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+{"text":"\n## A CATERED HALLOWEEN\n\n\"What's that?\" Libby asked, pointing to the woman's head sitting on the first step from the top. It stared up at her, looking incredibly lifelike. It also looked familiar. Very familiar.\n\n\"Shouldn't the head be sitting in a pool of blood?\" Bernie asked.\n\nMark didn't answer her. \"Wait,\" he said instead, and he put out his hand.\n\nLibby stopped.\n\n\"Give me a moment,\" Mark said.\n\nLibby noticed he was frowning. \"Is something wrong?\" she asked.\n\nMark didn't reply. His attention was focused on the head.\n\n\"Well, is there?\" Bernie asked while she watched Mark take another step forward. She had a bad feeling in her gut. \"Is that a hologram?\" she asked. \"Because it looks pretty solid if it is.\"\n\nLibby watched as Mark stretched out one of his feet and gave the head a tentative tap with the toe of his shoe. It began rolling down the steps...bump, bump, bump...and then it kept going until it stopped at Libby's feet.\n\nThis is not a hologram, Libby thought. Holograms do not make noises like that...\n\n## Books by Isis Crawford\n\nA CATERED MURDER\n\nA CATERED WEDDING\n\nA CATERED CHRISTMAS\n\nA CATERED VALENTINE'S DAY\n\nA CATERED HALLOWEEN\n\nA CATERED BIRTHDAY PARTY\n\nPublished by Kensington Publishing Corporation\nA Mystery with Recipes\n\n## A CATERED HALLOWEEN\n\n## ISIS CRAWFORD\n\nKENSINGTON BOOKS  \nwww.kensingtonbooks.com\nTo Mike Ruffo.   \nThanks for listening.\n\n## Acknowledgments\n\nI'd like to thank my family and friends for being there for me when I needed you, and DJM for his suggestions.\n\n## Contents\n\nPrologue\n\nChapter 1\n\nChapter 2\n\nChapter 3\n\nChapter 4\n\nChapter 5\n\nChapter 6\n\nChapter 7\n\nChapter 8\n\nChapter 9\n\nChapter 10\n\nChapter 11\n\nChapter 12\n\nChapter 13\n\nChapter 14\n\nChapter 15\n\nChapter 16\n\nChapter 17\n\nChapter 18\n\nChapter 19\n\nChapter 20\n\nChapter 21\n\nChapter 22\n\nChapter 23\n\nChapter 24\n\nChapter 25\n\nChapter 26\n\nChapter 27\n\nChapter 28\n\nChapter 29\n\nChapter 30\n\nChapter 31\n\nChapter 32\n\nChapter 33\n\nEpilogue\n\nRecipes\n\n## Prologue\n\nAmethyst Applegate turned the letter over in her hand. Then she put it down on the desk and looked at the envelope it had come in. It told her nothing. The envelope was one of those plain white, self-sealing ones that you could buy at any pharmacy or office-supply store. Her address had been printed out on a computer. There was no return address. As for the postmark, it revealed that the letter had been mailed from Longely two days ago.\n\nShe put the envelope down and read the letter again.\n\nDear Amethyst,\n\nI've decided that it's time to renew old acquaintances. If you don't want everyone to find out what you did at the Peabody School when you were there, meet me in the Pit and the Pendulum Room at six-thirty sharp. I will be waiting for you. We have lots to discuss. Remember there's no statute of limitations on murder. Signed, Bessie Osgood\n\n\"Bessie Osgood. Now there's a laugh.\"\n\nShe remembered Bessie all right. Bessie, with her braces and her pimples and those stupid glasses she used to wear. Bessie, who always used to roll her skirt up around her waist because she thought it showed off her legs.\n\nHer calves were the only thin part of her, that was for sure. Bessie, who'd told the proctor that she'd seen her smoking in the bathroom and that she kept a flask under her bed. She'd almost gotten her thrown out of school for that, almost being the operative word. Fortunately, she'd been able to convince the proctor that she was being led astray by Bessie. Now that had been good. Poor Bessie. She should have taken the hint and gone home. Instead, she'd come up to her and told her she had proof. That she had witnesses that were going to testify against her. She shouldn't have done that. Amethyst tapped her fingers on the letter. But she'd shown her. Yes. She certainly had.\n\n\"Discuss,\" Amethyst muttered. She'd discuss all right. That was ridiculous. You didn't discuss things with a ghost. Ghosts didn't talk. Bessie was dead and gone, and she should know, because she'd been responsible for Bessie's \"accident.\" Poor thing, but those windows were low to the ground, and it was easy to lose your footing if you leaned out too far.\n\nSo the question was, who had written the letter? Who knew about what had happened at the Peabody School, and why was it coming to light now?\n\nAmethyst folded the letter up, put it in the envelope, and slipped it inside her handbag. When it came down to it, she was pretty sure she knew who had written this, almost positive in fact. One other thing she did know: they were going to be very, very sorry. Evidently, they'd forgotten with whom they were dealing.\n\n\"Amethyst,\" her new husband called from downstairs. \"We're going to be late if we don't get a move on pretty soon.\"\n\n\"One second, dear. I'll be right there,\" she trilled.\n\nFor a moment, she toyed with taking her knife along but discarded the idea. If she did, she'd have to change handbags, and that would ruin her outfit. No. She'd get who she thought it was in a not quite so public setting later. Let them think she would go along with them. That would make the surprise that much sweeter.\n\nShe turned around and studied herself in the mirror. Not bad. Not bad at all, even if she did have to say so herself. The body was still good, and after she had a little work done around her neck area, she'd be perfect. As she went down the stairs, she smiled. It had been a while since she had had this kind of fun. She was looking forward to it. She really was.\n\n## Chapter 1\n\nLibby looked at the darkening sky. In her dream the sky had been black with crows. They'd covered the tree limbs, and then they had popped out of her mother's pumpkin pie, and she'd woken up in a cold sweat. It had been a long time since she'd had dreams like that. God, she hoped they weren't coming back after all these years. She was wondering what the dream meant\u2014dreams like that always meant something\u2014when she realized that her sister was talking to her.\n\n\"It's dark out,\" Bernie observed as she muscled the van around a turn.\n\nLibby grunted. The wind had picked up. Leaves skittered across the road. \"A storm's coming in.\"\n\n\"So you're saying it's a dark and stormy night?\"\n\nLibby looked at her sister and shook her head. \"That was bad.\"\n\nBernie grinned. \"But irresistible.\"\n\nLibby smiled despite herself. Her sister could always make her smile. That was one of the things she loved about her. After a moment, Libby went back to looking out. The road they were on twisted its way through the woods as it went up the hill. Every once in a while, she caught sight of their destination floating above the trees. The view was not reassuring.\n\n\"You should have taken the main road,\" Libby said. Their van wasn't really equipped for driving on dirt and gravel.\n\nBernie shrugged. \"It'll be fine. Nervous?\" she asked.\n\n\"About the job?\" The truth was Libby always got a little nervous before a catering job. It was just the way she was constituted.\n\n\"No. About working at the Peabody School.\"\n\n\"Why should I be?\" Libby asked. It was not that she didn't know the answer to Bernie's question; she did. She just didn't want to admit it.\n\n\"After all, the place is haunted.\"\n\nLibby snorted.\n\n\"People have seen them,\" said Bernie.\n\n\"Them?\"\n\n\"The ghosts, Libby. The Peabody School even has a blurb in the book Haunted Houses in New York.\"\n\nSince Libby didn't believe that everything that was in print was true, she felt no need to comment. She wished Bernie would slow down. The van wasn't that stable to begin with, and when it was fully loaded, well. She closed her eyes and tried not to think about the consequences of going off the road. They'd packed the van well, but there was only so much one could do.\n\nBernie took her eyes off the road for a second and looked at her sister. \"Well, I think that having a Halloween Haunted House in a real haunted house is a neat idea.\"\n\n\"I never said it wasn't,\" Libby replied as she did a quick mental recap of the menu they'd be serving.\n\nShe and Bernie had decided to design the menu around the theme of waffles. Somehow they'd seemed right. Then she'd seen a recipe for them in the food pages of the New York Times, and she knew that she and Bernie were on track.\n\nGiven everything that was happening in the world these days, people wanted comfort food, and waffles certainly fit the bill. In addition, you could dress them up or down. They appealed to everyone. And because they would be served in the evening, instead of during the morning, you had that whole fish out of water thing going on. Not only that, but from a business point of view, waffles were cheap to make. The ingredients cost next to nothing, and it took about five minutes to mix up the batter.\n\nLibby was particularly proud of the chocolate brownie batter waffles she'd dreamed up. The finely ground black pepper gave them a particularly nice kick by balancing the sweet and the hot. Of course, the other waffles weren't bad, either. They would serve four kinds: regular, Belgian, the aforementioned chocolate brownie, and pumpkin. The waffles would be garnished with appropriate homemade ice creams and sauces: whipped cream and strawberries for the Belgian waffles, vanilla ice cream and hot fudge sauce for the chocolate brownie waffles, maple sauce and vanilla ice cream for the regular waffles, and a poached apple compote with cinnamon ice cream for the pumpkin ones. Naturally, they were providing maple syrup, apple butter, and homemade apricot and strawberry jam as well. Just thinking about the waffles quieted the butterflies in Libby's stomach.\n\nAs they rounded another turn in the road, flocks of crows in the treetops swirled up in the air; they came down again as the van passed by. The birds' disapproving cawing followed the vehicle around the next bend.\n\n\"There seem to be more and more of them every year,\" Libby said.\n\n\"There are. Someplace in upstate New York has a crow hunt to get rid of them.\"\n\n\"We should try that.\"\n\nBernie laughed, \"In Longley? The PC capital of the world? I don't think so.\"\n\nLibby didn't answer.\n\nBernie looked at her. Something was bothering her sister. Had been for the past couple of weeks. \"Are you all right?\"\n\n\"I'm fine,\" said Libby.\n\n\"Positive?\"\n\n\"Positive,\" Libby repeated.\n\n\"You and Marvin are okay, aren't you?\"\n\n\"I said everything is okay,\" snapped Libby.\n\nBernie resisted the impulse to make a smarty-pants comment. Her sister was clearly lying, and things weren't all right, but now obviously wasn't the time to push. Libby would tell her when she was ready. She always did. Instead, Bernie changed the subject.\n\n\"There it is,\" Bernie said as the roof of the Peabody School came back into view. \"Our home away from home for the next week. Well, just the evenings really.\"\n\n\"Personally,\" Libby said, \"I've always thought that whoever designed this place had a severe case of indigestion.\" She sighed. Boy, did she wish they weren't doing this. Halloween was one of A Little Taste of Heaven's busier times, and being out of the shop during the evening meant that they'd be staying up till two and three in the morning prepping the next day's food.\n\n\"Lots of work,\" Bernie said, echoing her sister's thoughts.\n\n\"But,\" Libby continued, \"the money\u2014\"\n\nBernie finished the sentence for her. \"The money is too good to pass up.\"\n\n\"It certainly is.\" Libby took another gander at her younger sister's outfit. \"I don't see how you can work in that. Isn't it a little...snug?\"\n\nBernie looked down at the skintight black dress she was wearing, took one of her hands off the wheel, and waggled her long bloodred fingernails in front of Libby. \"Don't worry. I'll manage. I always do.\"\n\n\"I know.\"\n\nAnd even though Libby wouldn't say it to anyone, for reasons she couldn't understand, that fact annoyed the hell out of her. By the end of the evening, she would be sweaty, and her clothes would be covered in stuff, but Bernie would look as if she'd just stepped out of the shower. If she were wearing the shoes Bernie was wearing, she'd trip and go right into the food. It wasn't fair. She looked down at her sneakers and sighed, then gazed at the school again.\n\n\"The place does look like a haunted house,\" she conceded.\n\n\"That's what I just said, Libby.\"\n\n\"No. You said it was a haunted house. There's a difference.\"\n\nLibby frowned as the van slid on the wet leaves. They went around another turn. A sign that read WELCOME TO THE LONGELY VOLUNTEER FIREMEN'S HALLOWEEN HAUNTED HOUSE sprang into view.\n\n\"I'll say one thing for Mark Kane,\" Libby said. \"He did a good job remodeling the place.\n\n\"Bree told me he spent almost a million dollars.\"\n\n\"He could toss some our way.\" Libby began digging around in her bag. \"Why is there never any chocolate when you need it?\" she asked as she dumped the contents of her bag on her lap.\n\n\"Because you probably ate it already.\"\n\n\"I didn't.\"\n\n\"If that's what you want to believe, fine with me.\"\n\nLibby continued rummaging through the contents of her bag. She had her wallet, her tissues, her appointment book, business-card holder, Swiss Army knife, cell phone, and a bag of glazed cashew nuts, but no chocolate bar. She didn't remember eating it. Could she have left it on the counter of their shop, A Little Taste of Heaven? Libby began throwing everything back in her bag.\n\n\"I'll tell you one thing, though,\" Libby said to her sister. \"I sure wouldn't have wanted to go to boarding school here.\"\n\n\"Me either,\" Bernie agreed. \"Way too isolated. And Bessie Osgood going out the window...\"\n\n\"The place may not be haunted,\" Libby mused, \"but lots of bad things have happened here.\"\n\n\"Probably bad feng shui.\"\n\nLibby rolled her eyes.\n\n\"Mock me if you want, but if I were Mark Kane, I would have had this building cleansed before I took it over,\" said Bernie.\n\n\"What is The James Foundation for Scientific Reasoning, anyway?\"\n\n\"It's a scientific think tank....\"\n\n\"Whatever that is,\" replied Libby.\n\n\"I think it's a conservative think tank.\"\n\n\"Meaning?\"\n\n\"I'm just telling you what Bree told me,\" said Bernie.\n\n\"She probably doesn't know, either,\" Libby grumbled. \"No reason she should,\" she added as she picked a piece of lint off her denim jacket. \"She just sold him the property and got a nice fat commission.\"\n\n\"We're definitely in the wrong business,\" Bernie observed.\n\n\"You really think that?\" Libby asked.\n\n\"No. I love what we do,\" Bernie said as she swerved to avoid a rock lying in the middle of the road.\n\n\"Me too,\" Libby replied. If she thought about it, she couldn't imagine her life without the shop.\n\n\"So what do you think happened to the Reverend Peabody and his wife, Esmeralda?\"\n\n\"I think he killed her and threw her body in the Hudson and died of a heart attack a year later,\" replied Libby.\n\n\"They both died on Halloween night, one year apart. Don't you find that a little strange?\"\n\n\"Not really. Can we change the subject?\" Libby asked.\n\nBernie shrugged. \"If you want. Okay. What do you want to talk about?\"\n\n\"I'm just wondering if we brought enough waffle machines with us?\"\n\n\"Of course, we brought enough. We did the math, remember?\"\n\n\"We could have miscalculated.\" Libby bit at her cuticle again.\n\n\"You always say that, and we never do. You worry too much,\" said Bernie.\n\nWhich Libby knew was true. After all, waffles weren't the only things they were serving. The van was packed with apple squares, lemon squares, pumpkin bars, brownies, chocolate chip cookies, sticky buns, pear crumb cake, banana bread, pumpkin pie, and apple walnut cake, among other things, as well as gallons of spiced cider and chai. In addition, they had containers for coffee and for hot water for tea in the van, as well as fifteen large jack-o'-lanterns, which they were planning on using for decoration. They should really be fine.\n\n\"We're here,\" Bernie said as she rounded the last turn.\n\nShe put the van in park. It shuddered. Not a good sign. The last time she'd taken it in for an oil change, Sully had told her the transmission was going.\n\nLibby frowned. \"I would never have picked this place to do business out of.\"\n\n\"Me either,\" Bernie agreed as she yanked up her panty hose. \"But Bree said he fell in love with the place. Said it would suit his needs perfectly.\"\n\nA moment later the door to the back entrance swung open, and Mark Kane came bounding out.\n\n\"And here's the man of the hour,\" Libby said to Bernie out of the corner of her mouth as he came closer.\n\nBernie nodded. He looked exactly like he did when he'd first come into their shop: like the successful entrepreneur, the go-to guy.\n\n\"Glad to have you two on board,\" he said. \"I can't wait to have a piece of your apple pie. I went in yesterday, and I had to settle for a slice of cranberry-apple. Not that that was bad. It was amazingly good. I've gained about ten pounds since I've been here, and I put it all down to your shop.\"\n\nLibby laughed. The guy could be charming, she'd give him that, although she never quite trusted men who were like that.\n\nMark gestured toward the mansion. \"You like what we've done decoration-wise?\"\n\n\"Love it,\" Bernie said.\n\n\"You don't think the heads on the spikes and the severed limbs dangling from the window are too much?\" asked Mark.\n\n\"Maybe a tad,\" Bernie allowed.\n\n\"In the ads I stated that no one under twelve would be admitted,\" said Mark. \"There are plenty of other places for young kids to go, and I wanted to do something over the top without having to worry about the little ones' sensibilities.\"\n\n\"Good thinking,\" Libby said. She couldn't imagine the nightmares a kid would have after seeing something like this.\n\n\"And we're having everyone sign a liability waiver,\" Mark said.\n\nBernie giggled. \"Like they did for some of the horror movies in the fifties.\"\n\nMark grinned. It made his face look slightly lopsided. He snapped his fingers. \"I knew I forgot something. A doctor and an ambulance.\"\n\n\"And the nurse,\" said Bernie. \"Don't forget the nurse.\"\n\nMark's grin grew wider. \"I'll see what I can do.\"\n\n\"So it's going to be a good show?\" Bernie asked.\n\nMark rubbed his hands together. \"A good show? It's going to be a great show. The best this town has ever seen. Forget the guy in the sheet jumping out at you and yelling boo and the dime-store skeletons hanging from the door frames. We're going to do much better than that. Come on. Let me show you what we've done since you were here last.\"\n\n\"We'd love to,\" Libby told him, \"but we have to get the batter in the fridge.\" She consulted her watch. \"Plus, we need setup time. We're behind schedule as it is.\"\n\n\"Not to worry,\" said Mark. He removed his phone from the clip on his belt, called someone, and spoke for a few seconds. \"I just told Carl to come out,\" he explained after he ended the call. \"He'll unload the van for you.\"\n\n\"I think I'd rather do it myself,\" Libby said. She really didn't like the idea of someone else handling their stuff. Actually, didn't like was putting it mildly. Hated would be a more accurate term. Who knew what they would do to it.\n\n\"Come on,\" Bernie said to her. \"It'll be fine.\"\n\nLibby could feel herself start to flush. No. It wouldn't be all right. The rule was no one touched their stuff. And Bernie knew it, too.\n\nMark jumped in. \"Carl's worked in restaurants all his life. Anyway, there's no reason why ladies as lovely as yourselves should have to carry heavy things.\" Before Libby could answer, Carl appeared. \"Tell him what to do,\" Mark ordered.\n\nBernie did.\n\nLibby took a deep breath and told herself not to say anything now. She would talk to Bernie later. She forced a smile. \"Let's go,\" she told Mark.\n\nHe rubbed his hands together. \"Good. I'm going to scare you to death.\"\n\n\"I can hardly wait,\" Libby muttered as they went inside.\n\n## Chapter 2\n\nLibby looked around the hallway they'd just stepped into. It had been totally transformed since she'd been there two weeks ago. The walls were now painted a dull gray and festooned with cobwebs.\n\nMeat hooks hanging from the ceiling rattled menacingly. The floor looked old and dusty, except for the splatters of what, Libby decided, was supposed to be blood. The overhead fluorescent lights flickered on and off, painting shadows on the walls and floor. Libby sniffed. The place even smelled musty. The only things that looked modern were the EXIT signs over two doors down the hall.\n\nMark jerked his head in their direction. \"The fire marshall insisted on those. I tried to talk him out of it\u2014I think it spoils the mood\u2014but it was a no go.\"\n\n\"I would think so,\" Libby said as she took a couple of steps forward.\n\nNo doubt about it. Mark was definitely getting on her nerves. She stopped for a moment in front of a sign on one of the walls, which said, THIS WAY TO THE EXECUTION. A black arrow pointed to the door on Libby's right. Then she moved over to the square wooden table pushed against the wall. On it sat a cash box, a bunch of forms, and a black cup filled with pens.\n\n\"The releases I was telling you about,\" Mark said, pointing to the pile of paper.\n\nBernie nodded. A notice on the table stated that the price of admission was thirty dollars.\n\n\"A little high, isn't it?\" Libby commented.\n\nMark shrugged. \"High tech always is.\"\n\nLibby was about to tell him that was why she liked low tech better, but before she could, Bernie was pointing down the hall.\n\n\"I'm a little confused. The kitchen is the last door on the left, isn't it?\" asked Bernie.\n\nMark nodded. \"Correct. The corridor we're using for the Haunted House loops around and ends up in the kitchen and the dining room. This is the back part of the mansion. The oldest part. The part where they say Esmeralda is buried.\"\n\n\"Who says?\" Libby asked. She wished she could have found her chocolate. That way she wouldn't be so grumpy.\n\nMark waved his hands in the air. \"People say.\"\n\n\"Well, then I guess that's okay. I mean, if dogs said it, then it wouldn't be so good,\" replied Libby.\n\nMark shot Libby a puzzled look. Obviously, he hadn't gotten what she was saying. He took a step away from her as he glanced around. Even better. He probably thought she was nutty.\n\n\"God, you wouldn't believe how many rooms this place has,\" Mark said. \"And they all connect with one another in weird ways. Tracing the wiring was a nightmare, and I thought the guy that put in the fiber optics was going to quit on me. Let me tell you, we had a hell of a time getting this place up to code.\"\n\n\"That I believe,\" Bernie said.\n\nMark nodded toward the door that was marked ENTRANCE. Below it was written, ONCE YOU COME IN HERE, THERE'S NO TURNING BACK.\n\n\"Shall we?\" he asked.\n\n\"You know,\" Libby said, thinking of everything they had to do, \"we really are running out of time. Why don't you and Bernie go ahead, and I'll start in the kitchen.\"\n\n\"Nonsense,\" Mark replied. \"This will only take a few minutes. No more than five, I promise. We'll just do a quick walk-through.\"\n\nLibby was about to say they didn't have five minutes when she caught Bernie glaring at her. Even though her sister hadn't said anything, Libby knew what she wanted to say: something along the lines that Mark was new in town, that he was wealthy, and that he could throw lots of business their way. Which he wouldn't do if Libby pissed him off. So Libby just nodded her head and followed Mark through the door.\n\nWhen she stepped through to the other side, Libby felt a puff of ice-cold air play up and down her spine. She jumped in spite of herself. Mark laughed.\n\n\"That's the oldest trick in the book,\" he said. \"I connected a motion detector to a compressed-air tank.\"\n\nLibby looked around. The room was totally dark for a second; then a strobe light began flashing. She could hear a faint moan rising and falling. Then she heard another sound. It sounded like a chain saw. It was a chain saw. The chain saw got louder. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a woman over in the corner. Her arms were tied to a chain that was suspended from the ceiling. The woman started screaming. A man with a chain saw appeared from the far corner of the room. The woman's screams got louder as the man got closer.\n\nLibby wanted to look away, but she couldn't as the man came nearer. She could feel her heart racing as the man lifted the saw. The flashes of light from the strobe bounced off the blade, making it dance in the light. This is all a trick, Libby told herself. It's an optical illusion. But somehow it didn't help.\n\nThere was a bloodcurdling shriek as the man raised the chain saw and brought it down on the woman's shoulder. Rivulets of something warm and wet ran down the left side of Libby's face. She couldn't help herself. She screamed.\n\n\"It's water,\" Mark said. \"Warm water. It was my idea. Everything is computer controlled. We also have a state-of-the-art sound system with volume controls and directional speakers.\"\n\nLibby jumped. She'd been so focused on the scene in the room that she'd forgotten that Mark was there.\n\n\"God, that looked real,\" Bernie said. She gave a nervous giggle.\n\n\"Holograms,\" Mark said. \"We can adjust the images if we want. We can adjust the screams and the sound of the chain saw. I think the blood splatter is a nice touch, don't you? It gets everyone involved.\"\n\n\"Involved?\" Libby could hear her voice rising. She took a deep breath and told herself to calm down, because what she wanted to do was throttle him. She took a second breath and a third before she regained control.\n\nBernie gestured around her. \"This must have taken months to figure out.\"\n\n\"Not really,\" said Mark. \"I hired a company, FX Productions, that specializes in this sort of thing. It took them a day and a half to set the show up.\" Mark shrugged. \"I'm not good with technical stuff,\" he confessed.\n\n\"Just making money,\" Bernie observed.\n\nMark's grin flashed on and off. \"Well, I've found that if you can do that, everything else falls into place. And this is only the beginning of the tour. Wait till you see what else FX has come up with.\"\n\n\"I'd rather not,\" Libby told him.\n\nMark reached over and took Libby's hands in his. \"But you have to.\"\n\n\"She doesn't like gory stuff,\" her sister explained.\n\nMark patted Libby's hands and then let go. \"The rest of it is just scary. Promise.\"\n\nLibby was about to say that she didn't think that was much better when Bernie interrupted.\n\n\"Is the whole thing movie themed?\" Bernie asked.\n\nMark shook his head. \"Not at all. We have vampires; we have ghosts; we have a little bit of everything.\"\n\nLibby realized she was still breathing hard. What ever happened to the days when going through a haunted house meant being blindfolded and having your hands forced into a bowl of oatmeal and spaghetti and being told that was someone's guts?\n\n\"After you,\" Libby said to Mark. She just wanted to get this over with.\n\nHe laughed. \"My pleasure.\"\n\n\"Enjoying yourself?\" Bernie asked him.\n\n\"I have to confess that I am. I feel like I'm watching my baby take his first steps,\" said Mark.\n\nAnd with that, they opened a door and stepped out into a hallway. Smog rolled around their feet and drifted upwards. A fog machine, Libby thought. She jumped as a bony hand dropped down in front of her.\n\n\"That's Bob,\" Mark said.\n\nNow that Libby looked closer, she could see the outlines of someone's arm.\n\n\"He's one of our actors,\" added Mark.\n\n\"Actors. That's a laugh,\" came a disembodied voice out of the ceiling.\n\n\"Bob Small?\" Bernie asked.\n\n\"How'd you guess?\" came the voice from the ceiling.\n\n\"Your voice,\" said Bernie.\n\n\"When did you\u2014\" Libby began to say, but Bernie kicked her.\n\nBob finished the sentence for her. \"Get out of jail?\"\n\nLibby rubbed her shin. \"Yes.\"\n\n\"About two weeks ago,\" replied Bob.\n\n\"Comfortable up there?\" Mark asked.\n\nBob snorted. \"Yeah. If you like being in a coffin.\"\n\nMark patted his hand. \"Don't worry. We'll have someone come and relieve you in two hours.\"\n\n\"Two hours?\" Bob squeaked. \"What happens if I have to take a leak?\"\n\n\"We already discussed that. You hold it,\" Mark told him as he guided Libby and Bernie toward the center of the room. When he got there, he stopped. \"I like to give people a second chance,\" he practically whispered.\n\n\"Very noble,\" Libby observed.\n\nMark shot his cuffs. \"No. It's just what I call enlightened self-interest. You give a guy like that a second chance and he's yours for life. See, we have Bob to set the mood, and then you come over here and see this.\" He pointed to a big black coffin that was seemingly rising out of the floor.\n\nThere was a creak as the coffin's door began to open. A squeal of laughter came from a skeleton as it sat up. He had an eye patch over his left socket and a long mane of white hair that came to his shoulders. He stared straight at them and shook a bony finger.\n\n\"Soon you'll look just like me,\" the skeleton cackled. \"Just like me. Eat, drink, and be merry. We don't have six-packs in the graveyard.\" Then he lay back down as the coffin door started closing. A minute or two later, the coffin was gone.\n\n\"It comes up through the floor,\" Mark explained. \"People crossing a point on the floor trip a sensor that raises the coffin.\"\n\n\"Sensor?\" Libby asked.\n\n\"Yeah. It works on the same principle as a doorbell,\" Mark replied.