mowed I put in some radish seeds and planted the frail little lettuce plants he had brought as a gift. I knew they were a lot tougher than they looked, but I stil felt I should tuck them in with a light blanket. As

he finished up the yard, I gave the seeds and plants a gentle drink. I shivered slightly under the now cloudy sky and suggested we go into the kitchen for a beer. He agreed happily.

Just as we sat down, the phone rang. It was my mother.

â€œHi, Mom, how are you?â€

â€œFine. Itâ€™s you two that have my concern. Is Cindy real y al right? And what about you?â€

â€œAbsolutely fine, both of us. I got some radishes and lettuce planted while Harmon kindly mowed the grass.â€

â€œHow nice of him!â€

â€œNice indeed.â€ I winked at Harmon, who blushed. â€œWhatâ€™s up?â€

â€œNext Saturday and Sunday afternoon is the church jumble sale. I wondered if you and Cindy would be up to manning a booth?â€

I cringed, but then, Mom did a lot of favors in a lot of places, and rarely asked for one in return.

â€œSure! Wouldnâ€™t miss it. Anything but clothing. Some of it smel s of mothbal s and it makes me sneeze. But anything else would be fine.â€

â€œThank you, darling. I knew I could count on you. I must runâ€”more cal s to make. I love you both.â€

I said we loved her, too, to a silent phone.

Harmon and I moved to a second beer and talked of garden things. I heard a car door close and assumed it was Cindy, but it was Sonny who came through the kitchen door.

â€œHi, you two. How goes it? Mind if I have a beer?â€

â€œIt goes fine,â€ I answered. â€œHelp yourself.â€

He joined us at the table. â€œCindy not here?â€ he asked.

I looked at the clock. â€œSheâ€™s running a little late. She should be here any minute. Can I help with something?â€

He sipped his beer. â€œWel , maybeâ€¦â€

Before I learned how I might be of service to my brother, a car door slammed and Cindy caromed through the back door, kicking off her shoes as she came. She fel heavily into the fourth chair and picked up my bottle

of beer. She took a healthy swig directly from the bottle, and reached for my cigarettes. Sonny and Harmon sat wide-eyed and shocked.

But I knew the symptoms. â€œBad day at the bank?â€

â€œWel , I ask you, how am I supposed to run a department and maintain customer trust in us when the accounting people have a combined IQ about as high as the speed limit?â€

â€œWhat happened?â€ I prompted.

â€œWe have a customer named Wil iam Lawrence. Coincidental y, we have a customer named Lawrence Wil iams. In their infinite wisdom, accounting decided we had accidental y opened two accounts for one man, so

they combined them. Wil iam Lawrence got a statement showing him with about double the money he real y has, while Lawrence Wil iams got no statement at al â€”he doesnâ€™t exist.â€

â€œBut you fixed it.â€ I guessed.

â€œOh, sure, but what a mess! Iâ€™m going to change clothes. Could I have a beer al my own and in a glass? Iâ€™m going to change clothesâ€¦oh, I told you that. Excuse me, gentlemen. Hel o, darling.â€ She left me with a kiss on

the cheek. Typical bad-day explosionâ€”short and snappy and al gone.

â€œWhew.â€ Sonny exhaled. â€œIâ€™m glad Iâ€™m not a bookkeeper at Fishermanâ€™s.â€

â€œArenâ€™t we al . What was it you started to ask?â€

â€œOh, yeah,â€ he replied. â€œNext week is Trishâ€™s birthday. I thought Cindy might suggest something I could get her. Iâ€™m no good with presents.â€

That was certainly true. When I moved into this house several years back and had to learn a little simple cooking, he had given me a black organdy apron perfect for a French maid in a house of il repute.

Harmon spoke up. â€œYou know, Sonny, I ran into Trish the other day and I noticed her with one of them big apache cases al the lawyers carry around. One of the handles was almost worn throughâ€”bound to break soon.

How about a new one for her?â€

â€œPerfect!â€ Sonny beamed. â€œA monogrammed attachÃ© case. Harmon, youâ€™re a genius!â€

â€œWel , I donâ€™t know about that.â€ He smiled, almost demurely. â€œBut there is something I wanted to tel you. There was this cruiser I noticed tied up at one of the docks in the bayâ€¦expensive-looking twenty-eight footer.

There seemed to be just one fel a aboard and he was going over some kind of listâ€”marking some things out and adding other things. Now, Sonny I was just thinkingâ€¦â€

â€œYes, Harmon?â€ Sonny sounded weary.