\n\n\"Like the one we have in the store, which alerts us when customers come in,\" Bernie added.\n\n\"I know,\" Libby said.\n\n\"Well, I was just explaining it in case you didn't,\" Bernie mumbled.\n\n\"But I do,\" insisted Libby.\n\nMark cleared his throat. \"This is really a throwaway. Something to get you calmed down after the chain-saw scene and before the next thing.\" He paused for effect. \"Because the next thing, as my father used to say, is going to knock your socks off.\" Mark walked to the door marked EXIT, opened it, and said, \"Ladies, welcome to the Pit and the Pendulum. I have to say, I think that Poe would have approved, were he alive today.\"\n\nLibby took a look around. The walls were mirrored, and in the center of the room was a raised platform. Four steps led up to it. On that platform was a long table, draped in a red cloth. Up above the table, a sharp-looking, curved blade swung back and forth, going lower with each swipe.\n\n\"You have to get closer to get the full effect,\" Mark said as he gave Libby a little nudge. She took a few steps. There was a headless body lying on the table.\n\n\"See,\" Mark said. \"You stand in the center and you see your head being chopped off.\"\n\n\"Lovely,\" Libby said. She gritted her teeth and took another step. Never let it be said that she wasn't a good sport. \"What's that?\" she asked, pointing to the woman's head sitting on the first step from the top. It stared up at her. It looked incredibly lifelike. It also looked familiar. Very familiar.\n\n\"Shouldn't the head be sitting in a pool of blood?\" Bernie asked.\n\nMark didn't answer her. \"Wait,\" he said instead, and he put out his hand.\n\nLibby stopped.\n\n\"Give me a moment,\" Mark said.\n\nLibby noticed he was frowning. \"Is something wrong?\" she asked.\n\nMark didn't reply. His attention was focused on the head.\n\n\"Well, is there?\" Bernie asked while she watched Mark take another step forward. She had a bad feeling in her gut. \"Is that a hologram?\" she asked. \"Because it looks pretty solid if it is.\"\n\nLibby watched as Mark stretched out one of his feet and gave the head a tentative tap with the toe of his shoe. It began rolling down the steps...bump, bump, bump...and then it kept going until it stopped at Libby's feet.\n\nThis is not a hologram, Libby thought. Holograms do not make noises like that.\n\nAnd then she had another thought.\n\nThe head was not made of wax. It wasn't made of plaster. It was flesh and blood.\n\nLibby didn't know how she knew. She just did.\n\nAnd then she knew how she knew.\n\nLibby stared at the face staring up at her. She'd recognize those eyebrows anywhere. \"It's Amethyst Applegate,\" she cried.\n\nWhich was when Libby started screaming.\n\n## Chapter 3\n\nSean Simmons took a bite of his pumpkin bar. \"Not bad,\" he remarked. \"Not bad at all.\"\n\nAs he brushed a small piece of the pumpkin bar off his lap, he thought that in the normal course of things, his daughter Libby would have taken those words as fighting words. Tonight she hadn't even blinked. In fact, she hadn't said much since she and her sister had come running in, yelling about what had happened down at the Peabody School.\n\nNot that he was surprised. Some places just had bad karma. Of course, he hadn't said that to Bernie and Libby when they'd told him about this job, because he didn't like to talk about certain things. Now he was thinking that maybe he should have. Then he pushed that thought away. Better to concentrate on the known and leave the rest to all the weirdos out there.\n\n\"You've added a touch more cinnamon, haven't you?\" he said.\n\nLibby's eyes widened fractionally. \"How can you ask me something like that at a time like this?\" she demanded.\n\n\"I thought you liked talking about food,\" Sean commented as he turned his wheelchair slightly so he could look out. The wind had picked up and was blowing the leaves on the street into the air. He could hear the creak of the store sign as it swayed back and forth. It looked as if a cold front was coming through.\n\n\"I do, but I don't want to talk about food now,\" Libby said.\n\nSean turned to face her. \"Well, what do you want me to talk about?\" he asked.\n\nNot that he didn't know. Bernie would say he was being disingenuous, but he'd found in his years as chief of police of Longley that it was better to let the witnesses, especially if they were in a state of shock, introduce the story themselves.\n\n\"We want to hear what you have to say about what happened at the Peabody School, of course,\" Bernie said.\n\n\"But I wasn't there,\" Sean reminded her.\n\nLibby leaned forward and pointed at her sister. \"And we wouldn't have been, either, if it weren't for her.\"\n\nBernie snorted. \"Like I knew what was going to happen?\"\n\n\"If we had been setting up like we were supposed to, we wouldn't have been there. We would have been in the kitchen,\" Libby snapped.\n\n\"We were cultivating a potential customer, which, in my humble opinion, was worth the ten minutes we were going to spend having Mark show us around,\" Bernie countered. \"Besides, it was interesting to see how the place was rigged up.\"\n\n\"Not to me,\" said Libby as she put her hand on her forehead. \"I'm going to have nightmares for years.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't be so dramatic,\" Bernie snapped.\n\n\"It's true. I am,\" Libby wailed.\n\nBernie groaned. \"Which you're going to blame on me, just like you do everything else.\"\n\n\"That is so unfair,\" Libby retorted.\n\n\"Girls,\" Sean said before Bernie could reply.\n\nBoth of them turned to him.\n\n\"Enough,\" said Sean.\n\n\"But,\" Libby began.\n\nSean held up his hand. \"I mean it. This bickering\u2014\"\n\n\"We're not bickering,\" Bernie objected.\n\n\"Fine,\" Sean said. \"Whatever you want to call what you're doing doesn't do no one\u2014\"\n\n\"Anyone...,\" Bernie corrected.\n\nSean glared at Bernie. She'd been like this ever since she'd learned to talk. \"Any good. So do you have to give the retainer back? Is the Haunted House closed down for the duration?\"\n\nLibby and Bernie both shook their heads.\n\n\"It's opening tomorrow afternoon,\" Bernie volunteered.\n\nSean snorted. \"You're kidding.\"\n\n\"Nope. That's what Mark told us.\"\n\n\"This has to be the fastest processing of a crime scene in the history of the town. But then what do I know? I'm an old man,\" said Sean. He tapped his fingers on the side of his chair. At least in his day, they would have kept the crime scene closed off for a couple of days. He'd learned to his cost that if you rushed, you always missed something.\n\nBernie took another sip of her Scotch and put her glass down. \"Well, it is a big fund-raiser for the volunteer fire department.\"\n\n\"And money always wins,\" Sean said after he'd taken another bite of his pumpkin bar. \"You better bake some more of these. You know what people are like. The more gruesome the crime, the more people want to see where it took place and the hungrier they are after they've seen it.\"\n\n\"Yeah,\" Bernie said. \"When business is slow, we should just kill someone.\"\n\nLibby glared at her. \"That's disgusting.\"\n\n\"But true,\" Bernie countered. \"Every time we're involved in a case, the shop is packed.\"\n\n\"I wonder why?\" said Libby.\n\n\"People are nosy,\" Sean said. \"Look what happens when there's an accident. Everyone always slows down.\"\n\nBernie frowned as she thought. Finally, she said, \"Or maybe it's because we miss that kind of stuff on some primordial level. You know, in the old days, they used to have public hangings and torture. Now there's nothing like that. Maybe that's why haunted houses and horror movies are so popular. People like to be scared and disgusted.\"\n\n\"Not me,\" Libby said firmly. \"Not in any way, shape, or form. In fact, I don't think I want to go back there.\"\n\n\"You don't have to if you don't want to,\" Sean told her.\n\nBernie untwisted her legs and stood up. \"Yes, we do. We have a contract.\"\n\nSean took a final bite of his pumpkin bar. \"I think a beheading might count as a cancellation clause, don't you?\" he asked after he swallowed. He'd love a cigarette now, but since the girls didn't know he'd gone back to smoking, he couldn't ask them to get him any.\n\nLibby folded over the empty wrapper of the chocolate bar she'd been eating and creased the line with her thumb. Then she did the same thing again.\n\n\"I'm serious. Maybe I won't go,\" she announced.\n\n\"Why?\" Bernie said. \"What more can happen? Anyway, then we'd have to give back the money, which we can't exactly afford to do.\"\n\nSean watched his eldest daughter run her thumb across the edge of the wrapper again. She didn't say anything.\n\n\"For real,\" Bernie said to Libby. \"What more can happen?\"\n\n\"Someone could cut off our heads,\" Libby replied.\n\nBernie rolled her eyes. \"Please. You can't be serious.\"\n\n\"Of course, I am. Why wouldn't I be?\" said Libby.\n\nSean coughed. The girls turned back to him.\n\n\"You know,\" he said. \"Amethyst has...had...a lot of enemies. I don't think this crime was committed by some nut looking to get his jollies off. I think it was committed by someone looking to kill Amethyst. So you two have nothing to worry about.\"\n\n\"My sentiments exactly,\" Bernie agreed.\n\nLibby stood up. \"But you don't know that for a fact.\"\n\n\"It's true, but that's what my gut tells me,\" said Sean.\n\nLibby plucked at the top button of the shirt she was wearing, then absentmindedly rearranged the magazines on the table over by the wall. \"She wasn't well liked, was she?\"\n\nSean wiped his fingers on the napkin in front of him. \"That's one way of putting it. Look at what she did to Bob Small.\"\n\nBernie put her hand to her mouth. \"I can't believe I forgot to tell you. We saw him today. He was working at the Haunted House, as a skeleton.\"\n\nSean raised an eyebrow. \"Now that's interesting.\"\n\nBernie sat back down and took a sip of her Scotch. \"I bet the police are going to pick him up in a hurry. I'd be surprised if he's there when we go back.\"\n\nLibby shook her head. \"I don't know. I can't see him doing this. He's just not the kind of guy who would chop someone's head off.\"\n\n\"In my experience, you get someone angry enough and you'd be amazed what they can do,\" Sean said. \"Remember Bernard? He weighed what? One hundred pounds, if that? He was so shy he could hardly look you in the face when he talked, and yet he managed to kill his two-hundred-and-fifty-pound girlfriend, drag her out of the house, and put her in the trunk of his car before he was caught, and that was only because he couldn't get the lid all the way down, so he tied it shut. If he'd gone to Boy Scout camp and practiced his knots, he might never have been found out.\"\n\nLibby frowned. \"Bob Small went to jail because he stole stuff.\"\n\n\"No,\" Sean said. \"Bob Small went to jail because he gave Amethyst a top-of-the-line BMW off the lot of the dealer he was working for so she could get to work and back while she had her car fixed. But instead of doing that, she took off to Florida with a guy she picked up at a bar and totaled the Beamer. Bob lost his wife and his job and spent a year in prison because of her little shenanigans. If that's not a motive, I don't know what is.\"\n\nLibby was about to reply when the door buzzer rang downstairs.\n\n\"You think Bob is guilty?\" Bernie asked her dad as Libby went to see who was at the door.\n\nSean shrugged. \"Don't know, but if I were the investigating officer, I'd like Bob for it. He had motive and opportunity. Of course, like I was saying, Amethyst had plenty of enemies in town. Considering all the things she pulled, it's a wonder someone didn't do something like this before.\"\n\n\"She liked to make trouble just because she could,\" Bernie observed as she studied one of her nails. She really needed to get them done. And talk about getting things done. She was developing frown lines. Maybe it was time for a little Botox. Character lines were nice, but no need to go too far.\n\n\"Some people get a real kick out of that,\" Sean said.\n\n\"In this case she got kicked back.\"\n\nSean grunted. His attention was focused on the footsteps running up the stairs.\n\n\"Who the hell is that?\" he asked as two men burst through the door. Libby was right behind them.\n\nShe gave her father an apologetic look. \"They insisted on coming up.\"\n\n\"It's okay.\" Sean could feel himself relaxing. He glanced up at the two men approaching him. \"Well, well, Curtis and Konrad Kurtz,\" Sean said. \"I haven't seen you boys in a while. Still got the same bad haircuts, I see.\"\n\nBoth men stopped. They shuffled their feet. Konrad hugged the tape deck he was carrying closer to his chest.\n\n\"We don't drink anymore,\" Curtis volunteered. \"That night was the last time.\"\n\nSean laughed. \"Yeah. That was quite a night. How many guys did you send to the ER to get stitched up?\"\n\n\"Six,\" Konrad said. \"But like Curtis said, we don't do that no more.\"\n\nCurtis raised his hand. \"I swear. Except for Thursday night bowling, when we have one or two brews.\"\n\n\"Sometimes three,\" Konrad said. \"But that's the max. Honest.\" He nodded toward his stomach with his chin. \"We're hardworking family men now.\"\n\n\"That's a good thing,\" Sean said.\n\nBoth men nodded solemnly.\n\n\"We're working for Mr. Kane,\" said Curtis. \"Maintenance. Before that, we worked for the housing complex off Ridge Road.\"\n\n\"That's very nice,\" Sean said. \"So what brings you boys out this time of night?\"\n\nCurtis adjusted his suspenders. \"It's about what happened at the Haunted House.\"\n\nSean waited. When nothing else was forthcoming, he told them to go on. There was more shuffling of feet; then Konrad spoke.\n\n\"See, we got this other hobby besides bowling and being volunteer firemen. Only it ain't really a hobby. It's more like an avocation. We go all over doing it. Some people think it's silly, but it's serious.\"\n\nCurtis pointed to himself and puffed his chest out. \"We're professional ghost hunters. We even went to school for it. We got certificates to prove it.\"\n\n\"You went to school?\" Bernie asked. \"What school?\"\n\n\"The Vincent Ludovic School for Paranormal Phenomena. You can look it up on the Web if you want to. We are trained professionals,\" said Curtis.\n\n\"I'm relieved,\" Bernie said. \"I thought you might be fakes.\"\n\nSean motioned for her to be quiet. \"Go on,\" he said.\n\nKonrad shot Bernie a reproachful glance. \"Well, we are the real thing. Being twins and all gives us a certain knack for it.\"\n\n\"I didn't know that twinness gave you a leg up in that department,\" Bernie said.\n\n\"It's true,\" Konrad told her. \"Boy Scout oath of honor. Me and Curtis been doin' this for a while now. We done the Perkins Place and the graveyard over at Three Trees. We even done this house over in Parker, PA.\"\n\n\"And how do you ghost hunt?\" Sean asked.\n\nKonrad motioned to his tape deck with a nod of his head. \"We get tape recordings. You can't hear anything if you're just standing there, but if you ask people questions, sometimes you can hear their answers when you play the tape back. It's called EVP Electronic voice processing.\"\n\n\"You mean electronic voice phenomena,\" Bernie corrected.\n\n\"There was a program on TV about that,\" Libby said.\n\n\"That's where we got the idea from,\" Konrad said. \"And like I just said, it turns out we got a real talent for it.\"\n\n\"I take it this has something to do with why you're here?\" Sean asked.\n\nAs Sean watched Curtis and Konrad nod, he noticed that they didn't really look like twins at all. Curtis was blond and skinny, while Konrad was broad and dark. But they had the same mannerisms and dressed alike.\n\n\"Okay. I think it's time you told me what this is about,\" said Sean.\n\nKonrad and Curtis looked at each other. After a few seconds, Konrad said, \"Well, Mr. Kane hired us to be ghost hunters for this haunted house thing, and we jumped at the chance because there are actual ghosts in there, and lots of people have seen them. There's Reverend Peabody; and his wife, Esmeralda; and Bessie Osgood, the kid that died, the one that was related to your wife.\"\n\nLibby turned to her dad. \"You never told me she was related to Mom.\"\n\n\"She was a distant cousin,\" Sean said.\n\n\"Why didn't you mention it?\" Libby asked.\n\nSean shrugged. \"There didn't seem to be any need to.\"\n\n\"Mom never mentioned it at all,\" Bernie said.\n\n\"Well, she wasn't one to mention painful subjects,\" replied Sean.\n\n\"Painful?\" Libby repeated.\n\n\"People said Bessie committed suicide,\" said Sean.\n\n\"That's not what Bessie says,\" Konrad interrupted.\n\nSean raised an eyebrow. \"And you know this how?\" he asked.\n\n\"'Cause, she told us. She told us other things, too. We got it right down on this tape recorder,\" said Konrad.\n\nThere sure was a lot of nuttiness out in the world, Sean decided as he looked at the two men standing before him. \"Fine,\" he said. \"But how does that explain why you're here?\"\n\n\"We're here,\" Curtis said, \"because we know who killed Amethyst.\"\n\n\"So go to the police,\" said Sean.\n\n\"We tried, but they didn't want to listen to our tape,\" said Konrad.\n\n\"And why do you think we will?\" Sean asked.\n\n\"Because,\" Curtis said, taking over, \"you always listened. You listened to our side that night.\"\n\n\"That was different. It was my job to listen,\" said Sean. \"There was a brawl between you and eight other guys, and I wanted to know what started it.\"\n\n\"And you let us go,\" Konrad said.\n\n\"The Myers brothers were punks.\"\n\n\"So you gonna listen, or what?\" Curtis asked.\n\nSean shook his head. He was definitely getting soft in his old age. But what the hell. Why not? It wasn't like he was going out anywhere tonight.\n\n\"Sure,\" he said. \"Play the tape. Let's hear what you got.\"\n\n## Chapter 4\n\nBernie watched Konrad put the machine down on the table in front of her dad's wheelchair. It was one of those old-fashioned reel-to-reel tape recorders.\n\n\"Where did you get that?\" she asked.\n\n\"From my uncle's basement. It's real old. Almost an antique,\" replied Konrad.\n\n\"It looks it,\" Bernie said.\n\n\"But it works better than cassette players or those new voice recording things. It picks up more stuff,\" said Konrad.\n\n\"I used to have one of those in the eighties,\" Sean remarked. \"My wife made me throw it out. Me, I like to keep things like that.\"\n\n\"That's because you're a pack rat,\" Libby observed.\n\n\"No. You just never know when something is going to come in handy,\" said Sean.\n\n\"Like Konrad said,\" Curtis replied, \"this deck works real fine.\"\n\n\"I didn't say it didn't,\" Bernie said. \"I just said it was old.\"\n\nKonrad held up his hand. \"Listen now.\" Everyone fell quiet and leaned forward. \"Here we go,\" he said, and he clicked the switch.\n\nBernie heard someone that sounded like Konrad say, \"Are we on?\" Then Curtis answered, \"We're rolling,\" and then she heard a lot of static and white noise.\n\nAfter a minute Curtis stabbed the air with his finger. \"Did you hear that?\" he asked excitedly.\n\n\"I hear static,\" Bernie said.\n\n\"No. Listen harder. There's Bessie,\" said Curtis.\n\n\"I'm sorry?\" replied Bernie.\n\n\"Focus,\" Curtis said.\n\n\"I'm trying,\" said Bernie. And she leaned forward, closed her eyes, and concentrated. She thought she heard someone say, \"Get out. Get out,\" in a hoarse whisper. A chill went down her spine. She shook her head. Bernie, get a grip, she told herself. This evening was affecting her more than she'd thought. Now her hearing was playing tricks on her.\n\n\"You heard something, didn't you?\" Konrad asked her.\n\n\"I'm not sure,\" Bernie said.\n\n\"That's Bessie,\" Konrad said. \"Here.\" And he stopped the tape and played it again.\n\nThis time Bernie didn't hear anything except a hiss. There were no words.\n\n\"I didn't hear anyone talking this time,\" Bernie said.\n\n\"Sometimes that happens,\" Konrad said.\n\nBernie turned to her father. \"Did you hear anything?\"\n\nSean shook his head, but the way he shook it made Bernie wonder if he had.\n\n\"I know I didn't,\" Libby said, but Bernie noticed her sister had the look she had on her face whenever she had one of her dreams.\n\n\"But you have to have heard it,\" Konrad said. \"I'll make it louder.\" And he turned up the volume. Now the room was filled with earsplitting static.\n\nSean winced. \"It reminds me of someone drawing their nails across a blackboard.\"\n\nAs Curtis leaned over the tape deck, Bernie decided if he got any closer, he'd be in it.\n\n\"See,\" Curtis said, stabbing the air again. \"There's Bessie.\"\n\nBernie shook her head. All she heard was a hiss. Maybe she heard a word. Home? House? No. There was nothing there. She was just hearing things because Curtis was suggesting that she do so. This was a subtle form of hypnosis.\n\nKonrad began pounding his leg with his fist. \"I can't believe you can't hear this. She's telling us she cut Amethyst's head off.\"\n\n\"I don't hear anything,\" Libby said.\n\nBernie straightened up. This was giving her a headache. \"You know,\" she said to Konrad, \"it's been a really bad day, and I want to finish my drink, take a shower, and go to bed.\"\n\nKonrad turned to Sean. \"You heard something, didn't you?\" There was a pleading note in his voice.\n\nSean shook his head. \"Sorry. I can't say that I did.\"\n\n\"Let me rewind it, and we can try again,\" said Konrad.\n\nSean held up his hand. \"Let's not. Instead, why don't you turn it off and tell me what you think Bessie Osgood told you.\"\n\nKonrad looked at Curtis, who shrugged and nodded.\n\n\"Okay,\" Konrad said.\n\nBernie breathed a sigh of relief as Konrad flicked the switch up. The room became blessedly quiet.\n\nKonrad and Curtis exchanged another glance. Then Curtis turned to Sean and said, \"She said she cut off Amethyst's head.\"\n\n\"That's it?\" asked Sean.\n\n\"What do you mean, 'That's it?'\" Curtis demanded.\n\n\"Well, did she say anything else?\" asked Sean.\n\n\"She says why she did it,\" said Curtis. \"Here\"\u2014his hand moved to the switch\u2014\"you can hear for yourself.\"\n\n\"That won't be necessary,\" Sean said quickly. \"Why don't you tell me instead?\"\n\nKonrad shrugged. \"It's simple. She did it because Amethyst threw her out the window, and she wanted to get even.\"\n\n\"I see,\" Sean said.\n\n\"So you don't believe us?\" Curtis cried.\n\nSean grimaced. \"I believe you think you heard that.\"\n\n\"No. We heard it,\" Konrad insisted.\n\nCurtis nodded. \"We did,\" he said. \"Her voice was as clear as a bell jar.\"\n\n\"Bell. The expression is 'clear as a bell,'\" Bernie corrected.\n\n\"That's what I said,\" Curtis told her.\n\n\"No. You said 'bell jar,'\" Bernie repeated.\n\n\"They're the same thing,\" Curtis retorted.\n\n\"No, they're not,\" Bernie said, and she went over and took another sip of her Scotch. As she was putting her glass down, she looked over and saw Libby eating the piece of pumpkin bar her dad hadn't gotten to yet. She glanced away before she caught her sister's eye. She was having a hard enough time keeping a straight face as it was.\n\n\"The problem is,\" Bernie said to Curtis, \"that ghosts are incorporeal beings.\"\n\n\"They don't get diseases,\" Konrad cried.\n\n\"No. Incorporeal, meaning 'without substance.' They don't have hands to grip axes or chain saws or whatever was used to cut off people's heads.\"\n\n\"They have energy,\" Konrad protested. \"They can do amazing things. We learned that in our class. Right, Curtis?\"\n\n\"Right, Konrad,\" said Curtis.\n\n\"I'm sorry, but ghosts don't go around lopping off people's heads, no matter how good the reason they have,\" Bernie told Konrad.\n\nCurtis put his hands on his hips. \"That shows you how much you know. Ghosts can do anything they want. They can move chairs....\"\n\n\"That's a poltergeist,\" Bernie snapped.\n\n\"Poltergeist is just a fancy name for a different type of ghost,\" Curtis told her.\n\nBernie threw up her arms. \"I give up.\"\n\n\"That's because I'm right,\" Curtis replied. Then he turned to Sean. \"She's awful excitable, isn't she?\"\n\n\"I am not!\" Bernie yelled.\n\nSean held up his hand. \"Let's talk about something else for a moment, if you don't mind.\"\n\n\"I don't mind,\" Curtis said.\n\n\"That was a rhetorical question,\" Bernie informed him.\n\n\"The question is,\" Sean said hurriedly, cutting Bernie off, \"isn't Bob Small related to you?\"\n\nCurtis looked at his feet.\n\n\"That's what I thought,\" Sean said. His legs weren't doing too good anymore, but that didn't mean his memory wasn't as good as it ever was.\n\nKonrad drew himself up. \"Maybe he is our cousin, but so what?\"\n\n\"The so what is obvious,\" Bernie retorted.\n\n\"Are you saying my brother and I are lying about this?\" Curtis said. \"That we have ulcerated motives?\"\n\nBernie laughed. \"You mean ulterior motives.\"\n\nCurtis's face began to get red.\n\n\"She's not saying that,\" Sean said quickly. Curtis and Konrad had had bad tempers when they were younger, and Sean was pretty sure that despite what they said, they still had them.\n\n\"Then what is she saying?\" Curtis asked.\n\n\"She's saying you are hearing what you want to hear,\" said Sean.\n\nKonrad lifted up his tape deck. \"Come on, Curtis,\" he said to his brother. \"Let's get out of here. No point in wasting anyone else's time.\"\n\n\"What did you want us to do?\" Sean asked Konrad.\n\n\"We wanted you to prove that Bessie Osgood killed Amethyst Applegate, of course,\" said Konrad.\n\n\"Of course,\" Sean repeated. He could just imagine what his pal Clyde would say when he heard about this one.\n\nCurtis shuffled his feet for a moment, then said, \"We'll pay you.\"\n\n\"Money is not the issue,\" Sean told him as he moved his wheelchair a little to the left so he could watch Mr. Wilson walk his Chihuahua, Merlin. It always amused him to see such a big man with such a little dog. At the moment Merlin was trying to subdue a jack-o'-lantern on someone's doorstep by peeing on it.\n\n\"Then what is?\" Curtis asked.\n\n\"There is no way to prove that Bessie Osgood killed Amethyst Applegate. Even if you had a viable tape, it wouldn't matter,\" Sean said after Mr. Wilson had rounded the corner. \"I've never heard of ghostly testimony being accepted by the DA. And let me go further. The original crime happened over twenty years ago, and if I remember correctly, opinion was divided as to its cause.\"\n\n\"The dead have just as much right to justice as the living,\" Curtis protested.\n\n\"You're going to have to take that up with the judicial system,\" Sean told him. \"I'm sorry, but there it is.\" He sighed. Why did Curtis and Konrad make him feel guilty? They shouldn't, but they did. \"So do you have anything else you want to tell me?\" he asked in the ensuing silence.\n\nCurtis and Konrad looked at each other. They both cleared their throats.\n\n\"We don't think it's fair,\" Konrad blurted out, \"that Amethyst got Bob in trouble before, and she's done it again.\"\n\n\"Bob loaned her the car,\" Sean said. \"She didn't put a gun to his head and force him to.\"\n\n\"That's true. But she sweet-talked him into it. If he hadn't met her, he'd be all right now,\" Curtis said. \"He'd still have his family and his job.\"\n\nThere was no arguing with that, Sean decided. \"Do the police have Bob in custody yet?\" he asked.\n\n\"No,\" Konrad said. \"But they're gonna.\"\n\n\"He's a convicted felon, and he was there,\" Curtis said. \"Of course, they're going to pick him up.\"\n\n\"True,\" said Sean as he spied Mr. Wilson heading back around the corner. He was carrying Merlin in his jacket pocket.\n\n\"The guy needs a break,\" Konrad continued. \"And it's especially frustrating for us because we got the proof, and no one will listen to us.\" He lowered his voice. \"Even our wives think we're a little wacko with this stuff.\"\n\nSean pursed his lips while he thought. \"I'll tell you what. How about if me and the girls look into this?\"\n\n\"That's all we want,\" Curtis said.\n\n\"But if whatever we find leads in the direction of Bob Small, that's the way we're going to go,\" said Sean.\n\n\"I keep telling you that Bessie Osgood did it,\" Curtis said.\n\n\"Maybe she did, and maybe she didn't,\" Sean said. \"Maybe someone else did. That's what we're going to try and find out.\"\n\nKonrad and Curtis nodded. \"We'll leave the tape for you,\" they both said at the same time.\n\n\"Appreciate it,\" Sean said. \"Tell me, how about the Reverend Peabody or Esmeralda? You heard anything from them?\"\n\n\"Dad,\" Bernie cried.\n\n\"I was just asking,\" Sean replied.\n\n\"To answer your question,\" Curtis said, \"we haven't yet. But we intend to try. Mr. Kane said he'd pay us a thousand bucks if we get their voices.\"\n\n\"Dad,\" Bernie repeated after the two men had left.\n\nSean looked up from the newspaper he'd picked up. It was two days old, but that was the way he liked his news. Past its prime. It gave some perspective to it.\n\n\"What?\" he asked.\n\n\"I can't believe you agreed to do that,\" said Bernie.\n\n\"I don't see why not,\" Sean retorted.\n\n\"Because Curtis and Konrad are crazy,\" said Bernie.\n\n\"A little strange maybe, but not crazy. After all, everyone has their private obsessions,\" said Sean.\n\n\"But Dad,\" Bernie continued. \"You just said that you thought Bob Small chopped off Amethyst Applegate's head.\"\n\n\"No,\" Sean corrected. \"What I said was that if I were the police, I would like him for it. That doesn't mean that I think he did it.\"\n\n\"But Bob Small had motive, means, and opportunity,\" Bernie wailed. \"Those are your words.\"\n\n\"I know. But I think he's too obvious,\" replied Sean. \"Over the years I've found that things that come wrapped up in pretty, neat little packages with bows on top of them rarely are what they seem.\"\n\n\"So you're saying that you think that Bob Small was set up?\" Libby asked.\n\n\"I'm saying it's a possibility,\" Sean replied. \"Which is why we should come up with a list of Amethyst's enemies and everyone who had access to the Haunted House and cross-reference them.\"\n\nBernie sighed. \"It's going to be a lengthy list.\"\n\nSean cast a longing glance at his paper. \"I'm aware of that.\"\n\n\"And we're doing this why?\" asked Bernie.\n\n\"Because the case interests me, and because I don't want to see our redoubtable chief of police put the wrong man in jail,\" said Sean.\n\n\"Lucy could do that,\" Libby agreed, referring to the chief of police by his nickname.\n\n\"Lucas Broadbent has done it,\" Sean said. \"Several times.\" He turned to Bernie. \"And while you're at it, see what you can find out about what happened to Bessie Osgood.\"\n\n\"You're kidding, right?\" Bernie asked.\n\n\"Not in the least,\" said Sean. \"My gut tells me she's at the root of this in some way or other.\"\n\n\"Is this the same gut that told you to go west to Mr. Leonida's house when you should have been going east?\" said Bernie.\n\n\"Just humor an old man, will you?\" said Sean.\n\n\"Fine,\" Bernie said. She finished the last of her drink. \"Maybe Curtis and Konrad do have something. After all, Halloween is the time of year when ghosts are supposed to come visit us mortals, the time when the veil between the two worlds is at its thinnest. The Celts thought so two thousand years ago. Who am I to argue?\"\n\nLibby groaned. \"You don't believe in ghosts, do you, Dad?\" she asked.\n\n\"No. But I believe in bad luck places. And I think the Peabody School falls under that category,\" said Sean.\n\nLibby frowned. Maybe the money they were getting wasn't worth it, after all.\n\n\"Oh, come on,\" Bernie said, looking at her sister's face. \"I told you nothing else is going to happen. Trust me on this.\"\n\nLibby got up. \"You know,\" she said, \"whenever anyone tells me that, I've found that the opposite is usually true.\"\n\nThen, before Bernie could reply, Libby went downstairs to bake some more pumpkin bars. Baking always made her feel better. And, anyway, her dad was right. They were going to be swamped tomorrow.\n\n## Chapter 5\n\nBernie looked at the three pumpkins she'd just carved to put in front of the shop's doorway. The first looked like a witch, the second looked like a cat, and the third one she'd carved into the shape of a goblin, complete with a wart on her nose. Thank heavens for how-to books, Bernie thought. What did people ever do before them? She removed her apron and dusted off her shirt. Black parachute silk and powdered sugar definitely didn't mix. But at least for once she hadn't gotten any pumpkin glop on her clothes.\n\nShe looked over at her sister, who was working away in jeans, a flannel shirt, and a T-shirt. Libby's clothes made more sense, especially when one was dusting powdered sugar on apple bars, but Bernie could never bring herself to wear outfits like that. What was the point? They were boring. And she had a reputation to uphold. People expected her to dress impractically now. It was part of who she was.\n\nBernie brushed a speck of powdered sugar off her black Dolce & Gabbana pants and checked her shoes for smudges. They were black suede and three inches high. Definitely not made for the kitchen, but she wasn't planning on being here for much longer. She had stuff to do for her dad.\n\n\"I'm going now,\" she said.\n\n\"I can see that,\" Libby told her sister, but her eyes remained focused on the pie dough she was rolling out. She'd done six pumpkin pies already and she had six more to go for the Haunted House. Her pumpkin pies always went fast. Maybe that was because she started out with real pumpkin puree instead of the canned stuff. The color was prettier, and the flavor and texture more delicate.\n\n\"Do we need anything?\" Bernie asked.\n\nLibby stopped for a moment and thought. \"A couple of gallons of cider and some red food dye. I want to make two more batches of devil cookies for the display case. Everyone seems to be enjoying them. And if you're stopping by Sam's Club, we could use some more chicken breasts for our red ginger chicken.\"\n\n\"But I got some yesterday,\" Bernie protested.\n\n\"We don't have any left.\"\n\n\"Have you looked in the cooler?\"\n\nLibby went back to rolling. \"Check if you don't believe me,\" she told her sister.\n\nBernie repositioned her bobby pin to stop her bangs from falling in her eyes. That was the problem with letting your hair grow in. It just went every which way. But, on the other hand, it did hide her crow's-feet. \"We sold that much?\"\n\nLibby shrugged. \"It would seem so.\"\n\nMaybe they had, Bernie thought. Or maybe someone was stealing the chicken. Except she couldn't believe that Googie or Amber would do something like that. Shrinkage was a definite problem in their business, but Googie and Amber had been with them for years.\n\n\"We should keep better track of our inventory,\" Bernie said.\n\n\"Yes, we should,\" Libby agreed.\n\nBernie realized that they had this discussion every six months or so, and nothing ever came of it.\n\n\"And I vote that you be the one to do it. And be back by three-thirty,\" Libby added. \"Don't forget, we have to be serving by five-thirty at the Haunted House.\"\n\n\"I haven't forgotten,\" Bernie said. \"I don't think this talk will take that long.\"\n\nAt least she hoped it wouldn't. She was going to talk to Felicity Huffer, who used to work as a proctor at the Peabody School. Bernie had spoken to Felicity's daughter earlier this morning and been told that Felicity lived in the Pine Bough Manor, a residential home for older adults. Now there was a euphemism if ever Bernie had heard one.\n\n\"I told her she could stay with me,\" Felicity's daughter had said. \"But she doesn't want to. I'm sure she'll be happy you're coming. She loves talking to people, and I can't get up there until later in the evening. In fact, I'll call her now and make sure it's all right. Sometimes she gets a little grumpy.\"\n\n\"Don't we all,\" her dad had said when Bernie told him what Felicity's daughter had said. \"Of course, if I remember correctly, she always was a bit irascible,\" he'd added.\n\n\"Maybe you should go,\" Bernie had told him. \"After all, you're the one that suggested this.\"\n\nHer dad had waved the suggestion away. \"She always liked your mom better than me. In fact, she never liked me at all.\"\n\nBernie was wondering why Felicity Huffer hadn't liked her dad when her sister put down her rolling pin and wiped her hands off on her flannel shirt.\n\n\"So,\" Libby asked her sister, \"are we really going to do this?\"\n\n\"Investigate Amethyst's death?\"\n\n\"I'm not talking about baking cookies.\"\n\n\"Yes, we are.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"I figure Dad's done enough for us. Maybe we should return the favor.\"\n\n\"I guess you're right,\" Libby said doubtfully as she tugged at her bra.\n\n\"I know I'm right, and your sisters are still lopsided,\" Bernie informed her.\n\nLibby tugged on her left bra strap a little more. \"Better?\" she asked Bernie.\n\nBernie nodded. \"You need new bras. In fact, you need new everything.\"\n\n\"After Halloween,\" Libby said. \"When I have a little more free time.\"\n\n\"Why do you hate to shop?\"\n\n\"Why do you like to shop?\" Libby countered, and she turned back to her pumpkin pies.\n\nOn the way out, Bernie stopped and had Amber pack her up a box of pumpkin chocolate chip cookies for Felicity.\n\n\"You know,\" Amber said as she taped the box shut, \"you ought to make sure someone isn't doing a remake of Michael Myers's Halloween at the Haunted House. Maybe there's this homicidal maniac hiding in one of the rooms, with a chain saw, just waiting for you to arrive. You should keep your cell phone out just in case.\"\n\nThis, Bernie thought, is what happens when someone watches too many horror movies.\n\n\"If we get diced up, you'll be the first one I'll call,\" Bernie promised as Amber handed her the box full of cookies. \"In fact, I'll leave my cell on so you can hear every bloodcurdling scream. Now go wait on Mrs. Stein.\" And with that, Bernie walked out the door.\n\nShe stood in the street for a moment and took a deep breath. It was one of those glorious late fall mornings. The air smelled spicy\u2014like cinnamon and cloves. The sun was still warm, and the leaves remaining on the trees were crimson and gold. Most of the houses on the other side of the street had decorations in their windows: there were witches and goblins and black cats. There were tombstones in the yards. There were jack-o'-lanterns on people's porches. In a week the street would be full of parents and children in costume knocking on doors and yelling, \"Trick or treat!\"\n\nHalloween had been her favorite holiday when she was little. She still remembered her best costume ever. Her mom had made it, and she thought it was the prettiest costume she'd ever seen. It was a blue taffeta dress with a sparkly sash and pale blue wings and a wand. And she'd had a crown on her head and ruby slippers on her feet. She'd gone as Glynda the Good Witch from The Wizard of Oz, and she'd gotten so much candy, the pillowcase she'd carried was half full by the time her dad made her come home.\n\nHalloween was still her favorite holiday. Every year she and Libby opened A Little Taste of Heaven and stood in the doorway and gave out homemade candy and cookies. They labeled every bag they gave away so parents would know where the treats had come from, which the parents seemed to agree with. Otherwise, they'd have to serve the prepackaged stuff, which would be a shame.\n\nBernie sighed. It was a pity that they wouldn't be able to do that this year, but they wouldn't be at the shop; they'd be serving at the Haunted House. She'd definitely miss seeing the little kids come parading by, but what could she do. Mark was paying them well, and they needed the money, although she wasn't sure that any amount of money could compensate for what she and Libby had seen last night. Whenever she closed her eyes, she could see Amethyst's head rolling down the stairs. She could still hear the bump, bump, bump that it had made.\n\nBernie shuddered and tried to think of something else, but she couldn't. The image was fixed in her mind. She kept wondering how it had been done. The person couldn't have used a chain saw. That would have made too much noise. So maybe the weapon was an axe. Which meant someone might have found it on the premises. Or someone could have brought it in. It was really impossible to know.\n\nOr someone could have used a fiber-optic laser beam. She'd just seen someone cut glass with one a few weeks ago. Of course, things would be clearer when the coroner did the postmortem. From what Clyde had told her dad, it was scheduled for tomorrow.\n\nShe hadn't looked closely enough to see if the cuts on Amethyst's neck were smooth or jagged. She'd been too shocked. Of course, if she didn't want to wait for the PM, she could always ask Marvin to find out. His dad would know since both parts of Amethyst's body were resting in his funeral home. Bernie took another deep breath and got in the car. Maybe Amber and Libby were right, Bernie thought as she started up her vehicle. Not that she would let either of them know that. Maybe she and Libby shouldn't go back. Maybe there was some crazy person there, waiting to claim another unsuspecting victim, although that was not what her father thought.\n\nIf he did, he would never have allowed them to go back there, no matter what the circumstances. And he was usually right about these kinds of things. Thirty years in law enforcement had given him pretty good instincts. It was a thought Bernie consoled herself with as she drove over to see Felicity Huffer.\n\nThe lobby of the Pine Bough Manor was practically deserted when Bernie walked in. There was a small cluster of people gathered around a bulletin board, and she could hear the tinkle of music and someone exhorting everyone to \"breath in and out and focus on letting your energy go out into the world.\"\n\nA vision of people walking their energy on leashes became lodged in Bernie's mind. She shook her head to clear it and looked around. There was a fountain over by the far wall, with some goldfish swimming in the pond by the base. The dining room stood off to the right.\n\nThree large ficus trees stood in pots over by a large picture window. The floor was carpeted in a pale green tweed, while the furniture was covered in light tans. As Bernie approached the reception desk, she decided the place reminded her of the lobby of a moderately priced hotel.\n\nThe woman at the reception desk smiled when Bernie asked for Felicity, and pointed over to the sofa in the back of the room. \"She's waiting for you,\" the woman said. \"She's very excited. In fact, I believe she has something to give you.\"\n\nBernie wondered what it was as she made her way over to the sofa she'd been directed to. At first, she didn't notice anyone there, and then she saw a small, kid-sized figure dressed in beige. It wasn't until she got closer that she realized that the figure must be Felicity Huffer. If she were taller than four feet eight, Bernie would have been surprised.\n\nFelicity turned as she heard Bernie approaching and smiled. \"You're Rose's daughter, aren't you?\" she asked in a voice that seemed way too loud for the body it was coming out of.\n\nBernie allowed as how she was.\n\nFelicity patted the space next to her. \"Sit,\" she said.\n\nBernie sat.\n\n\"Your mother was a dear woman. Very refined. And an excellent cook. I understand you and your sister have inherited her ability,\" said Felicity.\n\n\"I hope so,\" Bernie said.\n\nFelicity pointed to the box of cookies Bernie was holding. \"Are those for me?\"\n\n\"Yes. Of course. They're pumpkin chocolate chip cookies from our shop, A\u2014\"\n\nFelicity cut her off. \"I know the name. Even though I'm ninety, I haven't lost my mind. Though there are those that would like to think so,\" she finished darkly. \"I'm sure the staff will like them. I can't digest anymore,\" she explained. \"I exist on a diet of rice, bananas, and bread.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry to hear that,\" Bernie told her.\n\nFelicity waved her words of sympathy away. \"It doesn't really matter. At my age, everything tastes the same to me, anyway. So my daughter tells me you want to hear about the Peabody School.\"\n\nBernie nodded. She didn't think she'd ever seen anyone this thin before. It was as if she was looking at an anatomy illustration. For the first time, she actually understood what the term skeletal-looking meant.\n\n\"Your mother was heartbroken about what happened to Bessie, you know,\" Felicity said.\n\n\"She never talked about it to me.\"\n\n\"I'm not surprised. She was a woman who liked to keep unpleasant things to herself. It was a big tragedy,\" Felicity said. \"Bessie was a good girl. Studious too. She could have done something with herself. Not like some other people I could name.\" Felicity frowned.\n\n\"So what happened?\" Bernie asked.\n\n\"She went out the window. I was the one that found her.\" Felicity's voice trembled slightly. \"Terrible. Truly terrible. The windows were very low. Almost French windows. All you'd have to do is lean out of them to fall. One push and there you'd go. It wouldn't even take much. Of course, some people say she jumped. Others say she fell, that what happened was an accident. But I don't believe that for a moment. I didn't then, and I don't now. I think she was killed. I think she was killed out of spite and jealousy.\"\n\nAs Bernie leaned forward to better hear what Felicity was saying, she caught Felicity's musty scent: dry, brittle paper mixed with the aroma of lavender water.\n\n\"So you know who killed her?\" she asked.\n\nFelicity put her hand up and coughed into it. \"I know, but I never told anyone.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Because,\" she said when she was done coughing, \"I could have lost my job.\"\n\n\"How so?\" Bernie asked.\n\n\"Well, I didn't have any proof, you see. And the girl's family was very rich, very powerful.\" Felicity paused for a moment. \"I needed that job. If I had lost it, I don't think I could have gotten another one. Some people think that Zinnia was the one, but even if she was, it was Amethyst that put her up to it. She was a bad seed. I know it's not fashionable to use that expression anymore, but it's true. That's why she was there, you know. Because her parents were afraid of her. Her mother told me that in one of her visits. Sweet woman, too. Imagine being afraid of your own child. But things happened when Amethyst was around. Bad things.\"\n\n\"Well, this time something bad happened to Amethyst.\"\n\n\"So my daughter told me. Which, of course, is why you're here. You want to know if I can shed any light on the situation.\"\n\n\"Exactly,\" Bernie said.\n\nFelicity laughed. It was more of a rattle, actually. \"Of course, I can.\"\n\nBernie waited. Felicity didn't say anything for a moment.\n\nThen she said, \"Do you like games and puzzles?\"\n\n\"As well as anyone else,\" Bernie lied. In reality she didn't like them at all.\n\n\"Are you good at them?\"\n\n\"Moderately,\" Bernie replied. \"I'm good at crossword puzzles.\"\n\nFelicity made a dismissive noise. \"I'm talking about a real puzzle.\"\n\nAnd she reached behind her and presented Bernie with a brown paper bag. It was crinkled and splotched with grease here and there. This brown paper bag, Bernie thought, had seen better days. It didn't smell too great, either. It smelled as if it had been storing things that Bernie didn't want to think about.\n\n\"Well, look inside,\" Felicity snapped.\n\nBernie did, with a great deal of circumspection.\n\n\"Take everything in there out,\" Felicity ordered.\n\nBernie reached in gingerly and pulled out an old View-Master and a wooden puzzle box that was covered with smudge marks.\n\n\"Thank you,\" Bernie said, not knowing what else to do.\n\n\"Take them with you,\" Felicity instructed. \"And on your way out, see Odella at the reception desk, and tell her it's time for my nap.\"\n\n\"What are they?\" Bernie asked, nodding toward the items that had been in the bag.\n\nFelicity looked at her with an unmistakable expression of annoyance on her face. \"They're the solution to your problem, of course. I just told you what you wanted to know.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry, but I must not have been paying attention.\"\n\n\"The box and the View-Master,\" Felicity told her. \"The answer is in those. Especially the box. The View-Master not so much.\"\n\n\"I don't understand,\" Bernie stammered.\n\n\"What's to understand? I just told you. The answer to the question you want me to answer is in the bag. Solve the puzzle and you'll find it.\"\n\n\"What puzzle?\" Bernie asked. She was at a total loss.\n\n\"The one in the bag,\" Felicity snapped. \"Honestly. These days people expect you to do all their work for them. When I was younger, we had to figure things out for ourselves. Now go. Go.\"\n\n## Chapter 6\n\nSean looked at the items Bernie held out to him. She put them on the table in front of him.\n\n\"Interesting,\" he said, picking up the View-Master. \"I used to have one of these when I was a kid.\" He held it up to the light. \"Have you looked at the pictures?\" he asked.\n\nBernie nodded. \"When I got in the car. They're all pictures of the Peabody School.\"\n\nWhen Sean was done, he put the View-Master down and picked up the wooden box. He studied it for a moment. \"I haven't seen a puzzle box like this in years.\" He played with it for a moment, then put that down as well.\n\n\"So what do you think?\" Bernie asked her dad when he went back to sipping his coffee.\n\n\"Felicity could be playing a joke,\" he mused. \"It would amuse her to think that I was spending my time over these things. That woman always was a pain in the ass, not to mention being a real nut job.\"\n\n\"So why did you send me there?\"\n\nSean gave a slight shrug. \"I thought she might have mellowed. Evidently, I was wrong.\"\n\n\"Do you think there's anything in what she gave me that will help?\"\n\n\"I'll play around with the puzzle box for a while, but I don't think there's going to be anything in there.\" He sighed. \"Boy, that woman can hold a grudge.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"She never forgave me for marrying your mom.\"\n\n\"But why?\" Bernie couldn't believe someone wouldn't like her dad.\n\n\"Felicity was your mom's babysitter at one time. She was quite attached to her\u2014probably too attached\u2014if you get my meaning. And she disapproved of me. She didn't think I was good enough for your mom. I don't know if anyone would have been. She thought your mom deserved better then being a policeman's wife. And maybe she did. I thought she would have forgotten about that by now, but evidently, she hasn't.\" Sean frowned. \"Oh well. On to Plan B.\"\n\n\"And what is Plan B?\"\n\nSean looked at his daughter. \"Can't you guess?\"\n\n\"Find out who had a motive for killing Amethyst?\"\n\nSean beamed. \"Exactly.\" He always felt good when he'd managed to teach something to his children.\n\nIt was going to be a long list, Bernie thought as she went into her room to change into her Halloween costume for the Haunted House. Today she was going to go as a witch. Of course, the bottom of witches' dresses traditionally didn't have ruffles lined in pink, but so be it. She wasn't going to be wearing the kind of homespun cloth witches in thirteenth-century Europe would wear. It would be way too scratchy.\n\nLibby was waiting for her sister downstairs. She and Amber had already packed everything and were in the middle of loading the van.\n\n\"Now be careful,\" Amber warned when Bernie appeared. Libby closed the doors of the vehicle. \"Here,\" Amber said, pressing two small medallions into Libby's and Bernie's hands. \"This is for just in case.\"\n\nLibby looked down at the silver hand with an eye drawn on the palm. \"Just in case what?\"\n\n\"It's to ward off the evil eye,\" Amber explained.\n\n\"There is no such thing as an evil eye,\" Libby said. \"That's just a superstition.\"\n\nAmber gave her a reproachful look. \"Don't you know what happens in movies when the hero or heroine refuses to wear the protective amulet?\"\n\n\"They get chopped up into hamburger,\" Bernie replied.\n\n\"Exactly,\" Amber said.\n\n\"Fine,\" said Libby, as she put the amulet around her neck. \"See. Feel better now?\"\n\nAmber nodded.\n\nLibby shook her head as she drove down the street. She liked Amber, but there were some things about her she just couldn't understand\u2014like her fondness for horror movies. \"What did dad say when you showed him the bag?\" Libby asked as they turned onto Ash Place.\n\n\"He said Felicity was always a little crazy. He said that stuff could be her idea of a joke.\"\n\n\"Lovely,\" Libby said. \"Are you planning on wearing that hat this evening?\"\n\nBernie patted her hat. \"Why? What's wrong with it?\"\n\n\"It's just very large.\" Libby could see herself knocking it into the pumpkin pies by accident.\n\n\"Witches always wear large hats.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't know. I've never made an actual study of it.\"\n\nBernie glanced appraisingly at her sister. \"You should get in costume, too, Libby.\"\n\n\"I don't like costumes,\" Libby said. \"You know that.\"\n\n\"You don't have to go as the Cowardly Lion.\"\n\n\"I'm not going as anything,\" Libby said firmly. \"Besides, it'll be hard to serve people.\"\n\n\"Not if you're wearing the right thing. Come on,\" Bernie pleaded. \"It'll be fun.\"\n\n\"No,\" Libby said as she turned onto the road that led to the Haunted House. \"I always feel ridiculous.\"\n\n\"For Halloween night, you can go as...\" Bernie paused for a moment while she thought. \"I've got it. Fruit of the Loom tighty whities.\"\n\n\"That's it,\" Libby yelped.\n\n\"I'm kidding.\"\n\n\"No, you're not.\"\n\n\"You have to admit it would be funny.\"\n\n\"Not to me.\"\n\n\"We'll get you a nice costume,\" Bernie told her soothingly. \"Something sexy.\"\n\n\"I don't want my boobs hanging out.\"\n\n\"But they're nice boobs.\"\n\n\"Yes, they are,\" Libby agreed. Marvin thought so, too. She just didn't think it was appropriate to show them off when she was serving food.\n\n\"We'll do funky.\" Bernie snapped her fingers. \"Wait. I know. You can come as Esmeralda's ghost. That would be really freaky.\"\n\n\"I'll see.\" Libby demurred. She reached over and turned on the radio, signaling that she didn't want to discuss dressing up anymore.\n\nTen minutes later they were at the school. Libby parked as close as possible to the entrance that led to the kitchen.\n\n\"Loading and unloading are the parts of this job that I hate the most,\" Bernie grumbled.\n\n\"Tell me about it,\" Libby agreed as she lifted a carton filled with cider out of the back of the van.\n\nIt took them about twenty minutes to unload the van and about half an hour to set up. They decked the long tables with the orange and black checkered tablecloths that Libby had found at the dollar store. Then Bernie arranged the decorations: five carved jack-o'-lanterns, pots of mums, and three small candles featuring Casper the Friendly Ghost. She stepped back and looked at the results.\n\nMaybe she should forget about Casper. After all, there weren't going to be any young children. But then some adults liked cartoony stuff. After another moment of debate, she left the candles on the table.\n\n\"You know,\" Bernie said as she began laying out the paper cups, napkins, and spoons and forks, \"we should have had bobbing for apples.\"\n\n\"Too messy,\" Libby said firmly as she began setting out the waffle irons. \"There'd be water all over the floor, and then we'd have to worry about someone slipping.\"\n\n\"But it would be fun,\" Bernie protested.\n\n\"Undoubtedly,\" Libby said as she began setting up the workstation for the waffles. \"But that's not the issue.\"\n\nShe could just see it now: someone walking by and slipping on the floor because it was wet, grabbing the table for support, and having the whole thing come down. Then they'd get sued. No. Bobbing for apples was out of the question. She checked her waffle supplies. They had the homemade strawberry and apricot jam, the hot fudge sauce, the apple compote, whipped cream, maple syrup, and strawberries, but no butter. She went through the box again. No. It wasn't there. She explicitly remembered telling Amber not to forget to pack it.\n\n\"Damn,\" Libby muttered. She should have checked everything over herself. This was what happened when she got lazy.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" Bernie asked.\n\n\"Amber forgot the butter.\"\n\n\"No biggie. I'll run back and get it,\" Bernie told her. She looked at her watch. She had a half hour before they opened. Shouldn't be a problem at all.\n\n\"And bring some of the glazed walnuts while you're at it,\" Libby said. They would go well with the maple syrup.\n\nBernie nodded, put on her jacket, and hurried out the door. Libby turned back to arranging the cookie bars on the platters she'd brought. She probably should have brought some of their larger serving plates, but these would have to do for the moment. She'd just put one platter down and was busy taking the pumpkin pecan bars out of their Tupperware container when she heard a door slam.\n\n\"Bernie?\" she called out, even though it was way too early for her sister to have gotten to the shop and returned. Maybe she'd forgotten something.\n\nNo one answered.\n\nSuddenly, Libby was aware of how quiet the room was. And how large. Another door slammed.\n\n\"Bernie?\" Libby repeated.\n\nHer sister's name echoed in the silence.\n\n\"Hello?\" Libby cried.\n\nNo one answered.\n\n\"This is ridiculous,\" Libby said out loud.\n\nObviously, the sounds were being made by people walking back and forth in the hallway. She looked down. She didn't remember doing it, but somehow she'd taken the amulet Amber had given her off of her neck and was clutching it in her hand. This was what came from listening to Amber and those ghost-hunter freaks. Libby shook herself. She hated when she got like this. She was acting the way she had when she was five.\n\nLibby shook herself again, took a deep breath, and went over her to do list, holding it in her mind the way she was holding the amulet in her hand. She had to focus on finishing setting up. She had to finish plating the cookies, pouring the waffle batter into jugs, putting out the pies, slicing up the pumpkin loaves, arranging the drinks, and setting up the urns for hot coffee, tea, mulled cider, and hot chocolate.\n\nShe started humming Bob Dylan's \"It Ain't Me Babe\" to herself. That always helped. She didn't know why, but it did. It had since childhood. She was finishing up overlapping the pumpkin chocolate chip cookies when she felt something funny around her.\n\nIt was like static electricity on her arms, neck, and shoulders. Then she felt a blast of cold air on her cheeks. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She didn't know how she knew they were doing that; she just did. It isn't a figure of speech. They really do that, she thought as she noticed the goose pimples on her arms. Suddenly, she was very, very cold. Colder than she'd ever been. The air around her seemed wavy, as if she was looking down the road on a hot summer's day, with the heat beating down on her.\n\nA young female voice whispered in her ear, \"See you later, alligator.\" Then she giggled.\n\nLibby whirled around. For a second, she thought she saw the outline of a girl wearing a button-down oxford shirt and a long, pleated skirt, and then the image vanished. A moment later the prickly sensation on her skin and the coldness surrounding her were gone as well.