I wasnâ€™t. Life was back to normal and it was just fine.

Publications from

Bella Books, Inc.

The best in contemporary lesbian fiction

P.O. Box 10543, Tallahassee, FL 32302

Phone: 800-729-4992

www.bellabooks.com

WARMING TREND by Karin Kal maker. Everybody was convinced she had committed a shocking academic theft, so Anidyr Bycal ran a long, long way. Going back to her beloved Alaskan home, and the coldness in Eve

Cambraâ€™s eyes isnâ€™t going to be easy. $14.95

WRONG TURNS by Jackie Calhoun. Cal ie Cal ahanâ€™s latest wrong turn turns out wel . She meets Vicki Brownwel . Sparks would fly if only Meg Klein would leave them alone! $14.95

SMALL PACKAGES by KG MacGregor. With Lily away from home, Anna Kaklis is alone with her worst nightmare: a toddler. Book Three of the Shaken Series. $14.95

FAMILY AFFAIR by Saxon Bennett. An oops at the gynecologist has Chase Banter final y trying to grow up. She has nine whole months to pul it off. $14.95

DELUSIONAL by Terri Breneman. In her search for a kil er, Toni Barston discovers that sometimes everything is exactly the way it seems, and then it gets worse. $14.95

COMFORTABLE DISTANCE by Kenna White. Summer on Puget Sound ought to be relaxing for Dana Robbins, but Dr. Jamie Hughes is far too close for comfort. $14.95

ROOT OF PASSION by Ann Roberts. Grace Owens knows a fake when she sees it, and the potion her best friend promises wil fix her love life is a fake. But what if she wishes it werenâ€™t? $14.95

KEILEâ€™S CHANCE by Dil on Watson. A routine day in the park turns into the chance of a lifetime, if Keile Griffen can find the courage to risk it al for a pair of big brown eyes. $14.95

SEA LEGS by KG MacGregor. Kel y is happy to help Natalie make Didi jealous, sure, itâ€™s al pretend. Maybe. Even the captain doesnâ€™t know where this comic cruse wil end. $14.95

TOASTED by Josie Gordon. Mayhem erupts when a culinary road show stops in tiny Middelburg, and for some reason everyone thinks Lonnie Squires ought to fix it. Fol ow-up to Lammy mystery winner Whacked. $14.95

NO RULES OF ENGAGEMENT by Tracey Richardson. A war zone attraction is of no use to Major Logan Sharp. She canâ€™t wait for Jil ian Knight to go back to the other side of the world. $14.95

A SMALL SACRIFICE by El en Hart. A harmless reunion of friends is anything but, and Cordelia Thorn cal s friend Jane Lawless with a desperate plea for help. Lammy winner for Best Mystery. Number 5 in this award winning series. $14.95

FAINT PRAISE by El en Hart. When a famous TV personality leaps to his death, Jane Lawless agrees to help a friend with inquiries, drawing the attention of a ruthless kil er. Number 6 in this award-winning series. $14.95

STEPPING STONE by Karin Kal maker. Selena Ryanâ€™s heart was shredded by an actress, and she swears she wil never, ever be involved with one again. $14.95

THE SCORPION by Gerri Hil . Cold cases are what make reporter Marty Edwards tick. When her latest proves to be far from cold, she stil doesnâ€™t want Detective Kristen Bailey babysitting her, not even when she has to

run for her life. $14.95

White.

Lauren

Roberts

is

tired

of

being

the

steady,

reliable

one.

When Gaylin

Hart

blows

into

her

life,

she

decides

to

act,

only

to

find

once

again

that

her

younger

sister

wants

the

same

woman. $14.95

SONGS WITHOUT WORDS by Robbi McCoy. Harper Sheridanâ€™s runaway niece turns up in the one place least expected and Harper confronts the woman from the summer that has shaped her entire life since. $14.95

PHOTOGRAPHS OF CLAUDIA by KG MacGregor. To photographer Leo Westcott models are light and shadow realized on film. Until Claudia. $14.95

MILES TO GO by Amy Dawson Robertson. Rennie Vogel has final y earned a spot at CT3. Al too soon she finds herself abandoned behind enemy lines, miles from safety and forced to do the one thing she never has

before: trust another woman. $14.95

TWO WEEKS IN AUGUST by Nat Burns. Her return to Chincoteague Island is a delight to Nina Christie until she gets her dose of Hazy Duncanâ€™s renown il -humor. Sheâ€™s not going to let it bother her, though. $14.95