\n\nLibby told herself she was imagining things. Or that she was going crazy. But she knew she wasn't. Her mother was right. She was weird.\n\nLibby cleared her throat. \"Are you Bessie Osgood?\" she asked.\n\nThere was no answer. Of course not, Libby thought. What had she expected? Some sort of rapping? Two raps for yes, one rap for no?\n\nYeah, right. There had to be another explanation, had to be, even though she knew in her heart there wasn't. Maybe this was some kind of trick. If it was, she didn't think it was one bit funny.\n\nShe went out in the hallway and took a look around. Bob Small, who was wearing his skeleton costume, waved at her as he walked past. Guess they haven't arrested him yet, Libby thought. She wondered why. Her dad had been sure that Bob Small would be behind bars by now, and he usually wasn't wrong about things like that.\n\n\"Did you see anyone out here?\" she asked Bob.\n\n\"The Ghost of Christmas Past. Whoops. Wrong holiday.\"\n\n\"Seriously.\"\n\n\"Nope.\" Bob shook his head and hurried along.\n\nFor a moment, Libby thought about going through the rooms of the Haunted House, but she quickly ruled that out. She didn't have the time, and even if she did, what was she looking for?\n\nShe didn't know. That was the problem.\n\n## Chapter 7\n\nMarvin looked at Libby, who was perched on her bar stool, trying to make a bird out of a cocktail napkin and failing.\n\n\"You actually saw a ghost,\" he said.\n\nLibby smoothed the napkin out and tried again. \"I didn't say that. I said it seemed as if I saw a ghost.\"\n\n\"Seemed?\" Marvin repeated.\n\n\"Seemed,\" Libby said firmly.\n\n\"Well, I'm still envious. I've never come close,\" said Marvin.\n\nBrandon put the beer Marvin had ordered down in front of him and then got Libby and Bernie their Irish coffees. \"Not once?\" Brandon asked after he'd given Bernie a quick hello kiss. His shift was over, but his replacement hadn't come in yet.\n\n\"Never,\" Marvin said. Then he pointed to the napkins with R.J.'S BAR AND GRILL printed on them in green and blue. \"These are new,\" he observed.\n\n\"The owner's son is starting a printing business, and his dad is trying to help him out,\" said Brandon.\n\nMarvin nodded as Bernie turned toward him\n\n\"Has your dad ever seen a ghost?\" she asked.\n\n\"Nope. He doesn't believe in them,\" replied Marvin. \"He says that when you're dead, that's it.\"\n\nBrandon surveyed the bar. Everyone seemed satisfied for the moment, so he asked his next question. \"Do you believe in ghosts?\"\n\n\"Not in the least,\" Marvin said, with a great deal of conviction.\n\n\"He's had plenty of opportunity to see them, too,\" Libby pointed out.\n\nBernie lifted up her glass, changed her mind, and put it back down. \"Not really,\" she said. \"Ghosts tend to haunt places.\"\n\n\"Like funeral homes,\" Brandon said.\n\n\"No. Like places where they died a violent death. Personally, I think they're some sort of leftover energy that's just stuck there,\" said Bernie.\n\nMarvin frowned. \"I agree with my father\u2014for once\u2014on this one. I think when you're dead, you're dead. You go in the ground, and that's the end of the story. You don't go to heaven. You don't get reborn as something else. You just disappear. In all the time I've worked with my dad, I've never seen or felt anything that was vaguely ghostlike.\"\n\n\"How long has your dad been a funeral director?\" Brandon asked.\n\nMarvin took a sip of his Brooklyn Brown and wiped his mouth on one of the napkins on the bar. \"Maybe thirty years. Maybe thirty-five. I'm not exactly sure.\"\n\nLibby toyed with her glass for a moment and then took a sip. She could feel herself begin to relax. Who was it that said that Irish coffee was the perfect mix of fat, sugar, and alcohol? \"I think I was meant to see Bessie Osgood's ghost,\" she blurted out.\n\n\"Obviously,\" Bernie said.\n\n\"No. I mean, I think someone wanted me to see her,\" said Libby.\n\nBernie raised an eyebrow. \"Someone?\"\n\n\"The someone who did this,\" replied Libby.\n\nBernie snorted. \"And who would that be?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" Libby told her.\n\n\"But why would someone do that?\" Brandon asked Libby.\n\n\"Because,\" she replied, \"Curtis and Konrad are ready to swear that Bessie Osgood killed Amethyst, and my seeing her backs up their story.\" Libby explained what the ghost hunters had told her dad.\n\n\"Those two guys are nuts,\" Brandon scoffed. \"They also believe in UFOs. In fact, one of them offered to hook me up with a ride.\"\n\n\"And you didn't go?\" Bernie asked.\n\nBrandon laughed.\n\n\"I think,\" Libby continued, \"that what I experienced in the kitchen might be an attempt to keep us from investigating any further. Whoever did it is betting that we'll buy into this fantasy they've created.\"\n\n\"From the way you describe it, you have to admit it's a pretty elaborate fantasy,\" Brandon said.\n\n\"Exactly,\" said Marvin as he picked a handful of peanuts out of the bowl and began to shell them. \"The sensations, the cold, the vision. If what you experienced was created by someone, the question becomes, how was it accomplished? Who has the technical know-how to do this?\"\n\n\"That's easy,\" Bernie said. \"FX Productions, the outfit that set up the show.\"\n\n\"What do we know about them?\" Marvin asked.\n\nBrandon whipped out his iPhone. \"I'll Google them and find out.\" A moment later he said, \"Here they are. They seem pretty legit to me.\" He passed the phone to Bernie.\n\n\"Expensive,\" she said after she'd read the company's Web page. \"Lots of references.\" She handed the phone back to Brandon.\n\n\"I bet they can't be too pleased that they're involved in something like this,\" Brandon said. \"There's a contact number. Maybe I should give them a call and see what I can find out.\"\n\n\"Sounds like a plan,\" said Bernie. She tapped her fingernails on the base of the glass holding her Irish coffee. \"And in the meantime, maybe we should talk about who disliked Amethyst.\"\n\n\"Now that,\" said Brandon, \"will be easy.\" He excused himself for a moment to wait on the people down at the end of the bar.\n\nMarvin swept the peanut shells onto the floor and looked around the place. R.J.'s never seemed to change. There was the dartboard over on the right, the pool table by the window, the tables for two shoved up against the wall, the historical pictures of Longely hanging slightly crookedly on the wall, the spindly ficus tree fighting for life in the window, and the peanut shells on the floor.\n\n\"There aren't many people here,\" he observed.\n\n\"Monday nights are always slow,\" Libby replied. \"You know,\" she continued, \"I just realized that they never put up any holiday decorations around here.\"\n\n\"A good idea if you ask me,\" Bernie noted. She sucked her thumb. It was still sore from using the edge of a spoon to dig out the seeds from all the pumpkins she'd carved in the last two days.\n\n\"Our regulars come here to drink, not to be reminded of Halloween,\" Brandon noted as he planted himself in front of Bernie. \"The only decoration they need is a glass.\"\n\n\"I don't understand. How can you not want to be reminded of Halloween?\" Bernie asked.\n\n\"Because they don't,\" said Brandon. \"They want to forget everything when they come in here. That's what serious drinkers do.\"\n\nLibby interrupted. \"Can we get back to Amethyst?\" she asked, annoyed. She felt as if no one was taking this seriously enough.\n\n\"Sure,\" Brandon said. He unscrewed the top of a bottle of water and took a drink. \"I'll tell you who's on the top of my list. Inez Colley.\"\n\nBernie took another sip of her Irish coffee. \"I thought she went off to Arizona.\"\n\n\"She did, but she came back,\" said Brandon.\n\n\"When?\" Marvin asked.\n\nBrandon looked at the ceiling while he calculated his answer. \"About three months ago, give or take a couple of weeks.\"\n\n\"Where's her husband?\" Marvin asked.\n\n\"Still in the monastery in Kyoto. I don't think he's coming back from Japan,\" Brandon replied. \"A guy who works for his former boss told me Kevin was taking the precepts, or doing whatever it is you do to become a Buddhist priest.\"\n\n\"Usually, it's the criminal, not the victim, that finds religion,\" Bernie noted.\n\nMarvin took another drink of his beer. \"Obviously, not in this case. Do we know what happened specifically?\" he asked.\n\n\"No,\" Bernie replied.\n\n\"Yes,\" Brandon said at the same time.\n\n\"How do you know?\" Bernie demanded.\n\n\"Because he told me,\" said Brandon.\n\n\"He did?\" asked Bernie.\n\n\"Yeah. He was drunk off his ass,\" said Brandon.\n\n\"And you never told me?\" said Bernie.\n\n\"A man never reveals what another man tells him when he's under the influence of alcohol,\" Brandon said.\n\nBernie rolled her eyes.\n\n\"Hey,\" Brandon said, \"I have my code of ethics. But I'll tell you now because it's important.\"\n\nBernie patted her chest. \"Be still, my heart.\"\n\n\"Do you want to hear this or not?\" said Brandon.\n\n\"We want to hear it,\" Marvin said.\n\n\"All right, then,\" replied Brandon as he took another sip of water. \"You know that Amethyst was working for Inez's husband, right?\"\n\nLibby nodded. \"As an office manager.\"\n\nBrandon leaned forward. \"Well, according to him, one night, when they were working late, Amethyst slipped something in his drink, had sex with him, and videotaped it.\"\n\nBernie snorted. \"Yeah, right. Poor Mr. Innocent.\"\n\nBrandon shrugged. \"It's possible.\"\n\nBernie rolled her eyes. \"But not likely.\"\n\n\"Okay. Not likely,\" Brandon agreed. \"But I definitely believe what Kevin said happened next, which was that Amethyst threatened to show the tape to his wife unless he paid her off. Which he did by refinancing his house and taking a loan out on his business.\"\n\n\"Stupid,\" Marvin said.\n\n\"It must have been quite a tape,\" Bernie observed.\n\n\"I'd say,\" replied Brandon as he scanned the room again. \"So here was Kevin, thinking the problem was taken care of, when Amethyst came back, asking for more money. Kevin freaked. He wimped out and took off for Japan to become a Buddhist monk, leaving Inez without a pot to pee in.\"\n\n\"Nice guy,\" Marvin commented.\n\n\"But, Brandon, Inez doesn't know about Amethyst, so she can't want to kill her,\" Bernie protested.\n\n\"She does know. Kevin told me he left Inez a note,\" said Brandon. \"Explained everything in it. Asked her forgiveness. Blah. Blah. Blah.\"\n\nLibby blinked. \"Wow. Poor woman.\"\n\nBrandon took another drink of water and screwed the top back on the bottle. \"I saw her at Sam's Club last week. She doesn't look so great.\"\n\n\"I can imagine,\" Bernie said. \"What's she doing now?\"\n\n\"She's on a cleaning crew,\" replied Brandon.\n\n\"You're kidding,\" Bernie cried.\n\n\"Nope,\" said Brandon, shaking his head.\n\nLibby clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. This was a woman who used to come into their store and order four hundred dollars' worth of food at a go without batting an eye.\n\n\"Jobs are tight these days, and with her problem, this was the only job she could get, and that's only because Ian felt bad for her,\" Brandon explained. \"My friend Ian White runs AAAPlus Clean.\"\n\n\"Didn't she work in a lab doing something with remote sensing?\" Libby asked.\n\nBernie finished her Irish coffee. \"She did before she got married and became Mr. Rich Man's wife and started drinking and got two DWIs. Now, I'm sure she couldn't get a security clearance to work at Wal-Mart.\" Bernie stretched. \"I'd say she had a motive to kill Amethyst.\"\n\n\"I'd go for the husband,\" Libby said.\n\n\"Yeah,\" Bernie said. \"But Kevin is in Japan.\"\n\n\"Good point,\" Libby said. \"And Inez has never been too stable.\"\n\n\"Just because she threw a tantrum in our shop when she found out we were out of broccoli cole slaw and we had to call the police to get her out?\" Bernie asked.\n\n\"Something like that,\" Libby said.\n\n\"You want me to find out if she's working tonight?\" Brandon asked.\n\n\"So late?\" Libby asked.\n\n\"That's when Ian's crews work,\" said Brandon. And he punched his friend's phone number in and walked to the end of the bar. A few minutes later, he was back. \"Funny thing,\" he said. \"But she's cleaning at the Foundation as we speak.\"\n\n\"Huh,\" Bernie said. \"Curiouser and curiouser. I think we should go have a chat with her.\"\n\n\"Now?\" Libby said.\n\n\"When better?\" Bernie asked.\n\n\"Tomorrow is better. I want to go home and go to bed,\" replied Libby.\n\n\"Then Brandon and I will go,\" said Bernie.\n\n\"We will?\" Brandon asked. \"I thought we had other plans.\"\n\n\"First things first,\" Bernie said firmly.\n\n\"And then we can go to my place,\" said Brandon.\n\nBernie grinned. \"That depends on your performance.\"\n\nBrandon leered. \"My performance is always stellar.\"\n\nBernie laughed and ate a peanut.\n\n## Chapter 8\n\nBernie watched the Peabody School rise in the moonlight as Brandon rounded the bend in the road. She hugged herself as she turned toward Brandon.\n\n\"This would make a great set for a horror movie,\" she said.\n\n\"Yeah,\" Brandon said. \"The only thing it lacks is bats and a belfry.\"\n\n\"It has a colony of bats.\"\n\n\"I was being metaphorical.\" Brandon pointed to the top of the building. \"It also has a widow's walk.\"\n\nFor a moment Bernie thought she saw a faint shape, a large, light spot in the dark, but when she looked again, it was gone. Probably an optical illusion, she told herself.\n\nBrandon headed toward the main entrance. \"Senior year, Ben Altman bet me I couldn't get all the way up there on Halloween night.\"\n\n\"And did you?\"\n\nBrandon shook his head. \"I chickened out before I got to the second floor. I thought I heard voices.\"\n\n\"Maybe you did. Maybe someone else was in there.\"\n\n\"There were no cars in the lot.\"\n\n\"Maybe it was a couple of squatters,\" said Bernie.\n\n\"Maybe. But I wasn't about to stay and find out.\"\n\nBernie rubbed her arms. For some reason, she was cold. \"You think Libby saw something earlier this evening?\"\n\n\"Definitely. Don't you?\"\n\n\"Yeah. I do. She was really freaked out.\"\n\n\"Do you think she really saw Bessie Osgood?\" asked Brandon.\n\n\"Don't tell anyone, but yeah. I think she did.\"\n\n\"Freaky.\"\n\n\"Halloween is a freaky time of year.\"\n\nBrandon turned into the parking lot. \"There's the cleaning van,\" he said, changing the subject.\n\nBrandon parked right beside it, and he and Bernie got out.\n\n\"And no cops,\" Bernie observed. According to Clyde, they'd packed up and left the crime scene a couple of hours ago. \"Did your friend Ian say anything about Inez?\" Bernie asked Brandon as they walked to the front door.\n\nBrandon zipped up his jacket before replying. \"He said she was a mess. He thought she was drinking again.\"\n\n\"No surprise there,\" replied Bernie.\n\n\"I guess not. He told her she had to have a doctor's note if she called in sick one more night,\" said Brandon.\n\n\"Another DWI and she's going to be going to jail for a long time,\" said Bernie.\n\n\"She's going to be going to jail for an even longer time if she killed Amethyst,\" replied Brandon.\n\n\"True,\" Bernie agreed. \"And she could have. After all, she knows how lasers work.\"\n\n\"If that's what was used.\"\n\n\"I'm guessing fiber-optic laser wire,\" Bernie informed him.\n\nBrandon stared at her. \"Where do you get this stuff from?\"\n\n\"Well, I was reading an article on a new piece of work Jacobs is doing.\"\n\n\"Jacobs?\"\n\n\"The sculptor, uncultured one.\"\n\n\"I'm cultured. I like yogurt.\"\n\nBernie faked a groan. \"Anyway, it got me thinking that that would fit the bill. It's light. It's quiet. It's easy to manipulate.\"\n\n\"Why not a samurai sword or a machete?\"\n\n\"Not enough blood.\"\n\n\"Maybe she was killed somewhere else and moved.\"\n\n\"Maybe,\" Bernie agreed. \"But I don't think so.\"\n\n\"Your feminine intuition tells you this?\"\n\nBernie chucked Brandon under the chin. \"Exactly. I could be wrong. Who knows,\" she mused. \"Maybe the person who killed her used a piece of flexible, glass-coated glazier's wire.\"\n\nBrandon shook his head. \"Sometimes you scare me.\"\n\n\"Then don't piss me off.\" And Bernie pulled her turtleneck up till it covered her chin. She definitely should have brought a scarf. \"Did Ian say how many nights a week they cleaned here?\" she asked, changing the subject.\n\n\"Five.\"\n\n\"That's a lot for an office, isn't it?\"\n\n\"Evidently, Kane's a clean freak.\"\n\n\"So they were here last night?\"\n\nBrandon nodded. \"But they don't clean the Haunted House area.\"\n\n\"How come?\"\n\n\"Kane doesn't want them to. He said there was too much delicate equipment in there. Touch the wrong thing and kablamo. There goes one of the exhibits.\"\n\n\"Who does the cleaning then?\" asked Bernie.\n\nBrandon shrugged. \"I assume the volunteers do, but you'll have to ask Kane.\"\n\n\"And Inez was here cleaning the Foundation part?\"\n\n\"That's what Ian says.\"\n\nBy now Bernie and Brandon were at the door. Brandon put his hand on the handle. \"So, what are you going to say to Inez?\" he asked.\n\n\"I'm going to ask her if she killed Amethyst.\"\n\n\"Seriously?\"\n\n\"Yes, seriously. Just like that.\"\n\nBrandon threw back his head and laughed. \"And you expect her to say, 'Yes, I did'?\"\n\n\"No. I just want to see how she reacts.\"\n\nBrandon pulled the door open. \"A waste of time if you ask me.\"\n\n\"Do you have any other suggestions?\"\n\n\"Yeah. Let's go back to my place and talk about this first.\"\n\n\"After,\" Bernie said and walked inside.\n\nBrandon sighed and followed.\n\nThe Foundation was not what Bernie had expected. She'd psyched herself up for a scary mansion, and she'd gotten a generic office instead. For a reason she couldn't explain, she felt oddly disappointed.\n\nThe lights were on in the hallway, and Bernie could see that Kane had done some serious remodeling. Now the walls were white, instead of wallpapered in paisley, and wainscoted, and the floor was a sea of gray carpeting.\n\nThere were metal-framed pictures on the walls, mostly featuring trees and flowers and grass. About twenty feet in was a reception desk, and just after that was a modern black leather sofa and a coffee table with fanned-out magazines. In the background, Bernie could hear Aretha Franklin competing with the hum of a vacuum cleaner.\n\n\"Boy, this has sure changed,\" Brandon observed. \"I remember all this weird wallpaper and dark wood and crystal lamps hanging from the ceiling.\"\n\n\"So it would appear,\" Bernie said as she cautiously opened the nearest door on the right. A small plaque on the door read MS. LONG. \"I guess Kane was telling the truth when he said the site they're using for the Haunted House is the last place they have to remodel.\"\n\nBernie peeked inside. The room was small and generic. It contained a desk; a monitor, keyboard, and mouse on the desk; a standard-issue office chair; a wall full of bookshelves, which appeared to contain reports; and stacks of reading material on the table by the door. The room was devoid of any personality. Looking at it, Bernie decided she could be in any office anywhere in the world. For all intents and purposes, the old Peabody School was gone except for where the Haunted House was. And soon that would be gone, too. It made her sad. She carefully closed the door behind her and started down the corridor.\n\n\"Let's go find Inez,\" she said.\n\nBrandon hurried after her. \"The sooner the better as far as I'm concerned,\" he told her.\n\n\"So you've said,\" Bernie retorted.\n\nThey walked down the corridor. When they got to the end, they followed the music and turned left. Aretha was louder now. So was the vacuum cleaner.\n\n\"How many people are on this cleaning crew?\" Bernie asked.\n\n\"Ian said three,\" Brandon replied.\n\nThey made another left. Bernie began to feel disorientated. The place was like a rabbit warren, all sharp, angled turns. One hallway led to another, and the white walls and gray carpet and overhead lights made everything look the same. Half of the rooms looked as if they were unused. By now the words to \"I Heard It Through The Grapevine\" were pulsing through Bernie's head. She paused in front of the door where the music was coming from.\n\n\"Let's do it,\" Brandon said and pushed open the door.\n\nThey stepped into a paneled conference room. A vacuum cleaner was parked by the far wall. A large, gleaming wooden table sat in the center of the room. The air smelled of furniture polish. A man in coveralls was bent over the table, spraying its surface with Pledge and wiping it down.\n\nBernie went over and tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped and spun around. It took him a minute to focus his eyes. Whatever he was on, it had taken him someplace else.\n\n\"Sorry,\" Bernie shouted. \"We're looking for Inez.\"\n\nThe man blinked. He made an effort to look at Bernie. She smiled encouragingly.\n\n\"Is she around? We need to talk to her,\" Bernie explained.\n\nShe'd expected that he'd ask why, but he didn't. If anything, he seemed annoyed at being interrupted. He shrugged and pointed to the door on the far wall.\n\n\"Through there,\" he told her. \"She's cleaning the bathrooms. At least that's what she's supposed to be doing. Whether she is or not, I can't say.\" He nodded toward Brandon. \"Hey, pal. How's it going?\"\n\n\"It's going, Josh,\" Brandon said. \"It's going.\"\n\n\"You can say that again,\" Josh said and went back to waxing the table.\n\n\"How do you know him?\" Bernie asked when they got outside.\n\n\"His brother was in our class.\"\n\n\"He was?\"\n\n\"Matt Keller.\"\n\n\"That's Matt Keller's little brother?\"\n\nBrandon nodded. \"Yup.\"\n\nBernie shook her head. She remembered him as this blond little pain that was always following Matt around. Now he looked about fifty and was missing half of his teeth.\n\nBrandon must have read her mind, because he said, \"That's what happens when you live on the streets. You want me to talk to him while you go have a chat with Inez and see if he can tell us what she was doing last night?\"\n\nBernie nodded and went off to find Inez. She located her a little while later in the ladies' room. The door was propped open, held in place by a large garbage can. When Bernie walked in, she could see Inez leaning against one of the sinks, smoking a cigarette. Bernie did a double take. Inez must have gained at least fifty pounds since she'd last seen her. Inez's face had that round, puffy look drinkers' faces got. Her waist had vanished, replaced by a layer of fat that ballooned over her belt. Even her hands looked pudgy.\n\n\"What do you want?\" she asked Bernie.\n\nSuddenly, Bernie decided that Brandon was right. This wasn't such a great idea.\n\n\"To talk to you, Inez.\"\n\nInez took another drag of her cigarette and blew the smoke out of her nostrils. Just like in some B movie, Bernie thought.\n\n\"You want to know why I haven't been in your store?\"\n\n\"Not exactly,\" replied Bernie.\n\n\"I don't have time to talk to you. I've got work to do.\"\n\n\"So I see,\" said Bernie, nodding at the cigarette.\n\n\"Well, I'm going to answer your question for you, Miss Girl Detective,\" said Inez.\n\n\"Can you make that Ms. Girl Detective?\"\n\n\"You think you're smart, don't you?\" hissed Inez.\n\n\"Yes, I do. Now what's the question you're going to answer for me?\"\n\n\"The one you were going to ask me about Amethyst. I didn't kill her. The police already questioned me. And let me go. Go talk to Bob Small. He was there.\"\n\n\"So were you.\"\n\n\"No. I was here cleaning.\"\n\n\"That's what I said.\"\n\n\"Shows you how much you know,\" Inez sneered. \"You can't get from here to the Haunted House section of the mansion. They sealed it off when they remodeled. You have to go outside and around.\"\n\n\"And what's to prevent you from having done that?\" asked Bernie.\n\n\"I was with Josh all the time I was here. We were cleaning the offices.\"\n\n\"It takes two people to do that?\"\n\n\"That's the way Ian says to do it, so that's what we do,\" said Inez. She took another drag of her cigarette and flicked it in the toilet.\n\nBernie folded her arms over her chest and leaned up against one of the sinks. \"Maybe you set up some sort of remote device.\"\n\n\"And how would I have gotten Amethyst there?\"\n\nBernie shrugged. \"I don't know. Wrote a note. Called her and set up a meeting. You're smart.\"\n\n\"I'm not smart enough,\" Inez said.\n\n\"Why do you say that?\"\n\nInez pointed to one of the toilets. \"That's what I let my life turn into.\"\n\nBernie didn't say anything, because what Inez said was true.\n\n\"I'm glad Amethyst is dead,\" Inez continued. \"She deserved everything she got. I only wish she had suffered more. She ruined my life. If it weren't for her, I'd still have my husband and my house. Look at me.\" Inez pointed at herself. \"Look at the way I look now. Look what I'm doing. I shop at Wal-Mart, for God's sake. But I didn't kill the bitch. I wish I had, but I didn't. If I had, I wouldn't have been so merciful. Talk to Bob Small. Talk to Zachery Timberland.\"\n\n\"Zachery Timberland?\"\n\nInez laughed through her nose. It was not a nice laugh, Bernie thought.\n\n\"Yeah. Zachery Timberland. Ask him about his daughter Zoe. Ask him what she's doing now.\"\n\nBernie was about to ask Inez what Zoe was doing now when Brandon appeared at the bathroom door.\n\n\"She and Josh were together last night,\" he said as he stepped inside the ladies' room. He looked around. \"I've always wanted to see what one of these looked like on the inside.\"\n\n\"Well, now you know,\" Bernie replied. She turned to Inez. \"You could have both done it.\"\n\nInez snickered. \"If I were going to do something like that, I certainly wouldn't choose a chucklehead like Josh for my partner.\"\n\nBrandon tugged at Bernie's arm. \"Come on. Let's go.\"\n\n\"Listen to your boyfriend,\" Inez said.\n\n\"I'll go when I'm ready,\" Bernie said, even though she knew Brandon was right. She'd gotten as much as she was going to get from Inez this go-around. Staying longer wasn't going to help anything.\n\nShe was turning to go when Inez called out to her.\n\n\"I have a question for you,\" she said.\n\n\"Yeah?\" said Bernie.\n\n\"How the hell do you walk in those?\" She pointed to Bernie's stilettos.\n\n\"Very carefully,\" Bernie said. \"Very carefully, indeed. And I have a question for you.\"\n\n\"What?\" Inez snarled.\n\n\"Have you met Bessie Osgood?\"\n\nBernie watched Inez's mouth wobble. It was as if someone had taken a giant vacuum cleaner and sucked everything out of her.\n\n\"Get out of here,\" Inez cried. \"I'm not talking to you anymore.\"\n\n\"Obviously, I hit a nerve,\" Bernie said to Brandon when they were outside.\n\n\"Obviously, you did.\"\n\n\"I guess my dad is right,\" Bernie said.\n\n\"How do you mean?\" Brandon asked as he and Bernie retraced their steps.\n\n\"He said that Bessie Osgood is at the center of what happened, and I'm starting to think so, too.\"\n\n## Chapter 9\n\nSean carefully seated himself in a chair in front of a long table and laid before him the bag with the View-Master that Felicity Huffer had given Bernie. His idea probably wouldn't come to anything, but he wanted to check it out, anyway.\n\nIt would have been easier for him to use his wheelchair in here since getting up and down was a problem for him. It would have been more comfortable, too, but he hated it, so he'd brought Marvin along to help out instead. Which had its own set of problems.\n\nLibby said he didn't use the chair, because he was too vain, but that wasn't it at all. It was that he saw using it as a sign of giving in, and for him, giving in meant giving up. He'd been that way all his life, and he couldn't change now. Maybe that was because his mom had taught him not to take the easy way out. Ever.\n\nThe chair was a little too deep for him, but he settled back in it as best he could and looked around. The Longely Historical Society was housed in an old Victorian house that had belonged to one of the town's founders. The town board had rescued it from the wrecking ball and had put on a new roof and painted the outside lilac, an act that Sean had never understood, and that had been the extent of the fixing up. The house itself was narrow and cluttered with pictures and objects from the town's past.\n\nRecently, Halloween decorations had been added to the mix. At this time of day, the Longely Historical Society was empty, but then, it usually was. Most people in this town were too busy worrying about whether or not they could afford a Beamer to think much about the past. In fact, he, Marvin, and the librarian, Jeanine Applegate, who was the real reason they were here, were the only people in the place.\n\n\"Sit down,\" Sean hissed at Marvin, who was roaming around like a demented, fidgeting whooping crane. Why he couldn't stay still was quite beyond Sean.\n\n\"I just wanted to look at the pictures on the wall,\" Marvin said.\n\n\"You're distracting me.\"\n\n\"But you're not doing anything,\" Marvin pointed out.\n\n\"I'm thinking.\"\n\nMarvin turned and almost knocked a stack of brochures off one of the shelves.\n\n\"And you're going to break something.\"\n\nMarvin looked hurt, and Sean felt remorseful for a second or two. But it was true; Marvin was a klutz. Plus he was overly sensitive. The kid had to toughen up.\n\n\"Did you know that jack-o'-lanterns come from Ireland and that people used to use turnips?\" Marvin said.\n\nNow this, Sean thought, is what my daughter would call a random comment. \"Yes, Marvin, I know,\" Sean said.\n\n\"Because you're Irish?\"\n\n\"Because Bernie told me.\"\n\n\"That would mean the Irish don't eat roasted pumpkin seeds. That's one of my favorite parts about Halloween.\"\n\nSean took a deep breath and let it out. \"Marvin.\"\n\n\"Turnips don't have seeds.\"\n\n\"Yes. I know.\" And with that, Sean reached out and grabbed the newspaper that was sitting there, held it up to his face, and pretended to read the front page. He'd never had that much patience, but now that he was getting older, he had none at all.\n\nGod, Marvin talked a lot. There was no disputing that. His driving wasn't great, either, but Libby loved him, and basically, he was a good kid, even if he did make Sean crazy. Back in the Ice Age, when he'd been chief of police, he'd learned from the man he'd served under that you had to work with what you had and bring your men up to a higher level of functioning. That was what being a leader meant.\n\nSean thought about that for a moment, and then he went back to thinking about what he hoped to accomplish here. Besides talking to Jeanine, who was Amethyst's second or third cousin, he couldn't remember which, he wanted to look at the old pictures of the Peabody School and read any material they had pertaining to the place. He was also hoping that the Longely Historical Society had some materials on Bessie Osgood, although he kind of doubted it.\n\nHe threw Jeanine his most charming smile as she came toward him, and she smiled back. Honestly, he couldn't imagine two more different people than Amethyst and Jeanine. Jeanine was sweet and low-keyed, while Amethyst had been...What was that word his mother had always used about women she didn't like? He had it...Amethyst had been a mantrap. Nothing about her had been real.\n\n\"Good to see you, Jeanine,\" Sean said when she got close enough.\n\nRather than shake Sean's hand, she nodded, because her hands were full of books and newspaper clippings. Sean noted she was wearing a pleated skirt, a blouse with a rounded collar, and a green cardigan sweater. A large pin of a witch on a broomstick was attached to her collar. He approved of her clothes; they were sensible and pleasant. And they didn't call attention to themselves the way some of the things that his youngest daughter wore did.\n\nJeanine smiled again. \"Good to see you, too, Sean. I'm glad to see you're up and about.\"\n\nSean spread his hands out. Since they were no longer shaking, he could do that now. \"I'm trying.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm glad you are.\" Jeanine put the stack she was carrying down in front of him. \"Here,\" she said. \"I figure this is what you're interested in.\"\n\nSean was amazed. \"How do you know what I'm interested in?\"\n\nJeanine laughed. \"Well, you're not really into local history, so what else could you be here for but the Amethyst thing.\"\n\nSean just stared at her. How had she known, and how had she pulled everything together so fast?\n\n\"I'm not a mind reader,\" Jeanine said, interpreting his silence correctly. \"Actually, I did this before you arrived because I was interested myself. When I saw you coming up the walkway, I ran and got what I'd found.\"\n\n\"And did you find anything?\"\n\nJeanine shook her head. \"Nothing that I didn't know before. Although I'd forgotten that Bessie Osgood was related to your wife.\"\n\nSean shifted his weight around. \"Rose never liked to talk about it.\"\n\n\"She was like that.\"\n\n\"Yes, she was.\"\n\n\"Well, if it's any consolation, my family never liked to talk about Amethyst's possible role in Bessie's death,\" Jeanine said. \"They just pretended it was an accident.\"\n\n\"But you didn't think so?\"\n\n\"No. Absolutely not. And I don't think they thought so, either. They never said anything, but it was just the sense I got.\"\n\nSean nodded toward the chair next to him. \"Why don't you sit down? Unless you have something else to do, that is.\"\n\nJeanine laughed. Sean decided her laugh was like her clothes. Nice.\n\n\"I'm sure my cataloging will wait for me,\" she said as she folded herself into the chair he'd indicated. She fussed with her pin for a moment, and then she said, \"I don't like to talk this way about people, but Amethyst was just bad. She always was. That's why she was in that school, you know. Her mom was afraid of her.\" Jeanine leaned forward and lowered her voice. \"She got mad at her mom one day and killed her cat. Set it on fire, and then she tried to blame my cousin Natalie.\"\n\nMarvin came and stood behind Sean. \"How did everyone know it wasn't Natalie?\" he asked.\n\n\"Because Natalie loved animals. She was one of those people who always brought strays home with her,\" said Jeanine.\n\n\"Then why did Amethyst pick her?\" asked Sean.\n\n\"Probably because she thought it would be funny, you know, Natalie being blamed for something like that. She even planted one of Natalie's books at the scene. And she was so convincing. If you didn't know Natalie, you'd really think she'd done something like that.\"\n\n\"Maybe we could talk to Natalie,\" Sean said.\n\nJeanine's eyes misted over, and then she blinked, and the tears were gone. \"I'm afraid that's not possible. She died in a plane crash a couple of years ago. Amethyst was so nice on the outside, but inside...\" Jeanine shuddered. \"I tried to stay as far away from her as I could when I was growing up. One day she and Inez Colley were baby-sitting me\u2014\"\n\n\"Wait,\" Sean interrupted. \"Inez was friends with Amethyst?\"\n\n\"Oh yes,\" said Jeanine. She wrinkled her brow while she thought. \"Along with Zinnia McGuire and Zachery Timberland and Bob Small. They used to sneak into the school at night and visit Amethyst. I think Bessie Osgood saw them, and she was going to tell.\"\n\n\"Are you sure?\" said Sean.\n\n\"No. I'm not sure about anything. I just remember overhearing my parents talking,\" replied Jeanine. \"Then they saw me outside, listening, and changed the subject.\"\n\n\"Interesting,\" Sean said. \"Maybe one of them killed Bessie.\"\n\n\"Maybe,\" Jeanine replied.\n\n\"I don't suppose you kept in touch?\" Sean asked.\n\n\"With Amethyst?\" asked Jeanine.\n\nSean nodded.\n\n\"Kind of. She called when she needed something.\" Jeanine fingered her pin. \"I spoke to her about four months ago. She wanted to know if I could give her Ed Banks's private phone number.\"\n\n\"The guy who owns Lexus Gardens?\" asked Sean.\n\n\"Yeah.\"\n\nSean remembered that Bernie had tried to get in contact with Ed Banks and had been told by his personal assistant that he didn't talk to people he wasn't familiar with.\n\n\"He's not very friendly.\"\n\n\"He's a recluse.\"\n\n\"Like Howard Hughes?\" asked Sean.\n\n\"Not that bad, but heading in that direction. I wasn't going to give her the number, but then Amethyst called again, and she was so sweet...That was her talent, you know. She made you believe you were her best friend, and even though you knew it was a lie, you still wanted to believe her.\"\n\n\"So you gave it to her?\" asked Sean.\n\n\"Yes, I did.\"\n\n\"I wonder what she wanted it for.\"\n\nJeanine shrugged. \"Your guess is as good as mine.\"\n\n\"And Zinnia? What about her?\"\n\n\"She died a while ago,\" said Jeanine.\n\nSean raised an eyebrow.\n\n\"No, no,\" Jeanine said. \"It was nothing like that. She was in a car accident.\" She pushed the stack of articles in front of Sean. \"And now I'm sure you're anxious to get going on these materials.\"\n\nActually, Sean wasn't at all anxious to get going on his reading. He was having a good time talking to Jeanine, but he smiled and thanked her again for the time she'd taken with him.\n\n\"Nice lady,\" Marvin said after she'd gone back to her office.\n\nSean grunted.\n\n\"I don't think she's seeing anyone,\" Marvin said.\n\n\"Now why would you say that?\" Sean demanded.\n\n\"I don't know,\" Marvin stammered. \"I thought you might be interested.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm not,\" Sean snapped as he went through the papers that Jeanine had brought him. He separated out all the ones with pictures of the Peabody School. The rest he pushed toward Marvin with the tips of his fingers.\n\n\"Read these,\" Sean ordered.\n\n\"What am I looking for?\" Marvin asked.\n\n\"Anything of interest.\"\n\n\"But how will I know what's of interest to you? I mean, I thought that thing about the turnips being jack-o'-lanterns in Ireland was pretty interesting, and you didn't.\"\n\n\"Just read,\" Sean hissed. He didn't know why he was suddenly in such a bad mood.\n\nMarvin opened his mouth, closed it again, and began to do what he was told. As soon as he was settled, Sean took all the pictures of the Peabody School out and spread them on the table. Then he began to compare them with the slides from the View-Master. Half an hour later, he wasn't any better off than he had been before. He had his hand on the small of his back and was stretching when Jeanine came back out of her office.\n\n\"I haven't seen one of those in years,\" Jeanine said, pointing to the View-Master.\n\n\"Me either,\" said Sean. He explained where he'd gotten it from.\n\n\"So what are you hoping to find?\" Jeanine asked.\n\nSean shook his head. \"I have no idea,\" he confessed. \"No idea at all.\"\n\n\"Mind if I take a look?\" Jeanine asked.\n\n\"Be my guest,\" said Sean. He watched as she went through the slides.\n\n\"I don't get it,\" she said.\n\n\"Neither do I,\" replied Sean.\n\n\"These slides are pictures of the Peabody School,\" Jeanine noted.\n\nSean nodded.\n\n\"What are they supposed to show?\" asked Jeanine.\n\nSean shook his head. He hated to admit it, but he didn't have a clue. \"I thought if I could compare some photos with the slides, it might give me an idea, but it hasn't.\"\n\n\"Maybe you should go talk to Felicity Huffer,\" Jeanine suggested.\n\n\"That's whom I got them from. Or rather my daughter did. Felicity Huffer just told her the answer to our problem is there and to go figure it out for herself.\"\n\nJeanine made a face. \"I could see her doing that and it having nothing to do with the solution to your problem.\"\n\n\"She could,\" Sean said, thinking of what she'd been like.\n\n\"Age doesn't necessarily make people nicer,\" said Jeanine.\n\n\"That's for sure,\" Marvin interjected.\n\nSean glared at him, and he went back to reading the papers he'd been given.\n\n\"What do you think the odds of that are?\" Sean asked Jeanine.\n\n\"I'll tell you what,\" Jeanine said after a moment had gone by. \"Felicity's daughter is on the board of the Longely Historical Society. Maybe she can help us. Would you like me to talk to her?\"\n\nSean nodded.\n\n\"All right then,\" said Jeanine. \"And would you mind if I kept the View-Master and looked at the slides again? Maybe something will occur to me.\"\n\nSean could feel himself smiling. \"That would be lovely,\" he said.\n\n\"Good,\" Jeanine said. \"I'll call you either way.\" She gathered up the materials and withdrew to her office.\n\nA few minutes later Sean and Marvin were out the door.\n\n\"Aren't you going to ask me what I found?\" Marvin asked when they were settled in Marvin's black limo.\n\n\"What?\" Sean asked as he fastened his seat belt. He hated riding in this car. It reminded him of riding in a hearse, but as Libby had said to him when he'd complained, \"Beggars can't be choosers.\"\n\n\"I didn't find out anything. All the articles in the papers reported Bessie Osgood's death as an accident.\"\n\n\"That's what I expected,\" Sean said.\n\n\"Why do you say that?\"\n\n\"Because that's what was in everyone's interest to do. After all, if you report a murder at a private boarding\/day school, most people will pull their kids out.\"\n\n\"True,\" Marvin said.\n\n\"Of course, they did, anyway,\" Sean said.\n\nHe and Marvin were silent for a moment.\n\nThen Sean said, \"Bessie's death pretty much closed the school.\"\n\n\"What happened to the owner?\"\n\n\"George Marak killed himself. He'd put all the money he had, plus his wife's money, into the place, as well as borrowing from his family and friends. He couldn't stand the disgrace when it became clear that the school was going to have to close, so he shot himself in the garage. The note he left asked his wife to forgive him for the shame he'd brought on her.\n\n\"It would have been more considerate if he'd killed himself somewhere else, because she and his son found his body when they came back from grocery shopping. PS: The kid was in the front seat, so he saw everything. The wife never got over it. I dare say the kid didn't, either. The wife died in an auto accident six months later. She'd been drinking and ran her car into a tree. Their kid, poor thing, went to live with a relative in Texas or Wyoming, some place like that.\"\n\n\"That sucks,\" Marvin said.\n\n\"Doesn't it, though.\" Sean leaned back in his seat. \"Like I said, the Peabody School has always been a bad-luck place. And now, if you don't mind, I think I'd like to take a drive up to Lexus Gardens and see if we can talk to Ed Banks and find out what Amethyst wanted from him.\"\n\nSean could feel his gut tightening as Marvin zoomed away from the curb without looking or putting his signal light on. He'd faced coked-up guys and guys with loaded rifles in the line of duty, but they weren't as scary as driving with Marvin.\n\n## Chapter 10\n\nBernie took in a breath of fresh air as she drove toward Zachery Timberland's office. It was a beautiful late fall afternoon, and she was glad to be outside driving around instead of inside the shop. She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was a little after three, and she figured she didn't have to start up to the Peabody School until four-thirty, which should leave her more than enough time to talk to Timberland.\n\nShe drove slowly, enjoying the sensation of being in the car, imagining what fun a road trip to Vermont with Brandon would be. She was thinking that fall was her favorite season of the year when her cell phone trilled \"Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head.\" It was her dad's ring. She fished her cell out of her bag and answered it.\n\n\"Dad?\" she said.\n\nShe got static.\n\n\"Dad?\"\n\nHe was talking, but his voice sounded like a jigsaw puzzle\u2014each syllable another piece. She couldn't understand a thing he was saying. She tried calling back. Nothing. She'd just noticed she was down to no bars when her phone went dead. That was when she remembered she'd forgotten to charge it last night. Drat and double drat, she thought as she tossed her cell on the seat next to her. She wondered if her dad wanted to tell her something about Zachery Timberland. He was always a big one for armchair quarterbacking. Oh well. Too late now.\n\nShe knew Timberland well enough to say hello to. Her only memory of him was the time, last March, she'd met him at Laura's place. She'd shaken his hand, and it had been unpleasantly clammy.\n\nWhen she'd called around this morning, it turned out that none of her friends knew him either, not surprising when you considered that his family had moved away after the Bessie Osgood incident, and he'd just come back to town a couple of years ago. Couple that with the fact that Timberland had palled around with Amethyst and Inez back then and you had something interesting going on.\n\nAnd then there was the fact that Timberland was a volunteer at the Haunted House, although according to her dad, he hadn't been scheduled to work there when Amethyst had died, not that that meant anything. He could have easily come and gone without being seen.\n\nWhen she'd called him, she'd told him she was interested in shopping around for a new insurance policy. It was a plausible story, but she was pretty sure he hadn't believed her. She couldn't say why she thought that but something in his tone of voice when she'd talked to him on the phone had led her to that conclusion. So, if that was the case, and she was almost certain it was, the question became, Why was he talking to her?\n\nHe probably had a pretty good idea of what she wanted to talk to him about. Or maybe not. After all, she hadn't known that he'd been friends with Amethyst Applegate until Jeanine had told her dad. Or with Bob Small. Or Inez. Or Zinnia. Which got her thinking about flowers for the dining room at the Peabody School. Maybe she should get some more pots of mums to put on the table. In her view, flowers were like diamonds. You could never have too many.\n\nBernie sighed as she made a left onto Avondale Place. Libby really hadn't wanted to go back to the Peabody School by herself, and Bernie couldn't really blame her. If what had happened to Libby had happened to her, she'd be thoroughly freaked out, too. Well, not really. Libby always overreacted to this kind of stuff, even though, according to her mom, she had the \"gift.\" Or maybe that was the reason she did it. Bernie was glad she'd never been blessed that way.\n\nUsually, Bernie thought of Halloween in terms of crunching leaves underfoot, excited children, hot mulled cider, and pumpkin spice cupcakes with cream-cheese icing on top. But after what had happened with Amethyst, her thoughts were darker.\n\nTry as she might, she couldn't get Amethyst's head out of her mind. And even though she'd really disliked her, she wasn't sure Amethyst had deserved to die that way. She wasn't sure that anyone did. Although if they did, Amethyst would be up there on her list. She'd made bad things happen wherever she'd gone.\n\nThat much was not debatable. And there was a good chance she might have killed someone as well. Looked at in that light, whoever had killed Amethyst had done the world a favor. Not that her father or her sister would agree with that thought. And on that note, Bernie turned into the driveway of the house where the Timberland Insurance Company was located.\n\nThe house was a classic wooden, two-story Colonial, painted a boring shade of beige, with white trim. The two front windows had white blinds pulled halfway down. Bernie parked her car, walked up three steps, rang the doorbell, and walked in. The hallway was a different shade of beige. Obviously, Timberland had beige on his mind. Either that or he'd gotten a deal on the paint.\n\nThe receptionist's desk, which was situated in what had been the sitting room of the house, was empty. Judging from the cup that was sitting there, someone had inhabited that desk not too long ago. She was probably beige, too, Bernie reflected. A moment later Zachery Timberland came out. When he looked at her, Bernie decided he resembled a shark. All teeth. She didn't remember so many teeth from the last time she'd seen him.\n\n\"So you want to change your insurance policy, do you?\" he asked.\n\nBernie smiled her charming smile. \"That's why I'm here.\"\n\n\"Life?\"\n\n\"No. Automobile. I told you that.\"\n\nTimberland put his palms outward. \"Everyone makes mistakes. Some people make more then others,\" he said, glancing pointedly in her direction.\n\nGreat, Bernie thought as she kept smiling. \"I'm sure that's true.\"\n\nTimberland took a step closer to her. \"I know it is.\"\n\nBernie remained where she was. She was damned if she was going to move for this guy. She'd been hoping to start with the buying the insurance thing and to gradually work the conversation around to the Peabody School, but things didn't seem to be going that way.\n\n\"So,\" Bernie said, trying again, \"can you give me a quote on a policy for my car?\"\n\nTimberland's smile got bigger. Bernie decided he'd definitely gotten veneers on his teeth.\n\n\"No. But I can give you a quote on a life-insurance policy.\"\n\n\"Really? You think I'm going to need one?\"\n\n\"Everyone needs one,\" Timberland said in a bland voice.\n\n\"Is that the case?\"\n\n\"It certainly is.\"\n\n\"So that's not a threat or anything?\"\n\n\"What a fertile imagination you have. Why would I threaten you?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\n\"There you go.\" Timberland leered at her. \"I like the shoes.\"\n\nBernie considered them for a moment. They were high brown suede boots with a thin gold chain threaded through the top. She'd gotten them at deep discount last summer, when she'd been looking for a convection oven on the Lower East Side.\n\n\"They do wonders for your ass,\" Timberland said.\n\n\"Nice. You don't want to sell me life insurance, do you?\"\n\n\"You don't want to buy life insurance, do you?\"\n\n\"So I guess that makes us even,\" Bernie observed. \"By the way, those veneers on your teeth. You should have them redone. They look like Chiclets.\"\n\nBernie was happy to see that Timberland's smile was now slightly smaller.\n\n\"You're not here for auto insurance,\" he said.\n\n\"Then what am I here for?\"\n\n\"To ask me questions about my relationship with Amethyst.\"\n\n\"And why do you suppose that?\"\n\n\"A little birdie told me.\"\n\nSomehow Bernie couldn't believe that birdie was Jeanine. Maybe Inez? Most probably Inez.\n\nThe corners of Timberland's mouth turned up at Bernie's evident confusion. \"But actually, it doesn't matter,\" he said.\n\n\"That you and Amethyst hung out together?\" asked Bernie.\n\n\"So what if we did back in the day?\"\n\n\"And that your family moved away right after Bessie Osgood went out the window?\"\n\nTimberland smirked. \"Again, so what? I'm sure if you check, you'll find that lots of people left around that time.\"\n\n\"So maybe that has something to do with Amethyst's death.\"\n\nTimberland's smirk grew bigger. \"I guess you're behind the times.\"\n\n\"Not me. I'm fashion forward,\" said Bernie.\n\nTimberland blinked for a minute, then recovered himself. \"You mean, you haven't heard?\" he asked.\n\n\"Heard what?\" Bernie replied. Now it was her turn to be puzzled.\n\n\"They arrested Bob Small this morning for Amethyst's murder.\"\n\nBernie shifted from one leg to the other. She wondered if that was what her dad had been calling her about. It probably was.\n\n\"So?\" she said. \"Your point is?\"\n\n\"My point is that I want you to keep away from me. You have no legal authority.\"\n\n\"Is that what you brought me here to tell me?\"\n\n\"As a matter of fact, it is. I brought you here to tell you that I'll have you arrested for stalking if you keep bothering me.\"\n\nBernie couldn't help it. She laughed. \"You're kidding me, right?\"\n\n\"Not in the least.\"\n\n\"You could have said no when I called.\"\n\n\"I just saw your name on today's calendar.\"\n\n\"Even so. You could have called and cancelled.\"\n\n\"I wanted to tell you in person.\"\n\n\"How considerate.\"\n\n\"I'm a considerate guy.\"\n\n\"I don't know...,\" Bernie said.\n\n\"That's obvious.\"\n\nBernie talked over him. \"For someone who is in the clear, you're certainly going to a lot of trouble to tell me to lay off. Why is that?\"\n\nTimberland took another step toward her. \"You and your sister have a reputation for causing trouble.\"\n\n\"It depends on your definition of trouble. And, anyway, what could we do to you? You just told me you had nothing to do with any of this.\"\n\nTimberland went on as if she hadn't spoken. \"If you're smart, you'll stay out of my way.\"\n\n\"You want to tell me about your daughter?\"\n\nTimberland flushed. \"You've been warned,\" he growled.\n\n\"I guess you don't like talking about her.\"\n\n\"Get out before I have you arrested.\" Timberland took his cell off the clip on his belt. \"I'm dialing.\"\n\n\"I'm going. I'm going.\"\n\nWell, that had been a complete waste of time, Bernie thought as she got back in her vehicle. She shook her head in disgust at herself. She'd let him lead the conversation from the get-go. Bad. Bad. Bad. The only thing she did know was that the daughter was a definite sore spot. She sighed and looked at her watch.\n\nShe had another hour before she had to meet Libby at the Haunted House. She decided to use it to pick up more potted mums at the garden center. If she recalled, they still had some left. And as long as she was there, she could ask Kathy about Zinnia. They were the same age. Maybe she'd know something about her.\n\nThen if she had any time left over, she'd buy some more napkins. She'd seen some really cute ones with ghosts on them in the dollar store over on Grand Avenue. And maybe they had some other Halloween stuff as well. That was the thing with the dollar store. You never knew what you were going to find. Kind of like life, Bernie decided. She shook her head. She was definitely getting sappy in her old age.\n\nKathy's Garden Shop was located in a mini strip mall three miles off of Longely's main road. The strip mall had been built recently. There was more and more mall sprawl lately, taking up land that, in Bernie's judgment, should have been left alone. After all, how many Home Depots and Staples did you need?\n\nKathy's Garden Shop was located between a drugstore and a place selling chicken wings, but as Kathy had pointed out to Bernie, the rent was cheap, the utilities were fairly low, and there was plenty of parking. Like Bernie and Libby, Kathy managed to compete with the chains by charm, customer service, and interesting merchandise. So far she'd done pretty well for herself.\n\nWhen Bernie got out of her car, she was happy to see there were eight pots of mums sitting outside of Kathy's shop.\n\n\"You want to do a trade?\" Bernie said when she went inside.\n\nHer friend Kathy looked up from behind the register. Today her hair was in cornrows. She had light brown skin and large green eyes. It was a smashing combination.\n\n\"What kind of trade?\"\n\n\"You let me borrow the mums to decorate the tables up at the Haunted House, and I'll give you three apple pies.\"\n\n\"Apple and cranberry and throw in a parsnip pie and you got a deal.\"\n\n\"You are the only person I know, except for me and Libby, that likes parsnip pie.\"\n\n\"That's because you're making my grandmother's recipe.\"\n\n\"No. It's my grandmother's. We've had this discussion before.\"\n\nBernie pointed to the display of orange and lemon trees. \"Those would look nice in my bedroom.\"\n\n\"And I would sell them to you,\" Kathy said, \"if you didn't have a black thumb.\"\n\n\"Gray thumb.\"\n\n\"Black,\" Kathy said firmly.\n\n\"All right. Black.\" It was true. Bernie had yet to keep a plant alive. She simply forgot to water them. \"By the way, do you remember Zinnia McGuire?\"\n\nKathy put her pen down. \"Course, I do. She used to pal around with Zachery Timberland, Bob Small, and Amethyst Applegate. Now there was a nice crew.\"\n\n\"Whatever happened to her?\"\n\n\"She died in an automobile accident down in Coopersville. Hit-and-run, if I remember correctly. Some guy went right through the stop at Elves and Ash and T-boned her. He must have been going really fast, from what I understand.\"\n\nBernie raised an eyebrow. \"And no one saw anything?\"\n\n\"It was three-thirty in the morning. You know what that place is like. It's even worse than Longely. A neighbor called it in. She said the crash woke her up.\"\n\n\"I wonder why Zinnia was there?\"\n\nKathy shrugged. \"She was probably doing the typical druggie high school dropout thing.\"\n\n\"Did Zinnia ever say anything?\"\n\n\"Nope. She died on the way to the hospital. I guess she was in pretty bad shape when the police got there. It's really too bad.\"\n\n\"How's that?\"\n\n\"Because she was getting her act together. She'd given up the stuff she was doing\u2014the coke and the weed\u2014and was talking about going back to school.\"\n\n\"How long after Bessie Osgood died was she killed?\"\n\nKathy thought for a moment. \"Maybe one year. Certainly no more than two.\"\n\n\"Interesting,\" Bernie murmured.\n\n\"You don't think one thing had anything to do with the other, do you?\" Kathy asked.\n\n\"Probably not,\" Bernie said.\n\nNevertheless, she filed the fact away in her head for possible use later.\n\n## Chapter 11\n\n\"Damn cell,\" Sean said as he and Marvin headed toward Lexus Gardens.\n\nMarvin turned his head to look at Sean. \"Can't you\u2014\"\n\n\"Eyes on the road,\" Sean yelled.\n\n\"They are on the road,\" Marvin said.\n\n\"Now they're on the road. Before they weren't. Maybe you shouldn't talk while you're driving.\"\n\nMarvin didn't say anything. Sean could tell he was sulking. Young people didn't take correction well these days. They should be thankful for the help. But when he'd said that to Libby and Bernie, they'd just rolled their eyes.\n\nAfter a moment, Sean said, \"Things are stressful.\" Which was as close to an apology as he was going to get.\n\nMarvin stared straight ahead. Another moment went by before he spoke.\n\n\"There was no one on the road.\"\n\n\"Maybe there wasn't,\" Sean allowed, \"but that's not the issue. The issue is there could have been.\"\n\n\"I don't get it,\" Marvin told him.\n\nSean watched him for a moment and shook his head. Now he was driving like a little old lady, with both hands gripping the steering wheel.\n\n\"Bad habits are bad habits,\" Sean explained. \"The object in life is to develop good ones. That way, when a situation comes along, you don't have to think about what to do. You know what to do.\"\n\n\"I suppose,\" Marvin said.\n\n\"You suppose! That's the basis for military training. It stops people from getting killed.\" Sean nodded at the turn coming up. \"You want to take a right here.\"\n\n\"I know,\" Marvin said. \"Contrary to popular opinion, I can drive.\"\n\n\"I never said you couldn't.\"\n\nThis time when Marvin talked, Sean was delighted to see he kept his eyes on the road. He knew he should feel guilty about yelling at the kid, but he didn't, because he'd accomplished his objective. He couldn't forbid Libby to ride around with Marvin, but he could endeavor to make him the best driver possible. And if yelling was what it took, then so be it. Sean could live with that.\n\n\"So Banks doesn't know that we're coming?\" Marvin asked.\n\n\"No. I can't call him, because I can't get any reception here. Maybe it's better that way,\" Sean said.\n\n\"What if he's not in?\" Marvin asked.\n\nSean waved his hand to indicate the countryside. \"Then we'll have enjoyed a drive in the country.\"\n\nSean was glad to be out riding around. And if Edward Banks wasn't in, they could always speak to him another time. Some people would say that talking to Banks was just a waste of time, but Sean had always found that the more information one could gather, the better. You could never tell what might prove to be important and what wasn't until you got it all together and laid it out on the metaphorical table.\n\nSo why had Amethyst wanted to speak to Banks? Banks was a recluse. Sean had heard that his house and gardens were spectacular, but no one Sean knew had seen them. So maybe he'd see them now. That is, if Banks was in and was willing to talk to them. If not, all he and Marvin had wasted was the fifteen-mile drive into the country. Which wasn't a waste, especially not today.\n\nMaybe they'd go home by way of Orchid Farms, and he'd get some apples. Cortlands were always good. And they had unpasteurized cider, something you couldn't get in the grocery stores anymore. Maybe he'd get a gallon for the house and a quart for Jeanine for all the help she'd given him. Yes. That was what he'd do. He was feeling very pleased with himself when Marvin started talking.\n\n\"What?\" Sean asked.\n\n\"I asked if Bernie knows that Bob Small was arrested,\" Marvin said.\n\n\"Probably not,\" Sean said.\n\nClyde had phoned to tell him after Bernie had gone, and although he'd tried phoning Bernie, he hadn't gotten through. He hadn't even been able to leave a message, because her mailbox was full. Not that it really mattered.\n\nHe'd tell her when he met up with her at the Peabody School. He sat back and took in the scenery while keeping one eye on Marvin's driving. Even if Marvin were the best driver in the world, which he wasn't, Sean had to admit to himself, he wouldn't be able to relax. The truth was he didn't trust anyone to drive except himself.\n\nThey got to Lexus Gardens twenty minutes later. The road up to the estate formed a winding ribbon as it went up to the top of the Altamar Hill. Huge evergreens hugged either side of the road, blotting out the light.\n\n\"I wouldn't want to drive up and down this road in the winter,\" Marvin observed as he made another turn.\n\n\"Me either,\" Sean replied. \"But he probably doesn't have to. He probably spends his winters in the Caribbean. I mean, I would if I had that kind of money.\"\n\n\"Would you really?\" Marvin asked.\n\n\"No,\" Sean said. He hated the heat.\n\nAnother one-eighth mile and they were at the estate. The whole thing was enclosed in a stucco wall, with barbed wire on the top.\n\n\"I guess he doesn't want any visitors,\" Marvin said.\n\n\"I guess not,\" Sean agreed. He was surprised there wasn't an ARMED RESPONSE sign tacked up to the wall.\n\nThe house and the gardens had been featured in some magazine named Shelters. Or something like that. Maybe when Sean gave Jeanine the cider, he'd ask her if she could look that up, too. He directed Marvin to drive up to the gate. There was an intercom mounted on the far wall. Sean told him to lean out the window and push the button. Marvin did. There was a crackling noise.\n\n\"Ask if we can come up and talk to him for a moment,\" Sean ordered. \"Tell him we're involved in a homicide investigation.\"\n\n\"But we're not the police,\" Marvin protested.\n\n\"I'm not saying we are,\" Sean told him. It just sounded that way.\n\n\"If you say so.\"\n\n\"I do,\" Sean said.\n\n\"Okay,\" Marvin said, and he turned and yelled into the intercom. There was no response. He tried again. Nothing.\n\nMarvin turned back to Sean. \"Maybe no one is home.\"\n\n\"Maybe,\" Sean said. \"Try another time.\"\n\nMarvin did, with the same results.\n\nSean looked through the gate. The opening offered a narrow perspective. All he could see was a lawn, a large red maple, the front of the house, and a large blow-up statue of a witch bowing up and down. Sean did a double take.\n\nTalk about something being out of place. You expected to see something like that at Wal-Mart, not someplace like here, a place that was known for its taste and elegance. Another odd thing caught his attention. No lights were on in the house, and he didn't see any movement anywhere. Which was strange because a house this size required a staff to run it. Sean gave a mental shrug. Banks could be off in China, for all he knew.\n\n\"It's awfully quiet,\" Marvin observed.\n\n\"It is, isn't it,\" Sean agreed. All he could hear was the wind murmuring and a flock of geese honking as they flew overhead.\n\nMarvin leaned out and pressed the intercom button again. Just static. \"Hello,\" he cried. \"Anyone home?\"\n\n\"Let's just go,\" Sean said.\n\nMarvin turned back to Sean. \"Maybe he went to the Caribbean, after all.\"\n\n\"He could be anywhere,\" Sean said. One thing was clear. No one was home. Or if they were, they weren't answering the intercom. \"We can stop at the farm stand on our way to the Peabody School.\"\n\nMarvin nodded and turned around. Later Sean would be sorry that he had made that decision. Later he'd be sorry that he hadn't asked Marvin to try the gate. Later he'd tell himself he was turning into a careless old man. But that was later. Right now he wanted to get to the farm stand before it closed.\n\n\"Thank you,\" Libby said as Mark helped her carry the last of her cartons into the kitchen.\n\nShe began unpacking. Mark coughed. Libby looked up. He was standing beside her, shuffling from one well-shod foot to another.\n\n\"Yes?\" she said.\n\nMark coughed again. Libby decided he looked uneasy. Somehow she liked him better that way.\n\n\"Can I help you with anything?\" she asked. She wished he'd come to the point. She had a lot of things she had to do.\n\n\"I heard.\" Mark stopped.\n\n\"Heard what?\" Libby asked, mystified.\n\n\"Er. I heard you saw something the other day.\" He spoke quickly, running his words together. \"Or maybe I should say someone.\"\n\nLibby knew instantly what he meant. \"That's right,\" she said cautiously as she took the jugs with the waffle batter out of the cardboard box she'd carried them in. \"You're talking about Bessie Osgood, aren't you?\"\n\nMark nodded and fidgeted some more.\n\nLibby rested her hand on top of one of the five-quart jugs. \"I still can't believe I did.\"\n\n\"You don't believe in that kind of thing?\" Mark asked.\n\n\"Not at all. I keep thinking she was some kind of optical illusion that someone had created.\"\n\n\"I don't think so,\" Mark said softly.\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Because I saw her, too,\" he said a moment later. He held up three fingers.\n\n\"Three times?\" Libby asked.\n\nMark nodded. \"I don't believe in ghosts, either.\"\n\n\"Neither do I,\" Libby lied, because in her heart she did. \"But here we are.\"\n\nMark nodded. \"I didn't tell anyone, because I didn't want them to think I'm crazy.\"\n\n\"I'm surprised. I'd think you'd want the publicity.\"\n\n\"I'm a behind-the-scenes kind of guy.\"\n\nLibby unscrewed the top of the five-quart jug of whole-wheat batter and started pouring it into a pitcher. \"I felt so cold,\" she said.\n\n\"I got goose bumps on my arms,\" Mark said.\n\n\"Me too. And I could kind of see a shape.\"\n\n\"Out of the corner of your eye?\"\n\nLibby nodded. \"I had the impression of a teenage girl. But I don't know why I thought that. I couldn't really see her all that well. I could hardly see her at all. I closed my eyes for a second, and when I opened them again, she was gone.\"\n\n\"That's what happened with me. For some reason, I thought she was wearing a pleated skirt and a white shirt.\"\n\n\"She was so hazy,\" Libby said.\n\nMark bobbed his head. \"Hazy is a good word.\"\n\nLibby finished filling the pitcher and put the cap back on the jug. She didn't know what to feel: relieved because someone else had seen what she had or dismayed that what she had seen was apparently real.\n\n\"Maybe we both saw an optical illusion,\" she said.\n\nMark shook his head. \"I don't see how anyone could create something like that.\"\n\n\"FX has created some pretty strange stuff in your haunted house.\"\n\n\"Yeah. But Bessie Osgood is on a totally different plane.\"\n\nLibby had to agree that she was. \"Why are we seeing her?\"\n\nMark shook his head. \"Maybe because we're here. I don't think anyone else has seen her.\"\n\n\"Curtis and Konrad have a tape of her confessing she killed Amethyst Applegate.\"\n\n\"Them.\" Mark ran his hand through his hair. \"All I could hear was static.\"\n\n\"That's all I could hear, too. The police refused to listen.\"\n\n\"Can you blame them?\"\n\nLibby shook her head.\n\n\"Did they tell you I offered them one thousand dollars if they could get her voice on tape? I thought it would be good for the Haunted House. So maybe that's why they're hearing things that no one else can.\"\n\n\"Could be,\" Libby agreed.\n\nMark gave Libby a wan smile. \"I thought it would be cool to have a real ghost moving around, especially considering that it's Halloween and I'm running a haunted house, but it's really not. In fact, it's kind of upsetting.\" He looked at his watch. \"Gotta go. I have to find a replacement for Bob Small. I thought I had someone, and he pooped out on me.\" He shook his head again. \"Talk about upsetting.\"\n\n\"You mean Bob Small killing Amethyst?\"\n\n\"What do you think I'm talking about?\"\n\n\"I thought you might have been referring to finding a replacement.\"\n\n\"Hardly.\"\n\n\"Do you think he did it?\" Libby asked.\n\n\"I'd like to think he didn't,\" Mark said. \"After all, if it wasn't for me giving him that job, maybe he wouldn't have had the opportunity to do what he did. What is it that they say about the road to hell and good intentions? But I have to assume he did it, and all the tapes in the world aren't going to make things any different.\"\n\n\"I'm not so sure,\" Libby said. \"Chopping off someone's head doesn't seem like something Bob would do.\"\n\n\"Who do you know who would do something like that?\"\n\n\"No one,\" Libby admitted.\n\n\"Exactly,\" Mark said.\n\n\"I just can't see him setting something like this up.\"\n\n\"The police think otherwise.\"\n\n\"They've been wrong before.\"\n\n\"Maybe you're right. Maybe I shouldn't be so quick to judge. I have to watch myself with that. It's my besetting sin.\" He glanced down at his watch. \"Oops,\" he said. \"I didn't realize how late it is. You can't believe how crowded we've been since that...thing...with Amethyst.\"\n\n\"I can believe it,\" Libby said, thinking of what happened at the shop whenever a crime was committed that they were connected to in some way or other. \"That's why I brought extra. I figure we're going to be swamped.\"\n\n\"People are amazing,\" Mark said. \"Who would have thought?\"\n\nThen he headed out the door, leaving Libby by herself. She got right to work, but try as she might, she couldn't stop thinking that there was more to Amethyst's death than she was seeing. Maybe her dad would see something that she wasn't. She decided she was glad he was coming. Having him look over the crime scene would make her feel better.\n\n## Chapter 12\n\nSean went into the Pit and the Pendulum Room with the same attitude he'd brought to every crime scene he'd processed when he'd been the Longely chief of police. With dispassion. He went in without expectations\u2014at least as far as it was possible for a human being to do that.\n\nThe first thing he noticed was that the room was dark enough that it took his eyes a moment to accustom themselves to the low light. According to Mark, everything was the same as it had been the afternoon that Amethyst Applegate died. Sean still couldn't believe that they had opened this up in such a short time. But that was Lucy for you. Always in a hurry. Always overlooking things.\n\nHe took in his surroundings. The mirrored walls, the platform, the high table draped in a red cloth, the spotlight on the blade, the speed at which the blade swung back and forth\u2014all worked to focus your attention on one central point. The table. Everyone walking in here would automatically be looking at one thing and one thing only. Whoever had set this up had done an excellent job. He turned to Libby.\n\n\"Tell me what you saw.\"\n\n\"I already told you,\" she protested.\n\n\"I know you did, but I want to hear it again,\" Sean said.\n\nAs he looked at his daughters, he thought that neither of them were happy being here. Marvin wasn't, either. But given the circumstances, who could blame them?\n\n\"It's simple,\" Libby said. \"We walked in the room, and we saw this table on the platform, with the blade swinging back and forth.\"\n\n\"And then?\" Sean prompted.\n\n\"And then I took a couple of steps and saw a headless body on the table, and then I took another step, and that's when I saw it.\"\n\n\"Amethyst's head?\" asked Sean.\n\nLibby nodded. \"It was just sitting there at the top of the stairs. At first, I thought it was part of the exhibit, and then I looked at Mark's face, and I knew it wasn't.\"\n\n\"How did you know?\" asked Sean.\n\n\"I just did. He was staring at it. He had a strange expression on his face,\" replied Libby.\n\n\"What kind of strange expression?\" asked Sean.\n\n\"I don't know how to describe it,\" Libby said.\n\nSean looked at his other daughter. Bernie shook her head.\n\n\"I wasn't paying attention to him. I was mesmerized by the head,\" said Libby. \"And then he went up and tapped it with his foot, and it started rolling....\"\n\n\"Just like at the Bastille,\" Bernie said.\n\n\"I didn't know whether it was real or not, but then, when it stopped in front of my feet...\" Libby shuddered.\n\nSean nodded. \"And then?\"\n\n\"And then I screamed,\" said Libby.\n\n\"Did anyone come in?\" asked Sean.\n\n\"No,\" Bernie said, \"because we ran out.\"\n\n\"I see,\" Sean said as he looked around.\n\n\"Do you need us for anything else?\" Bernie asked after a moment had gone by.\n\n\"No,\" Sean answered absentmindedly. He was already focused on trying to figure out what had happened. \"I just want to stay and walk around a little.\"\n\n\"Good,\" Libby said. \"Then we'll finish setting up.\"\n\nThey turned to go, and Marvin started walking out with them.\n\n\"No, Marvin. You stay here,\" Sean instructed.\n\n\"But...,\" said Marvin.\n\nSean glared at him.\n\nMarvin's shoulders slumped. \"Fine,\" he said.\n\n\"Do me a favor and turn on the lights for me. They're over in the far corner, hidden behind the cloth panel.\"\n\nSean watched Marvin fumble around, but after a moment or so, he found the switch. Suddenly, the room was bathed in light.\n\n\"It looks different,\" Marvin remarked.\n\n\"It certainly does,\" Sean agreed.\n\nThe mirrors looked dirty; the platform was badly made; the steps looked thrown together. Sean slowly walked over to the control panel that was hidden behind the cloth. From that vantage point, he looked across the wall to where the device that sent out the hologram was situated. A person walked in and tripped a circuit that would trigger a digital camera, which would capture their image and transfer it to a hologram that would make it look as if that person's head were being cut off.\n\nMark had explained it, but Sean hadn't understood the explanation. Clyde hadn't, either.\n\nWhat had Clyde said? There's a whole new world out there, Sean, and I don't want to be part of it. Sean had had to say that he agreed. He turned to Marvin. \"Did you understand Mark's explanation?\"\n\nMarvin shook his head. \"I was lost after the second sentence.\"\n\n\"Me too,\" Sean said gloomily. But then Mark had admitted that he really didn't understand how it all worked, either.\n\n\"So what do you think happened?\" Marvin asked Sean.\n\nSean rubbed his hands together. He'd come up with two scenarios. In scenario number one, Bob Small snuck in while Amethyst was lying on the table and cut her head off with a piece of fiber-optic laser wire that he'd taken with him into the ceiling. At least that was the weapon the ME had identified as the cause of death. But then why had she been lying on the table? Why had she stayed still for Bob Small to do this? Why had she agreed to meet Bob Small in the first place?\n\nMore likely, Amethyst walked into the room, and the killer, who was hiding behind the door, took the wire and wrapped it around her neck. After all, if fiber-optic wire could cut through steel, it would definitely cut through flesh and bone. There wouldn't be any blood, because the high heat of the wire would cauterize the wound. Then the murderer positioned the body the way that Bernie, Libby, and Mark had found it and left. But two questions remained: who killed Amethyst, and why?\n\n\"Are you all right?\" Marvin asked.\n\nSean was startled. He realized he must have been staring off into space.\n\n\"I'm fine,\" he said. \"Absolutely fine.\"\n\n\"Maybe this place has secret passageways or something like that.\"\n\n\"That's in books.\"\n\n\"But it's possible,\" Marvin insisted.\n\n\"Anything is possible,\" Sean retorted. In all his thirty odd years on the police force, he'd never come across a secret compartment, much less a secret passageway. \"What are you doing?\" he asked Marvin as he began tapping on the wall.\n\n\"Looking.\"\n\nSean was just about to tell him to stop when Mark stuck his head into the room.\n\n\"I hope you guys are finishing up, because we're going to open the doors to the Haunted House in ten minutes,\" he said.\n\nSean stood up slowly. \"Not a problem. By any chance, do you have the original plans for this place?\"\n\n\"I do, but I won't be able to get them till the a.m.,\" replied Mark. \"What do you need them for?\"\n\nSean massaged the small of his back. Getting old sucked. \"Just checking to see if there's a connection between this room and the main house.\"\n\nMark raised an eyebrow. \"Like a secret passageway?\"\n\nSean shrugged.\n\n\"There isn't one,\" said Mark.\n\n\"How do you know?\" Sean asked.\n\n\"Because I went over the original plans of this place with the architect last week,\" said Mark. \"We're remodeling this section as soon as the Haunted House closes, and I wanted to make sure we didn't run into any unpleasant surprises. Nothing like not having a wall where you expect to find one or the other way around.\"\n\n\"You must have a lot of rich people bankrolling you,\" said Sean.\n\n\"Well, one or two,\" Mark allowed. \"We've been blessed that way. And now I really have to go. If I had known that I was going to have to be here overseeing everything the whole time the Haunted House was open, I would have hired a manager.\" And he walked away.\n\n\"I'd love to know who his backers are,\" Sean said.\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Just curiosity.\"\n\n\"Are you going to ask him?\"\n\n\"Yes, I am,\" Sean said. \"But he doesn't have to answer, and I have a feeling he won't.\"\n\nMarvin cocked his head, and Sean answered his unspoken question.\n\n\"Because he's not going to want me to go annoy them with questions. If I piss them off, there's a good chance he won't get any more money out of them. After all, why do they need this type of aggravation? The answer is: they don't.\"\n\n\"So what are you going to do?\"\n\n\"I'll think of something,\" Sean said.\n\nAs it turned out, that something came sooner than Sean had expected. Sean and Marvin were crossing the parking lot when the Kurtz twins ran up to them.\n\nKonrad grabbed Sean by the arm. \"Have you heard?\" he cried. \"They've gone and arrested Bob. Poor Bob. You gotta do something.\"\n\n\"I'm trying. Let go of my arm,\" Sean demanded. \"Now.\" Sean didn't like being touched.\n\nKonrad looked down. \"Sorry,\" he muttered and took a step back. \"I forgot.\"\n\n\"Well, don't forget again,\" growled Sean.\n\nCurtis looked as if he was going to cry. \"You have to make them listen to the tape.\"\n\n\"I've tried,\" said Sean. Which wasn't true, but Sean wasn't in the mood to hear a lecture on the merits of ESV. Or was it EVC? Whatever the hell it was called.\n\nKonrad absentmindedly jiggled his ring of keys. \"You have to make them understand.\"\n\nSean looked at the keys. Maybe, he thought, this trip wouldn't be a total waste, after all. \"You guys just going to work?\"\n\nCurtis nodded.\n\n\"Where's Inez?\" asked Sean.\n\n\"She called in sick. Again,\" Curtis told him. \"Ian is going to fire her ass for sure if she doesn't look out.\"\n\n\"So it's just you two?\" asked Sean.\n\nKonrad nodded. \"I don't mind. It's easier without her. Quieter.\"\n\n\"Isn't it kind of early for you guys to be cleaning?\" asked Sean.\n\n\"Oh. We're going to do one of our tapings at the Haunted House,\" Konrad said. \"Mr. Kane called and told us to come in.\"\n\nSean was quiet for a moment, and then he said, \"Is everyone at the offices gone?\"\n\nCurtis answered, \"Well, they're usually gone this time of day. No one seems to work very late in there.\"\n\nSean was silent for another moment. Then he said, \"Are you serious about helping your cousin?\"\n\n\"Of course, we are,\" Konrad answered. \"Why?\"\n\n\"Because I'd like to have a look around the offices of the Foundation,\" replied Sean.\n\n\"Are you nuts?\" Marvin hissed.\n\nSean ignored him and watched Konrad and Curtis exchange looks.\n\n\"What do you say, boys?\" Sean asked.\n\nIn answer, Konrad took his keys off the hook that was holding them and gave them to Sean. \"We forgot them, and we had to go home to get them,\" he said.\n\n\"But we have them,\" Curtis protested.\n\n\"We're\u2014\" Konrad began. Then he stopped. \"Forget it,\" he said to Curtis. \"I'll explain in the truck.\"\n\n\"But what about our demonstration?\" Curtis protested.\n\n\"We'll just be a little late,\" said Konrad.\n\n\"I don't know,\" Curtis said.\n\n\"I do,\" Konrad replied.\n\nSean watched while Konrad dragged Curtis away.\n\n\"You can't do this,\" Marvin said when they were gone.\n\n\"Why not? Now is the perfect time. Mark is tied up. Figuratively speaking.\"\n\n\"But what if someone is at the Foundation, working?\"\n\n\"Then we'll say we're sorry and leave.\"\n\n\"I don't think I can do this,\" Marvin protested.\n\n\"Of course, you can,\" Sean said.\n\nMarvin bit his lip. \"I don't know.\"\n\n\"Well, I do.\"\n\n\"Why don't I drive you over and sit in the car and wait?\"\n\n\"Don't be ridiculous. I need you. And drive around to the side entrance. We can leave the car there. I don't want the police to see it on one of their patrols.\"\n\n\"The police,\" Marvin cried.\n\n\"It'll be fine,\" Sean said in as soothing a voice as he could manage. \"Everything will be just fine.\"\n\n\"No, it won't,\" Marvin protested.\n\n\"Just think of everything you're learning,\" Sean told him.\n\nMarvin straightened his back. \"Breaking and entering is not something I want to learn.\"\n\n\"We're not breaking and entering, because we have the keys. At worst, this could be called unlawful trespass.\"\n\n\"That's wonderful,\" Marvin said.\n\nSean decided to take his comment literally. \"I think so. It's a misdemeanor. At most, we'd be looking at community service if we get caught.\"\n\n## Chapter 13\n\nLibby looked at the woman standing in front of her. She was small and plain and had one of those short, mannish haircuts that women tended to get when they didn't want to bother about their looks anymore.\n\n\"Aren't you scared working here?\" she asked Libby as Libby placed a slice of pumpkin cheesecake on a paper plate and handed it to her.\n\n\"You mean because of the murder?\" Libby asked.\n\n\"After all, Mark said you saw Amethyst's head rolling down the stairs.\"\n\nThanks, Mark, Libby thought. \"Frankly,\" she said to the woman, \"I think I'm too tired to be scared.\"\n\nThe woman gave her an odd look and walked away.\n\nBut it was true. Things had finally settled down some, and for that, she was eternally grateful. People were no longer standing out in the hallway, waiting to get in. But her back and her feet were killing her. So were her wrists and arms, for that matter. She couldn't imagine how Bernie's feet were feeling. She was wearing pink ballet slippers, which had no support whatsoever. She and Bernie had been making waffles and dishing out desserts since they'd opened the doors, and she was ready to take a break.\n\nEvidently, the combination of the chance to visit a real live murder scene and go through a haunted house at the same time had proved irresistible to the population of Longley and the surrounding towns. This was better than reality TV. When Libby thought about it, she realized this could be reality TV.\n\nThey'd sold way more Belgian and chocolate brownie waffles than she or her sister had anticipated. Hopefully, they'd have enough to squeak by until the end of the night, which was another couple of hours away. All she could say was thank heavens she'd prepared extra.\n\nThe real winner of the day, though, was the apple compote. People couldn't stop talking about it. Libby had to admit it was pretty darn good. The lemon peel, the touch of rum, and the small amount of apricot jam in it made all the difference.\n\nThey were doing very well. The bad part was that they had to go home and get ready for tomorrow. Hopefully, Amber and Googie had done everything they were supposed to do. Otherwise, Libby and Bernie would be up till three in the morning, doing prep work. Sometimes Libby thought of the public as an insatiable mouth that she and Bernie labored to feed. She shook her head to clear that thought from her mind and got back to the business at hand.\n\n\"How are we doing with the pumpkin bars?\" she asked Bernie.\n\n\"We've got two trays, but the apple and the pumpkin pies are gone. We should bake a few more of those for tomorrow. Did you get a look at the fat woman in the latex suit? That was certainly a mistake. Fetish dressing is definitely for thin people. Don't look at me like that. Half the fun of Halloween is commenting on the costumes people wear.\"\n\n\"See. This is why I'm not getting into a costume.\"\n\nBernie looked hurt. \"I wouldn't let you make a mistake like that.\"\n\nLibby knew Bernie wouldn't, but she still didn't want to wear a costume. She just felt silly. She just didn't know how to explain that to someone who was dressed as Little Bo Peep (\"to balance the energy,\" Bernie had explained). But at least that was better than the witch and the vampire, Libby thought. Bernie wasn't wearing fake nails today. They had driven Libby crazy. She had been eyeing them the past two nights, waiting for one to fall into the waffle batter.\n\n\"How about we just do make-up?\" Bernie said.\n\n\"I'll think about it.\"\n\n\"Come on,\" Bernie cajoled.\n\nLibby threw up her hands. She was too tired to argue. \"Fine,\" she said. \"I give up.\"\n\nBernie grinned. \"You won't regret it.\"\n\nLibby thought she probably would, but at least she'd have a short interval of peace and quiet. She shook her head to clear it and continued to take stock of what they needed.\n\n\"We need more cider,\" she said. \"Would you mind going out to the van and getting the rest of it?\"\n\n\"Why is it still in the van?\"\n\n\"Because I was too tired to bring it all in.\"\n\n\"Makes sense,\" Bernie said. \"I'll do it now.\"\n\nBernie was back two minutes later with a jug in each hand. Libby noticed her sister was frowning.\n\n\"Libby,\" Bernie said, \"didn't Dad and Marvin leave for home?\"\n\nLibby kept stocking the square rattan box she used for the napkins. \"Yes. At least I thought they did.\"\n\n\"Well, I spotted Marvin's car on the far side of the parking lot. I'm going to call and see what they're up to.\"\n\nBernie was reaching for her phone when it rang. She picked it up and checked her caller ID. It was her dad. She listened to him for a moment and hung up.\n\n\"They're at the Foundation,\" she said to Libby.\n\n\"The Foundation? What are they doing there?\"\n\n\"Snooping.\"\n\n\"Snooping?\"\n\n\"That's what I said,\" Bernie replied. Sometimes she thought her sister had a hearing problem.\n\n\"What are they looking for?\"\n\n\"They wanted to find out who the Foundation backers are,\" replied Bernie.\n\n\"But why?\"\n\nBernie shook her head. \"You got me. But they're going back to Ed Banks's house to talk to him. He's one of the big backers. And guess what?\"\n\n\"What?\" Libby said as she ladled pumpkin batter into one of the waffle machines and closed the top.\n\n\"So was Amethyst.\"\n\nLibby's eyes remained focused on the machine. \"She had that kind of money?\"\n\n\"Evidently, she did.\"\n\n\"Interesting,\" Libby said as she opened the machine up. \"Very interesting indeed.\"\n\nShe was about to say something else when Mark appeared by their side. He'd been so quiet, Libby hadn't heard him approach. She wondered if he'd been standing there long.\n\n\"You gals holding up under the onslaught?\" he asked.\n\n\"Oh yes,\" Bernie said, even though she detested being called a gal.\n\n\"Is your dad around?\" asked Mark.\n\nBernie shook her head. \"Not that I know of.\"\n\nMark wrinkled his forehead. \"That's odd, because I thought I saw the car he came in off to the side of the parking lot.\"\n\n\"Must have been a different car,\" Libby lied.\n\n\"Marvin and dad went home a while ago,\" said Bernie, backing her up.\n\n\"Absolutely,\" Libby agreed.\n\n\"Well, someone is over there,\" Mark said. \"I think I'll take a walk around and see what's what. Can't have any more bad things happening here, can we? And, by the way, Bernie, I like your costume.\" He grinned. \"I'd be one of your sheep anytime of the week.\"\n\n\"My pleasure,\" Bernie said.\n\nAs soon as Mark turned and started walking away, Bernie grabbed her cell phone and called her dad to tell him what was happening.\n\n\"Poor Marvin,\" she said to Libby when she was done. \"He's probably having a heart attack.\"\n\nLibby grimaced. \"I was thinking the same thing myself.\"\n\n\"What's going on?\" Marvin asked Sean as Sean clicked off his cell phone.\n\n\"I guess you were right,\" Sean said.\n\n\"Right about what?\"\n\n\"I guess we should have left a little earlier.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" Marvin asked.\n\nSean noticed that Marvin's voice was rising in a spiral of panic. \"Bernie just told me that Mark is on his way over.\"\n\n\"Oh my God,\" Marvin said.\n\n\"Relax,\" Sean said. \"It'll be fine.\"\n\n\"That's what you said when we walked in here.\"\n\n\"And I meant it.\"\n\n\"But we have to get out of here.\"\n\n\"It's too late.\"\n\n\"What are we going to do?\" Marvin wailed.\n\n\"Learn from the master,\" Sean told him. \"Now grab my coat, and let's go.\"\n\nHe watched Marvin hurry away. A moment later he was back with Sean's coat. Sean struggled into it; then he and Marvin walked to the door. Sean would have liked to have gone faster, but he couldn't walk at a decent pace anymore. These days he was lucky he could walk at all. He really should have had Marvin bring the wheelchair along. It would have made things so much simpler. They had just gotten to the door and Marvin had reached out to open it when the door swung open and Mark was standing there.\n\n\"Hello,\" Sean said. \"What a pleasant surprise.\"\n\nMark started to stammer.\n\n\"You're probably wondering what we're doing here,\" Sean said.\n\n\"Well\u2014,\" Mark began, but Sean had already cut him off.\n\n\"Trying to find the old plans for the house.\" Sean smiled.\n\n\"But I told you I'd show them to you,\" Mark protested.\n\n\"I know you did, and I'm sorry, but I just couldn't wait. You know how old men get. Impatient. Like in the song lyrics, 'oh the days dwindle down to a precious few.'\"\n\nMark scowled at him.\n\n\"What? You've never heard 'September Song'?\" Sean asked. \"It's Frank Sinatra. At least I think it's Frank Sinatra. I thought the plans would be in the archives....\"\n\n\"We don't have archives,\" Mark said.\n\n\"I finally remembered you'd told me that after I went looking for them,\" said Sean as he rubbed his hands together. \"I'm telling you, getting old is a bitch.\" He smiled at Mark. \"Well, as long as you're here, maybe you can get them for us now?\"\n\n\"No,\" Mark replied. Sean could tell he was very annoyed and anxious to get away from this garrulous old man in front of him. Which was the whole idea. \"I have to go down to the basement to get them. It could take quite some time.\"\n\n\"I'll be back tomorrow afternoon then,\" Sean told him and started to walk off.\n\n\"Wait,\" Mark said.\n\nSean stopped and turned.\n\n\"How did you get in here?\" asked Mark.\n\n\"I used my superpowers. No, really. Some people were going out....\"\n\n\"What people?\" A sharp thinker, Mark.\n\n\"A woman and a man,\" said Sean.\n\n\"Describe them,\" Mark ordered.\n\nSean shrugged and tried to keep from jingling the keys in his pocket that Konrad and Curtis had given him. \"I don't know. Ordinary people. I have trouble identifying people now.\" Sean tried to look contrite. \"I'm sorry if I caused a problem,\" he said.\n\n\"You didn't.\" Mark ran his hand through his hair.\n\nIt looked so perfect, Sean wondered if he dyed it. Or went to some fancy spa.\n\n\"I just don't want anything to happen to you,\" Mark added.\n\n\"That's so nice. Nothing will,\" Sean said firmly.\n\nMark waved his hands in the air. \"I'd feel better if you weren't in this place by yourself.\"\n\n\"I'm not here by myself. I have Marvin,\" replied Sean.\n\nMark's eyes narrowed slightly. \"You know what I mean.\"\n\n\"I do indeed,\" said Sean. \"Tell me, does your insurance kick in if someone gets killed or injured by a ghost, or does that come under the 'act of God' clause?\"\n\nMark smiled. \"You're a funny man,\" he said.\n\n\"I like to think so,\" said Sean.\n\n\"Now I know where Bernie gets it from. I'll have to ask my insurance agent,\" replied Mark.\n\n\"Do you have a good one?\" asked Sean.\n\nMark reached into his pocket, took out a piece of gum, unwrapped it, and popped it in his mouth. \"The company we hired to mount the Haunted House show carries lots of liability, but it doesn't cover homicide.\"\n\n\"Tomorrow then?\" Sean asked.\n\n\"Absolutely,\" Mark said, with what Sean decided was a tad too much enthusiasm.\n\n\"You see,\" Sean explained to Marvin as they walked to Marvin's car. \"You should never explain. You should never run. If you're caught in a situation like this, you walk toward the person and spin them a plausible story.\"\n\n\"I don't think Mark believed you,\" Marvin said as he opened the door of his car.\n\n\"That's the point,\" Sean said once he was comfortably settled in his seat. \"He didn't believe me, but because of the way I was acting, he couldn't call me a liar. Now let's get back to Lexus Gardens.\"\n\n\"But it's late,\" Marvin protested.\n\n\"Precisely. That way there's a better chance that Banks might be in.\"\n\n## Chapter 14\n\n\"Slow down,\" Sean yelled at Marvin as they took one of the turns on the road up to Lexus Gardens. \"It's too damn dark to be going this fast.\"\n\n\"I'm going twenty miles an hour,\" Marvin told him.\n\n\"Then go fifteen.\"\n\nIt was pitch black out, and even with Marvin using his brights, the turns just leaped out. At night the evergreens on either side of the road reminded Sean of huge saws. Or maybe Halloween was getting to him. In any case, Sean hoped there weren't any deer up this way. There didn't used to be, but these days they were everywhere, eating everything. Clyde called them rodents with long legs.\n\n\"I wish I could drive,\" Sean complained as he scrunched up his eyes so he could see better in the dark.\n\n\"I wish you could, too,\" Marvin said.\n\n\"Was that a note of bitterness I detected?\" Sean asked.\n\n\"No,\" Marvin stammered. \"It's just that\u2014\"\n\n\"I criticize you?\"\n\n\"It's more like I never seem to do anything right.\"\n\nSean's hand tightened around the door handle as Marvin took a particularly sharp curve.\n\n\"Of course, you do,\" Sean told him. \"If you didn't, I wouldn't even bother with you.\"\n\n\"Really?\" Marvin said.\n\nSean could hear Marvin's voice brightening. \"Yes, really,\" Sean replied.\n\nThere was a short pause. Then Marvin said, \"My father says I can't do anything right.\"\n\n\"Well, he's wrong,\" Sean said. \"Dead wrong. And speaking of dead, don't take your eyes off the road. Aside from the turns, there could be deer wandering about.\"\n\nMarvin didn't say anything. Sean turned to look at him. He was smiling in a way Sean had never seen him smile before. The two men sat silently for a moment before Marvin spoke.\n\n\"What are you going to ask Banks?\" Marvin said.\n\n\"What the Foundation is about, what Amethyst wanted from him, stuff like that.\"\n\n\"And if he won't answer? It's not as if he has to.\"\n\n\"Oh, he'll answer,\" Sean said, with assurance. \"I'll make him want to.\"\n\n\"How will you make him do that?\"\n\n\"By letting him know his life will be a lot easier if he talks to me.\"\n\n\"I see,\" Marvin said. \"But what if he doesn't want to? What if you can't convince him?\"\n\n\"Then we'll find another approach.\"\n\nOver the years, Sean had found that there was always a way to get the information he needed. It was just a matter of figuring it out. He sat back and watched the road stitch itself up the hill.\n\n\"We're almost there,\" Marvin said.\n\n\"I know,\" Sean replied.\n\nA moment later, the gate appeared before them. It seemed to spring up out of nowhere. The gate was illuminated by two halogen spotlights that bore down on it from above. For a moment, Sean had the ridiculous feeling that any second now border guards would step out from behind the gate and demand to see his passport. I'm watching too many old movies, he said to himself.\n\nAs they got closer, they could see Banks's house. It was lit up; someone was home, unless the house was on a timer.\n\n\"Press the intercom button,\" Sean instructed Marvin as they stopped in front of the gate.\n\nMarvin got the same results as before.\n\n\"Try again,\" Sean instructed.\n\nAs Marvin did, Sean scanned the wall. Now that he was looking more closely, he could see two cameras mounted on either side of the gate. He didn't know whom he was more annoyed with: himself for not seeing the cameras sooner or Banks for not answering.\n\n\"Do you want to go?\" Marvin asked when no one answered.\n\n\"Not yet,\" Sean replied.\n\nIf Banks had answered him, he'd have let the matter go, but ignoring him was something else entirely. Maybe he wasn't the chief of police anymore, but that didn't mean he had to tolerate this type of rudeness. He never had, and he wasn't about to start now.\n\nHe looked at the house again. He thought he saw a flicker of movement in the right window. And then he realized he was seeing something else as well. The gate was slightly ajar. Very slightly. Was it like that before? Sean closed his eyes and tried to remember. He couldn't.\n\n\"Are you okay,\" Marvin asked.\n\n\"I'm fine. Do me a favor and get out and see if you can push the gate open.\"\n\n\"But...,\" Marvin objected.\n\n\"Just do it,\" Sean snapped. This was what he hated. In the old days, pre-illness, he wouldn't have had to ask. He'd have just gotten out and done it.\n\nHe watched Marvin get out of the car. Could he move any slower, Sean wondered.\n\n\"Don't slam your door,\" Sean warned just as Marvin did.\n\nGreat, Sean thought. Now we'll get to see if someone comes out. But no one did. Maybe they hadn't heard. Maybe no one was at the control panel. Maybe the cameras were just for show. No way to know unless he saw the control room. He turned his attention back to Marvin. Marvin was at the gate now.\n\n\"Open it all the way,\" Sean instructed, after rolling his window down. \"We want to drive in.\" Sean paused. \"And, yes, I'm sure,\" he told Marvin even though Marvin hadn't said anything.\n\nFinally, Marvin began to push. The gate slowly opened. When it was open all the way, he got back in the car. \"I expected it to squeak,\" he said.\n\nSean just sighed. \"Drive in,\" he said.\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"Up to the front of the house.\"\n\n\"I still don't think this is a good idea,\" Marvin said as he put the car in gear. \"In fact, I think it's a terrible idea.\"\n\n\"Everything will be fine,\" Sean said automatically.\n\n\"That's what you said about the Foundation,\" Marvin protested.\n\n\"And it was, wasn't it?\"\n\nSean guessed Marvin couldn't think of a comeback, because he didn't say anything. As they drove in, Sean kept looking around, expecting to see someone, but there was no sign of movement. Most of the windows in the house were lit up, but Sean didn't see any people. He must have imagined he saw someone before.\n\nThe lawn seemed like a vast expanse of dark sea. Over to the left, he spotted a garage. He could make out what looked like a Jeep parked in front of it, which really didn't mean a whole lot vis-a-vis whether or not someone was home. People that lived in houses like this one usually had multiple cars.\n\n\"Where do you want me to stop?\" Marvin asked.\n\n\"In front of the house,\" Sean told him as he reached in his jacket pocket and got out his cigarettes.\n\n\"Since when did you start smoking?\" Marvin cried.\n\n\"I didn't start smoking. I restarted smoking.\"\n\n\"Libby must be really pissed.\"\n\n\"Libby doesn't know, and you're not going to tell her.\"\n\n\"I don't think I can do that.\"\n\n\"Of course, you can. I'm not going to stop, so why upset her?\"\n\nMarvin digested this piece of information for a moment and then said, \"It's so bad for you.\"\n\n\"Yes, it is, but look at what I have. What difference does it make? Besides, I read recently that smoking may put what I have in remission.\"\n\n\"Really?\" Marvin said.\n\n\"Yes, really,\" Sean replied. \"Now park in front of the house, and help me out of the car.\"\n\nMarvin did as he was told. \"It's a big house,\" Marvin said.\n\nSean took another couple of puffs of his cigarette and threw it down on the grass. \"It's enormous.\"\n\nHe stood there for a moment, taking it in. The building was a two-story Greek Revival affair. Because the drapes weren't closed, Sean had the feeling he was looking at a stage set. The furnishings in the rooms gave him the same feeling. Everything was for show. Banks must live in the other part of the house, Sean decided. No one's dwelling could be that perfect.\n\nHe lifted his hand and rang the bell. He could hear the chime echoing within the house. No one came. He tried again, only this time he left his hand on the buzzer a bit longer. By the third time, his finger was on the buzzer for a full minute. Sean tried the door next. It was locked.\n\n\"He's not here. Let's go,\" Marvin said eagerly.\n\nObviously, Sean thought, the kid could hardly wait to get out of there. But that wasn't going to happen yet.\n\n\"First, let's go around to the side,\" Sean said as they got back in Marvin's car.\n\n\"But why?\" Marvin wailed.\n\n\"To see if the side door is open. Something's wrong here, and I want to check it out.\"\n\nMarvin began tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. \"Then let's call the police.\"\n\n\"A valid suggestion,\" Sean told him, \"but the moment the police arrive, I'm going to be shut out, and I want to see what I can find out before that happens. We'll call them when I'm done.\"\n\n\"Great,\" Marvin muttered, putting his car in gear.\n\nSean pretended he hadn't heard Marvin's last comment as they drove around to the side. After all, the kid was going along with Sean, and that was all that mattered. Marvin parked, and they both got out. He offered Sean his arm in support, but Sean waved him away. Damned if he wasn't going to do this by himself.\n\nThe trick was to take slow, careful steps. The dark made seeing the path clearly harder, and he didn't want to stumble and fall. Then Marvin would tell Libby, and she wouldn't let him out of the house at all. Of course, she wouldn't be too happy when she heard about this, anyway. Oh well. There wasn't much he could do about that.\n\nAs he walked, he debated about what course of action he was going to take if the side door was locked. After all, there was no reason to think that it wouldn't be. But it wasn't. Sean could see the light spilling out from the space between the door and its frame.\n\n\"We should call the police,\" Marvin repeated.\n\nSean nodded absentmindedly as he pulled his jacket sleeve over his hand and pushed the door open.\n\n\"Why are you doing that?\" Marvin asked.\n\n\"So I don't contaminate the crime scene.\"\n\n\"But you don't know it's a crime scene,\" Marvin pointed out.\n\n\"Always assume the worst,\" Sean told him. \"And don't touch anything,\" he warned.\n\n\"I don't think I want to go in,\" Marvin said.\n\n\"Then stay outside,\" Sean snapped as he took a step inside. God, what a pain in the ass that kid was sometimes.\n\n\"I can't. Libby would kill me if anything happened to you.\"\n\n\"And I'm going to kill you if you don't stop talking. I can't concentrate with you chattering away.\"\n\n\"Okay.\"\n\nSean watched Marvin get that hangdog look. He felt a small stab of guilt but managed to stifle it.\n\n\"I guess no one's here,\" Marvin said. Then he realized what he'd done and put his hand to his mouth. \"Sorry.\"\n\n\"I think that's a fair assumption to make,\" Sean said. \"Given the amount of talking we've been doing, if anyone was here, they'd be pointing their rifles at us by now.\"\n\nSean looked around. He was in the mudroom. There were four jackets hanging on the wooden pegs and three pairs of boots sitting on bootjacks. A wicker basket full of hats, scarves, and gloves sat on a bench. He took another step and found himself in the kitchen. Marvin was right behind him.\n\nThe kitchen was huge. The cooking appliances were at one end, and the family room, complete with a flat-screen TV large enough to cover the entire wall, was at the other end. CNN news was on, but there was no sound. Judging from the size of the stove and the fridge, you could feed a platoon in here and still have room for another couple of dozen people.\n\nThe kitchen table had been set for coffee. There was a French press, plates, mugs, and sugar and cream on the table. A platter of pumpkin bars sat in the center. Sean walked over and took a look at the cookies. They looked like A Touch of Heaven's ginger pumpkin bars with ginger icing. Exactly like them. But just to make sure, he picked one up and took a bite.\n\n\"What are you doing?\" Marvin cried.\n\n\"Eating,\" Sean said. Yup. They were Libby's. No one made them like she did. It was the Jamaican ginger that did it. \"You want one?\" he asked Marvin. \"They're Libby's.\"\n\nMarvin shook his head. \"If you don't mind, I'll pass.\"\n\n\"No appetite?\" Sean asked as he ate another one.\n\n\"What happened to contaminating the crime scene?\"\n\n\"I don't think two cookies will make that big a difference in the scheme of things,\" Sean said, wishing he had some milk to wash them down. There was probably milk in the fridge, but that would be going a little too far.\n\nHe wondered who had brought the cookies here. Maybe Amber or Googie would remember, but Sean doubted it. As he dusted the crumbs off his hands, he noticed that the floor by the sink was wet. He walked over. Three or four apples were bobbing in the basin. Very odd. Then he noticed a few brown-red spots on the lip of the basin. Dirt? He looked closer. No. He got that old familiar feeling. He beckoned Marvin over and pointed.\n\n\"What do you think?\" he asked.\n\nMarvin leaned over and studied the spots. He sucked in his cheeks as he concentrated. Finally, he said, \"I think it's blood.\"\n\n\"Me too,\" Sean agreed.\n\nMarvin straightened up. \"Someone could have cut themselves with a knife.\"\n\n\"Yes. They could have.\"\n\n\"But you don't think so.\"\n\n\"No. Do you?\"\n\n\"No.\" Marvin pointed to the apples. \"What about those?\"\n\n\"You got me. I'm going to have to think on that for a bit.\" He motioned for Marvin to follow him. \"Come on. Let's see what else we're going to find.\"\n\n\"I think we might be finding Mr. Banks,\" Marvin said.\n\n\"I think you may be right,\" Sean agreed.\n\n\"Which is why we should call the cops.\"\n\n\"Soon,\" Sean said.\n\n\"You're just placating me,\" Marvin complained.\n\n\"Yup,\" Sean said. \"You got me. That's exactly what I'm doing.\"\n\nSean looked around once more just to make sure he hadn't missed anything. Then he walked straight ahead, with Marvin on his heels. When he got to the corner, he turned down a hallway.\n\nThere were watermarks on the wallpaper every couple of feet or so, as if someone had bumped into it with his shoulder. He kept walking. About two feet farther, he came to a room. From outside the room, he could hear a fan running. The smell told him what he was going to find.\n\n\"When you're right, you're right,\" Sean said.\n\nHe and Marvin stepped inside. A man was slumped over the toilet. His hands were tied behind him.\n\n\"I have a feeling that we've found Banks,\" Sean said to Marvin.\n\n\"Me too,\" Marvin said.\n\nBanks was wearing casual attire: a pair of jeans, sneakers, a white shirt, and a blue crewneck sweater.\n\n\"How long do you think he's been dead?\" Sean asked Marvin. That was one good thing about Marvin, Sean decided. He wasn't squeamish about corpses.\n\nMarvin assessed Banks with a practiced eye. \"Maybe three or four hours, but Wenzel should be able to narrow it down more closely.\"\n\nSean just hoped that they hadn't been standing by the gate when Banks was getting drowned. He watched Marvin take out his cell phone. \"Calling the police?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I am a policeman.\"\n\n\"You're a retired policeman.\"\n\n\"It's almost the same thing.\"\n\n\"Not quite.\" Marvin just looked at him.\n\n\"All I'm asking for is fifteen minutes to see if we can find Banks's records. That's it. I swear.\"\n\nMarvin didn't say anything.\n\n\"Well?\" Sean said after a minute had gone by. \"Is it a yes or a no?\"\n\nMarvin let out a long sigh. Then he said, \"I'm only doing this because you're Libby's dad.\"\n\n\"And I can't tell you how much Libby will appreciate this,\" Sean said.\n\n\"That's the point. I'm not sure she will.\"\n\nSean waved away Marvin's objections. \"Come help me look. The sooner we get started, the sooner we'll be done.\"\n\n\"We'll be arrested. That's what we'll be,\" Marvin muttered.\n\nSean ignored him and led the way out.\n\n## Chapter 15\n\nBernie watched her dad's friend Clyde settle back in his usual chair in their living room. He reached over and took another one of Libby's ginger pumpkin bars. He took little bites and chewed slowly so he could savor every mouthful.\n\n\"Wonderful,\" he said as he poured more cream in his coffee. \"Simply wonderful. And that includes the cream. My wife only has skim milk in the house. It turns coffee the most unappetizing shade of gray.\" He took a sip and then held up the ginger pumpkin bar. \"This is the embodiment of Halloween,\" he declared. \"The color, the bouquet of spices, all suggest late fall to me.\"\n\n\"You've been watching the cooking channel again, haven't you?\" Sean asked. This was a man who in his prime consumed cans of cold Dinty Moore stew, and now he was rhapsodizing about flavor bouquets the same way he used to talk about the Playmate of the Month. Old age was a terrible thing.\n\nClyde glared at him. \"So what if I have?\"\n\n\"Nothing. Nothing at all,\" replied Sean.\n\n\"You're also eating the evidence,\" Bernie said.\n\n\"No. That was what I did last night,\" Sean said.\n\nClyde shook his head. \"Good thing Lucy didn't catch you.\"\n\nSean snorted. \"Lucas never appears at crime scenes.\"\n\n\"He did at this one,\" said Clyde.\n\n\"I didn't see him,\" said Sean.\n\n\"That's because he came after you left, and stayed for about a minute and a half.\"\n\n\"Interesting,\" Sean said as he moved his motorized wheelchair a little more toward the window. It was a little after ten on a Tuesday evening, and the street was empty. But it didn't matter. He enjoyed looking at the Halloween decorations in his neighbors' windows. Black cats, witches, ghosts\u2014all were stuck to the windowpanes. They reminded him of when his daughters were young and they had helped decorate. \"That must mean that Banks's murder is important.\"\n\nClyde reached over and took a third ginger pumpkin bar. \"Well, Banks was rich.\"\n\n\"That would do it,\" Sean said. \"What does Lucy think the relationship between the two homicides is?\"\n\nClyde took a bite of the ginger pumpkin bar and swallowed. \"Oh, the chief doesn't think Amethyst's murder and Banks's murder are related.\"\n\nBernie rolled her eyes. \"That's absurd.\"\n\n\"He said they had dissimilar styles,\" Clyde continued. \"And the fingerprints don't match. Not that there were many of them at either crime scene. Ergo, it's just coincidence.\"\n\nSean took a sip of his tea and put the cup down. \"I, myself, have never believed in coincidence.\"\n\n\"Me either,\" Clyde agreed. \"I don't know how the homicides are linked, but they definitely are.\"\n\n\"That's for sure,\" Sean said. \"What are the odds of having two homicides in a town like this in one week and not having them be related?\"\n\n\"It could be a statistical anomaly,\" Bernie suggested. Her dad glared at her. \"Or maybe Bessie Osgood came back to life and traveled over to Lexus Gardens.\"\n\nLibby rolled her eyes. \"Now, why didn't I think of that?\" She pointedly turned to her dad. \"What do you think happened?\"\n\nSean took another sip of his tea and put the cup down. \"On the most literal level, I think Ed Banks had a visitor, and that visitor brought some ginger pumpkin bars from our shop as a gift.\"\n\n\"Ed Banks could have bought them himself,\" Libby pointed out.\n\n\"I don't think so,\" Bernie said. \"We pretty much know everyone that comes into our shop, and when I asked, Amber and Googie said no one unfamiliar came in that day. Given the fact that we've never done business with Ed Banks, I think the conclusion is self-evident.\"\n\n\"Which means whoever brought them is one of our customers,\" Libby observed.\n\n\"Unfortunately,\" Sean said.\n\n\"Well, that narrows the field,\" Bernie said, thinking of the hundreds of men, women, and children who went through the shop each day.\n\n\"Maybe we could put out a sign reading WHOEVER BOUGHT COOKIES FOR ED BANKS COME TALK TO US,\" Libby suggested.\n\nSean laughed. \"That's what I call wishful thinking.\" He turned to Clyde. \"So what do we know about this guy Banks?\"\n\n\"The most obvious fact is that the guy was a recluse,\" Clyde said.\n\nBernie leaned forward. \"But he let his house be photographed. Recluses don't usually do that.\"\n\n\"True,\" Clyde said. \"Maybe he just didn't want to talk to anyone around here.\"\n\n\"Then why buy a house here?\" Bernie asked.\n\nSean waved his hand impatiently. \"Let's come back to that question later. What else do we know about him?\"\n\n\"Really not that much,\" Clyde replied. \"At this point, we know that Banks has no known next of kin. Both parents are deceased. He never married. He didn't seem to have a girlfriend....\"\n\n\"Maybe he had a boyfriend,\" Bernie interjected.\n\n\"He didn't have anyone that we're aware of,\" Clyde said, with a touch of asperity.\n\nBernie shrugged. \"It was just a suggestion.\"\n\nClyde went on. \"Anyway, he was born here, in this town, but his family moved to Hawaii when he was in his teens...Evidently, his dad was some kind of expert on sugarcane...and he only came back recently. He did hedge funds, which is where he got his money. He has a clean record. No priors. And that's about all we know at this moment.\"\n\n\"Who is claiming the body?\" Sean asked.\n\n\"A distant relative in Hawaii. She wants the body flown to Oahu as soon as it's released,\" said Clyde.\n\n\"How about the staff?\" Sean asked. \"Where were they last night?\"\n\n\"There is no live-in staff,\" said Clyde.\n\nLibby took a sip of her mulled cider and asked, \"He lived in that huge house all by himself?\" Her voice was incredulous.\n\nClyde ate the rest of his ginger pumpkin bar before answering. \"Yes, he did. He had a personal assistant that he brought with him. The guy came in six days a week, from nine to six. He had Sundays off.\"\n\n\"Did you talk to him?\" asked Sean.\n\nClyde nodded. \"We managed to track him down. Conveniently for him, he's been on vacation in Maui for the last two weeks. According to the hotel manager, he hasn't left the island.\"\n\n\"Did he sound upset when he found out about his boss?\" Sean asked.\n\n\"Very. They'd been together for a long time. Maybe there's something there, but I don't see it,\" said Clyde. \"More interestingly, however, is the fact that Banks contracted with the same firm that cleans the Foundation to do the cleaning up there.\"\n\n\"Inez?\" Sean said.\n\n\"It's a definite link,\" Clyde said, turning to Libby. \"How's the pumpkin cheesecake?\"\n\nLibby put a piece on a plate and handed it to him. \"Try it and see.\"\n\nClyde took a bite. \"Delicious,\" he said. \"I have to come over to the Haunted House to try your waffles.\"\n\n\"Anytime,\" Libby said. Then she turned to her dad. \"I've been thinking. It must have taken a really big man to hold Banks's head under water like that. And what were the apples about? Are they a symbol of some kind?\"\n\n\"They could be,\" Bernie said. \"The Celts used bobbing for apples in marriage divination ceremonies. The first person to bite the apple was the first person to get married. It was their version of throwing the bouquet.\"\n\n\"Are you saying that Banks was planning on getting married?\" Libby asked her sister.\n\n\"No. I'm just sharing a little information with you,\" replied Bernie.\n\n\"I'm sorry. I just don't see the relevance,\" said Libby.\n\nSean looked away from the street and settled himself in his wheelchair. He had a pack of cigarettes in his pants pocket, which he would have very much liked to light, but he wasn't going to do it and risk the wrath of his daughters.\n\n\"It is relevant, just not in the way that Bernie said,\" Sean interjected.\n\nLibby shook her head. \"I don't understand.\"\n\n\"It tells us what happened,\" said Sean. He held up his hand as Libby started to speak. \"Let's go back to the beginning. Banks and his friend, and I'm putting friend in quotes here, had made an appointment. We know this because Banks had already set the table. I think that they sat around and talked for a while, and then his friend probably casually introduced the topic of bobbing for apples. You know, he said something like, 'I bet you can't bob for apples,' or something to that effect, and Banks took him up on the challenge. So while Banks was bending over, his friend slipped a plastic tie out of his pocket and cuffed him. Easy enough to do.\"\n\n\"Then why didn't he drown him right there? Why take him to the bathroom?\" Clyde asked.\n\nSean thought about the blood on the kitchen sink and the marks on the hallway walls. \"I'm thinking that Banks got away from him, and they had a scuffle. I figure Banks started running, and his friend finally caught up with him in the hallway, near the bathroom. He managed to get Banks in there and hold his head in the toilet.\"\n\n\"You think the toilet was a metaphor?\" Bernie asked.\n\nSean laughed. \"No. I think the toilet was convenient.\" He took another sip of his tea. \"So Lucy sees no connection at all between these two crimes?\" he asked Clyde.\n\nClyde put his fork down. \"If he does, he isn't telling me.\"\n\nSean sat and thought for a moment. \"It's true we have minimal connections between the two events,\" he finally said. \"We only have Jeanine's word that Amethyst wanted to talk to Banks.\"\n\n\"Okay,\" Clyde said.\n\n\"But why would Jeanine lie?\" Libby asked.\n\n\"I'm not saying she did. In fact, I don't think she did. I'm just talking it through,\" Sean said.\n\n\"And we don't know if Amethyst actually went up and talked to Banks,\" Clyde pointed out.\n\nSean nodded. \"Maybe Banks's personal assistant knows.\"\n\n\"I'll find out, but it might take a little while,\" Clyde told Sean. \"When I spoke to him, he was leaving for a sailing trip.\"\n\n\"And even if he did,\" Sean said, continuing with his train of thought, \"we have a very thin line linking Amethyst and Banks. A very thin line. Maybe she wanted to talk to him about some sort of charity affair. Or about opening up a shop of some kind. We really don't know.\"\n\nBernie tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. \"I'm getting the impression you agree with Lucy that there is no connection between the two homicides.\"\n\nSean leaned back in his wheelchair and folded his hands over his stomach. \"No. I think there is. I just think it has to be ferreted out. In order to find it, we need more information.\"\n\nClyde finished off his piece of cheesecake and looked at the plate wistfully. He sighed. \"I can't eat another thing,\" he said.\n\n\"Not even a sliver?\" Libby coaxed.\n\nClyde shook his head. \"You're a very bad person.\"\n\n\"I know,\" Libby said as she took his plate, cut him a small piece of cheesecake, and handed the plate back to him.\n\n\"Tell me,\" Clyde asked Sean after he'd taken a bite, \"do you still think that Bessie Osgood had anything to do with this mess?\"\n\n\"Without a doubt,\" Sean said. \"All the names that have come up have been linked to her death. I still think that if you find out what happened the night she died, and you'll find out who killed Amethyst and, possibly, Banks.\"\n\nClyde leaned forward. \"The question is, why is all of this happening now?\"\n\n\"That is the question, isn't it?\" Sean said.\n\n\"There has to have been a precipitating incident,\" Clyde mused.\n\nBernie stifled a yawn. \"But what?\"\n\n\"I wish I knew,\" Sean said, and he went back to watching the street. A little girl decked out in a Hello Kitty outfit skipped by, holding her mother's hand. He smiled, remembering how the girls used to wear their costumes around the house during the week before Halloween.\n\n\"You know,\" Bernie said, \"not to change the subject, but Kathy\u2014\"\n\nSean turned away from the window. \"Big Kathy?\"\n\nBernie made an impatient gesture. \"Garden shop Kathy. My friend Kathy.\"\n\n\"What about her?\" asked Sean.\n\n\"She told me that Zinnia was killed by a hit-and-run driver a year after Bessie Osgood died,\" said Bernie.\n\n\"I remember that one,\" Clyde said. He turned to Sean. \"Didn't Porter get that guy?\"\n\n\"Guys,\" Sean corrected. \"Two of them. They'd just robbed the Quick Mart in Oakley when they got McGuire. They said they didn't see her, because she was sitting in the middle of the road. She had enough alcohol in her to embalm an elephant.\"\n\n\"So much for that one,\" Clyde said.\n\nEveryone was silent for a moment. Then Bernie said, \"We still don't know about Timberland's daughter.\"\n\nClyde stifled a yawn. \"Refresh my memory as to why we care about her.\"\n\n\"Because she might furnish a motive for Timberland's animosity toward Amethyst,\" said Sean.\n\n\"Maybe I can find out,\" Libby said.\n\n\"How?\" her dad finally asked.\n\n\"Well,\" Libby stammered, \"I know his sister from yoga class.\"\n\nBernie's eyebrows shot up. \"You're taking a yoga class?\"\n\nLibby straightened her shoulders. \"As a matter of fact, I am.\"\n\n\"Since when?\" asked Bernie.\n\n\"Since last week, if you must know. Why?\" said Libby.\n\n\"I'm just surprised. It doesn't seem like your kind of thing,\" replied Bernie.\n\nLibby put her hands on her hips. \"And why ever not?\"\n\nSean intervened before things got started. \"Bernie, maybe you could talk to Inez. She spends a lot of time at R.J.'s, and I can talk to Jeanine and see if she's figured out the View-Master yet.\"\n\n\"I understand Bob Small is going to be out on bail tomorrow,\" Clyde said.\n\n\"Then I suppose one of us should go talk to him as well,\" Sean said.\n\n\"Not me,\" Clyde said.\n\n\"Obviously,\" Sean shot back.\n\nClyde stifled another yawn. \"Okeydokey. Time to get going.\" He rose. \"After all, another glorious day in Longely's police force awaits me tomorrow morning.\"\n\n\"By the way,\" Sean called out, \"who put up Small's bail?\"\n\n\"Kane,\" said Clyde.\n\n\"Interesting,\" said Sean.\n\n\"It's not that high,\" added Clyde.\n\n\"Still,\" said Sean.\n\n\"While we're on the subject, I found out some more info on Kane,\" said Clyde.\n\nSean leaned forward. \"Such as?\"\n\n\"Nothing that we didn't already know,\" said Clyde. \"He's considered a genius with numbers, which is how he got so rich. He's pretty much a workaholic. No surprise there. He had a minor heart attack a couple of years ago, and his doctors advised him to get a hobby. Hence the Foundation. I also talked to the guys that rigged up the Haunted House show. They said he couldn't even put in a lightbulb without help.\"\n\n\"That's what he said about himself,\" Libby commented.\n\n\"Well, it looks as if he was telling the truth,\" Sean said. \"So there you go.\"\n\nAs Clyde headed down the stairs, Sean reflected on how nice it was to be working with him again. That was probably the thing he missed most from his days on the force.\n\n## Chapter 16\n\nLibby walked into the class, hung up her jacket, and looked around. It was seven-thirty in the morning, and everyone in the class looked disgustingly perky, but then they probably hadn't been up since five making lemon squares and chocolate chip cookies.\n\nAnd then there were the clothes. Everyone was wearing cute little yoga outfits, the kind that cost a couple of hundred dollars or so, while she was in her old stretched-out sweatpants and T-shirt. It was true she could have gone and bought one of those outfits\u2014nothing was stopping her\u2014but she hated spending money on stuff like that. Okay, that was a lie. What she hated to do was wear stuff like that. Even trying it on was painful. One look in the mirror and she wanted to reach for the cookies\u2014not exactly a productive response given the circumstances.\n\nShe was taking this class to tone up, but she didn't know how long she could stand it. The ad had promised results in three sessions. Well, this was her third session, and she had yet to see any results. She surreptitiously pinched the roll of fat on her belly. Yup. It was still there. She felt especially depressed as she scanned the rows of women rolling out their yoga mats. They were all so trim and taut, and she was so...so not. Even their mats looked better than hers.\n\nLibby sighed. Everyone was doing their warm-up stretching. Little tinkling bells chimed in the air. There was incense burning on the front table, where the instructor, an impossibly lithe woman wearing adorable yoga pants and a bralike top that showed off a midriff with no fat at all, was talking to someone. A sign that said, BREATHE! BREATHE! was hanging on the wall.\n\nShe spotted Timberland's sister in the fourth row and reluctantly headed for her. Why couldn't Ramona be in the back? Why did she have to be up front? God. Libby reminded herself she was here to do a job and that no one was looking at her\u2014yeah, right\u2014as she unrolled her yoga mat and plopped herself next to Ramona.\n\n\"Hi,\" she said.\n\nRamona smiled. She had perfect blond hair and white, white teeth, and was extremely flexible. \"Hi,\" she said, with her head down almost to her right thigh.\n\nLibby, who couldn't even touch her toes and hadn't been able to since high school, hated her.\n\n\"How are things going?\" Libby asked. General questions were always best in situations like this, her dad had taught her.\n\n\"Good. We're all going to the Haunted House tonight. Which waffles would you recommend?\"\n\n\"The pumpkin ones are my favorite,\" Libby replied promptly. \"But lots of people like the chocolate ones.\"\n\nRamona switched to her left thigh and held the stretch for a moment. \"This class makes me feel so alive.\"\n\n\"Me too,\" Libby lied as she followed Ramona's lead. What it really made her feel was sorer than anything she'd ever done.\n\nA moment later Ramona put her left arm up, bent it toward the middle of her back, and grasped her right arm with it. Libby did likewise. She could hear her shoulder pop. She ignored it. All the same, it wasn't a good sign.\n\nRamona looked around the room for a moment, then scooched closer to Libby and whispered, \"Did you really find Amethyst's head?\"\n\nLibby nodded. She had an idea that this wasn't exactly yoga-class discussion material.\n\n\"It must have been horrible,\" Ramona said.\n\n\"It was.\"\n\n\"You know my brother knew her,\" Ramona continued as she stretched out her other shoulder.\n\n\"Yeah. He told me they used to hang out back in the day,\" Libby lied again.\n\nRamona set her mouth in a thin line.\n\nLibby waited. Ramona remained silent.\n\n\"He didn't seem that sorry,\" Libby ventured after it became obvious that Ramona wasn't going to say anything else.\n\nRamona snorted and worked her legs into a lotus position. Libby tried to emulate her and failed. Her calves didn't seem to want to do that.\n\n\"I don't think anyone is that sorry about Amethyst,\" Ramona observed. \"Are you?\"\n\n\"Not really,\" Libby confessed.\n\n\"Exactly my point.\"\n\n\"But I thought she and your brother were friends.\"\n\n\"Zachery thought they were friends, too,\" Ramona said.\n\n\"So what happened?\"\n\n\"What happened?\" Ramona repeated. She took a deep breath and let it out. \"What happened was that Amethyst didn't have any friends. She had people she used, and she had people she was going to use.\"\n\n\"You don't sound like a big fan of hers, either.\"\n\n\"I'm not.\"\n\nLibby started to lean over to ask Ramona why, but the instructor stared at her, brought her hands together, gave a slight bow, and chirped, \"Namaste.\"\n\n\"Namaste,\" the class replied.\n\nLibby took a deep breath. Her questions would have to wait. Class was beginning.\n\nForty-five minutes later it was over, and Libby was still smarting from having gotten stuck in the lotus position. Life was so unfair. She'd finally managed to get herself into the stupid position, and then she couldn't get herself out of it. She closed her eyes and tried to blot out the memory of her tipping over and falling into Ramona. Someone else might have laughed. Ramona hadn't. What she had done was look very annoyed.\n\n\"It will get better in time,\" the instructor murmured in her ear as Libby walked by her. \"You just have to practice, practice, practice. Remember if at first you don't succeed...\"\n\nLibby nodded. Could you get any more clich\u00e9d, she wondered. She didn't feel it necessary to tell the instructor there wasn't going to be a next time. She had four more classes. Maybe Bernie would like to go in her place.\n\nSo much for self-improvement, Libby thought as she walked out of the class. Aside from publicly humiliating herself, she'd learned absolutely nothing about Timberland, and now she was behind schedule at the shop. She was standing by her van, eating a piece of dark chocolate and thinking about the costume Bernie wanted her to wear this evening\u2014she was not going as a bowl of Special K!\u2014when she saw Ramona walk to her car. She was talking on her cell and making angry gestures in the air with her free hand. Okay, Libby decided. Maybe I should give this one more try. After all, what did she have to lose?\n\nEven though Ramona was half turned away from her, as she got closer, Libby could hear Ramona saying, \"Listen, Madison, don't do this. No. I don't have an address to send a card. Neither does your dad. And for heaven's sake, don't ask him. He doesn't need any more aggravation. I mean it, Madison.\"\n\nLibby bit her lip. Madison was the name of Timberland's daughter. Someone had been talking about her recently. As she was trying to remember who it was, she watched Ramona glare at her phone.\n\n\"Great,\" Ramona muttered under her breath as she flipped the phone closed and shoved it in her bag. She gave a little jump as she spotted Libby, but quickly recovered. \"Just be happy you don't have kids,\" she said to Libby. \"Even if they aren't yours, they're an epic pain in the ass.\"\n\n\"Can I ask you a question?\" Libby inquired.\n\nRamona looked at her. \"That depends on what it is.\"\n\nThis time Libby got right down to it. \"It's about why your brother disliked Amethyst.\"\n\nRamona put her hand on the door handle of her Caddy Escalade. \"Everyone disliked Amethyst. We already discussed that.\"\n\n\"But your brother seems to have a special reason.\"\n\nRamona threw Libby what her father would have called a measuring glance and said, \"Go ask him.\"\n\n\"You were going to tell me back in class.\"\n\n\"Maybe I've changed my mind.\"\n\n\"Because you think that your brother had a motive to kill Amethyst?\"\n\nRamona composed her mouth into a shocked O, only Libby wasn't buying it. Too much drama. \"Heavens no. What a terrible thing to say.\"\n\n\"Then why won't you tell me?\"\n\nRamona shrugged again. \"Because it's none of your business.\"\n\n\"True,\" Libby told her. \"It isn't. But the fact that you're not answering me will make other people curious.\"\n\n\"And I should care why?\"\n\nGood question. Libby improvised. \"The police will care,\" she said.\n\n\"You'll have to do better than that,\" Ramona said. \"The police already arrested Bob Small. They're not interested in me.\"\n\n\"How about if we make a deal,\" Libby said.\n\nRamona arched one of her perfectly tweezed eyebrows. \"Which would be?\"\n\n\"You tell me what I want to know, and I'll never come to your yoga class again.\"\n\nRamona burst out laughing. \"Good. But not good enough.\" Ramona's phone started ringing again. She took it out, looked at it, and grimaced. \"Madison,\" she said.\n\nAnd all of a sudden, Libby remembered where she'd heard the name. It was from Amber, one of the kids that worked in her place.\n\n\"She's your niece, isn't she?\" Libby said.\n\nRamona raised her eyebrow again.\n\n\"One of the girls who works for us went to school with her,\" said Libby.\n\nRamona didn't say anything.\n\n\"She was telling me about her. She dropped out of school.\"\n\nRamona sighed. \"It's not that big of a deal. Lots of kids drop out.\"\n\nLibby closed her eyes for a moment and concentrated on remembering the details of what Amber had said. \"But she was at the head of the class. Number one. Editor of the school newspaper. Varsity track. Student council president. Had been admitted to Yale. People like that don't usually do that type of thing.\"\n\n\"Who knows what kids will do these days?\" Ramona said, trying to sound casual and failing, as she opened the door of the Escalade and tossed her yoga mat into the backseat.\n\n\"Still, you have to admit it's pretty unusual.\"\n\nRamona shrugged.\n\n\"Your brother must have had a fit.\"\n\n\"It's true he was very disappointed. Everyone in the family was. He thought she was going to Yale and then on to law school. But what can you do.\"\n\n\"I guess not much,\" Libby said.\n\n\"If she wants to work as a waitress down in the city, that's her business. I'm hoping that eventually she'll come to her senses. And now, if you're through, I have to get back to my house. My cleaning people will be there shortly....\"\n\nLibby raised a finger. \"Just one more thing. Amber said all this happened because your niece had an affair with an older woman, and she dropped your niece in a particularly not nice way.\" Judging from Ramona's expression, Libby knew that what Amber had told her was correct. \"And,\" Libby said, making the logical leap, \"I'm betting the person she had an affair with was Amethyst.\"\n\nRamona blinked.\n\n\"It was, wasn't it?\"\n\nLibby watched Ramona's hand come up and finger the heart-shaped locket she wore around her neck.\n\n\"So what if it was?\" Ramona snapped. \"That's no reason for my brother to kill her. Other kids end up a lot worse off. If you want someone who had a reason to kill Amethyst, talk to Bob Small or Inez.\" With that, Ramona got in her vehicle and drove off, missing Libby by inches.\n\n\"Maybe it's not a great reason,\" Libby said to herself as she walked back to her van, \"but it's good enough.\"\n\nEspecially these days, when more and more parents are living through their children.\n\n## Chapter 17\n\nLibby looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. It read twenty minutes past eleven. Great. Only an hour and a half behind schedule. She had to get the Rogets' birthday cake done before three, as well as the chicken curry for the Mathers' party, which meant she might not be able to make the two apple pies for the Haunted House, which she hadn't gotten to last night.\n\nFortunately, she had a couple of lemon tarts in the freezer. They might not be very Halloweeny, but it was the best she could do. And she had made the black cat cookies, so they were ahead there.\n\nShe wiped her spatula off and went back to the pumpkin chocolate cake she was icing. This time she'd used a different kind of chocolate, one with a lower butterfat content, and the icing was not as shiny as she would have liked.\n\nShe was thinking about complaining to her supplier, who'd told her the results would be the same, when her dad darted in, came up behind her, scooped up a taste from the bowl with the icing in it, and ate it.\n\n\"Stop that,\" Libby ordered.\n\nSean grinned. \"But it's so good, it's hard to resist.\"\n\n\"I wish it looked better.\"\n\n\"It looks fine,\" Sean assured his daughter as he finished licking the teaspoon. \"And it tastes even better. After all, as your mom used to say, 'The proof is in the eating.'\"\n\n\"Yeah. But Mom didn't have the Food Channel to contend with.\"\n\n\"True,\" Sean allowed as he stared wistfully at the icing.\n\n\"You can have the bowl when I'm done,\" Libby told him, and then she told her dad what she'd found out from Ramona.\n\n\"Interesting,\" Sean said. \"Maybe that's not the best motive, but it's certainly up there. If someone had done something like that to you, I'd want to kill them.\"\n\n\"Kill who?\" Bernie asked as she stepped into the kitchen.\n\nLibby explained.\n\n\"I guess it's a motive,\" Bernie said as she poured herself a cup of coffee and added cream and sugar.\n\nLibby drew her spatula across the icing on top of the cake to even it out. \"Amber said Madison's dad was livid when he found out. Timberland wanted to press charges, but his wife told him she'd divorce him if he did. Of course, she left him, anyway.\"\n\n\"And this was how long ago?\" Sean asked.\n\n\"A couple of years,\" said Libby.\n\nSean put the spoon in the sink. \"So once more we come to the question, why now?\"\n\n\"Opportunity?\" Bernie said.\n\nSean shook his head. \"That might apply to Bob Small, but not to Timberland. At least not as far as I can see.\"\n\n\"None of this makes any sense,\" Libby complained.\n\n\"We're missing information,\" Sean said. \"We have too much on the one hand and not enough on the other.\"\n\nBernie flicked a piece of lint from her turtleneck sweater. \"And what about Banks's murder?\"\n\n\"The one that doesn't have anything to do with Amethyst's?\" her dad said.\n\n\"Yes. That one,\" said Bernie.\n\n\"We have even less on that one. Except for the fact that Amethyst was going to go see him, we have nothing to link the two events,\" said Sean.\n\nLibby put her spatula down.\n\n\"It's kind of like trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle blindfolded,\" said Sean.\n\n\"Good analogy,\" Bernie said, and she leaned over and gave her dad a peck on the cheek. \"I'm off to check something at the historical society, and then I'm going to see if I can talk to Inez.\"\n\n\"When will you be back?\" Libby asked.\n\n\"In a couple of hours,\" said Bernie as she eyed her sister's baggy sweatpants and stretched-out T-shirt. \"Is that what you wore to yoga class?\"\n\nLibby put her hands on her hips. \"So what if it is?\"\n\n\"I didn't say anything,\" Bernie mumbled.\n\n\"But you were thinking it,\" said Libby.\n\n\"What was I thinking?\" Bernie asked.\n\n\"That I look like a mess,\" said Libby.\n\n\"You're always so defensive,\" Bernie protested.\n\nThe comment only made Libby more annoyed, because it was true. She was. But Bernie couldn't possibly understand how she felt. She always looked perfect. Then, to make things worse, Bernie reached over and patted her sister on the shoulder. \"We'll find you a nice costume for tonight.\"\n\nLike I'm a little kid, Libby thought resentfully. \"I am not going as a bowl of cereal!\"\n\n\"That was a joke,\" Bernie insisted.\n\n\"It didn't sound like a joke to me,\" Libby told her.\n\n\"Well, it was,\" said Bernie. She took a sip of her coffee and walked toward the door. \"Wish me luck,\" she called.\n\nAs Sean watched her go, he wanted to tell her that he'd changed his mind and she didn't need to go to the historical society, after all. Then he realized that her visit didn't preclude his later in the day. He could ask Jeanine about the stills on the View-Master Bernie had been handed by Felicity Huffer. Somehow he felt better. He was thinking about why that was when a horn beeped outside. His ride was here. It was time to go.\n\n\"That must be Marvin,\" Sean informed his daughter as he put on his rain jacket. \"We're off to talk to Bob Small.\"\n\nLibby reached over and gave her dad two cinnamon spice cupcakes with mocha icing. \"For the road,\" she said.\n\nSean handed one to Marvin as soon as he got in the car. \"Eat it now,\" he instructed.\n\nThe idea of Marvin eating and driving at the same time didn't bear thinking about. When Marvin was done, Sean said, \"Bob Small's house.\"\n\nMarvin turned to him. \"And that would be where?\"\n\n\"I thought you were supposed to look up the address.\"\n\n\"I thought you were.\"\n\n\"How would I know where he's living?\"\n\n\"I thought you knew everything.\"\n\nSean glared at Marvin for a moment. A year ago he would never have said something like that. He was definitely getting entirely too comfortable. When Sean judged that he'd conveyed his displeasure, he reached for his cell phone. Ten minutes later, he'd gotten the address from Clyde. As Marvin pulled away from the curb, Sean realized that he'd forgotten to bring the tapes that Konrad and Curtis had brought him. He was annoyed with himself, but not so annoyed that he was going to go back and get them.\n\nAccording to Clyde, Bob Small was renting a place on the outskirts of Longely, about two blocks away from the train station\u2014which was as slummy an area as Longely possessed. It was damp and chilly in the car, and Sean wished Marvin would put the heat on, but he wasn't going to ask because, one, he was still annoyed with him and, two, that would be admitting he was cold. Instead, he concentrated on the scenery going by. Every other house had a skeleton hanging in the window or a group of tombstones in the yard.\n\nThey looked sad in the rain, Sean thought. The day was dark and gloomy, making them appear as if they were in a netherworld. He was still thinking that when they got to Bob Small's house. The word that occurred to him when he saw it was shack. It had taken Marvin a moment to find it because it was hidden in the alley behind the dry cleaners. The place was a two-story house covered in asphalt shingles. A blue tarp was tied around the front part of the roof, presumably to fend off leaks. If there had ever been paint on the windowsills and the doors, it had vanished a long time ago.\n\nAs Sean studied the place, he couldn't help thinking of Bob's former house. It had been a good-sized Colonial on a half acre of carefully tended lawn, with a swimming pool and a gazebo and a four-car garage. And then there had been the wife and the two kids that had lived in that house, not to mention the two golden retrievers. As Bernie would say, Bob had had the sweet life, and now, because of Amethyst, he had nothing. The woman had cost Bob Small everything that had mattered. If there was a better motive for murder, Sean couldn't think of one.\n\n\"What are you thinking?\" Marvin asked as he brought his car to a stop in front of the house.\n\n\"I'm thinking that if I had to live here, I would want to kill the person who put me here.\" Sean nodded at the van parked by the side of the house. \"It looks as if the Kurtz boys are here.\"\n\n\"You want to come back another time?\" Marvin asked.\n\nSean shook his head. \"No. No. It'll be fine.\"\n\n\"Your call,\" Marvin said as he turned off his vehicle and pocketed the key. \"Tell me, do you believe in Bessie at all?\"\n\nSean laughed. \"People keep asking me that, and I keep saying I don't, but I gotta tell you, the way things are progressing, she could just as easily have done this as anyone else. How about you?\"\n\n\"No ghosts for me.\"\n\nBut there was something about the way Marvin said it that made Sean turn and look at him. \"Is there something you're not telling me?\" he asked.\n\n\"Not at all,\" Marvin said and got out of the car.\n\nSean watched Marvin go around the car to help him out. He wasn't convinced that Marvin was telling him the truth, but he decided to let it go for now. At that moment he had to concentrate on getting from the car to the top of the steps. The ground leading to the steps looked uneven, and it was probably more so because of the rain. In addition, the two steps up to Bob Small's apartment were sagging in the middle, and there was no banister to hang on to.\n\nThis is what he hated more than anything, he reflected as Marvin helped him out of the car. Being dependent on someone. Sometimes things were okay, and other times they weren't, and the hell of it was he never knew what was going to happen. He shook off those thoughts. They were of no use whatsoever. He should take a leaf from Rose's book and look on the bright side of things. Of course, if he could do that, Sean concluded, he wouldn't have been a cop. Cops never looked on the bright side of things. They were paid to be suspicious.\n\nHe was just thinking about where to put his foot on the step when the door flew open. \"See,\" Curtis Kurtz said to Bob Small. \"I told you, you didn't have to call him. I told you he'd be here.\" He turned to Sean. \"We have more recordings. Bessie lied the last time. Remember she said she did it. Only she didn't. She just said that because she wanted to.\"\n\nSean made the second step. \"I didn't know that ghosts lied.\"\n\n\"Ghosts do and feel everything that people do,\" Curtis told him.\n\n\"I didn't realize that. So who did it?\" Sean asked as Konrad Kurtz closed the door and took their rain gear.\n\n\"She's not telling us yet,\" Konrad said and hung the rain gear up on two pegs sprouting out of the hall wall. \"But don't you worry. We have a few tricks up our sleeve. We'll get it out of her. Also, we have her new recordings. You can hear for yourself.\"\n\nSean looked from one brother to the other. \"You know, guys,\" he said, \"what I really need is a large coffee and two chocolate glazed doughnuts from Dunkin' Donuts. It'll help me concentrate better.\"\n\nSean watched Curtis and Konrad exchange glances.\n\n\"That's a ways away,\" Konrad said.\n\n\"Fifteen minutes,\" Sean said.\n\n\"Maybe twenty with construction,\" Curtis corrected.\n\n\"Each way,\" Konrad added. \"That's forty minutes.\"\n\nSean smiled. \"Which would be the amount of time I need to talk to Bob.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Konrad. \"Why didn't you say that?\"\n\n\"I just did,\" said Sean.\n\nCurtis frowned. \"So you don't want to listen to the tapes?\"\n\n\"I do,\" Sean said. \"But let's listen to them when you come back.\"\n\n\"Do you really want the coffee?\" Konrad asked.\n\nSean thought for a moment. \"If it's not too much trouble, I do. And change the chocolate glazed to maple frosted doughnuts.\"\n\n\"You got it,\" Konrad said.\n\nAs Marvin and Bob gave their orders to Curtis and Konrad, Sean took a quick look around the living room. The place was just as depressing on the inside as it was on the outside. It smelled of old clothes, garbage that needed to be taken out, and rotting wood mixed with a faint undertone of cat urine. Two of the legs on the sofa by the far wall were broken, making the sofa lean alarmingly toward the floor, while the chair next to it had a broken arm. Sean's eyes moved to the print hanging next to the lamp. It was a print of Van Gogh's Irises.\n\n\"It's the only thing I brought from home,\" Bob said, following Sean's glance. Then he gestured around the living room. \"Nice place, huh?\"\n\nSean couldn't see any place to sit, so he leaned against the wall.\n\n\"Lovely,\" Sean replied. \"You should take the other two legs off the sofa.\"\n\n\"I'm thinking about it. Maybe I will one of these days.\" Bob curled his lips into a bad imitation of a smile. \"Yeah. I can't wait to come home every night.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't either.\"\n\nOut of the corner of his eye, Sean saw Marvin walk into another room. Sean was just about to ask him where he was going when he reappeared, with a kitchen chair. Sean sank into it gratefully. He didn't stand well anymore.\n\nBob went and sat on the lower end of the sofa, while Marvin leaned against the wall.\n\n\"So,\" Bob said, \"how are things going?\"\n\n\"In relation to your case? Not well,\" replied Sean.\n\n\"How come?\" asked Bob.\n\n\"Because you have a motive and you had opportunity,\" said Sean.\n\n\"But I didn't do it,\" Bob protested. \"I'm the fall guy.\"\n\n\"That's not what the DA thinks,\" said Sean.\n\n\"My lawyer thinks the case is circumstantial,\" said Bob.\n\n\"Really?\"\n\n\"Yes. Really.\"\n\n\"He used those actual words?\"\n\n\"Not exactly,\" Bob mumbled.\n\n\"That's what I thought.\" In Sean's experience, the DA didn't usually charge people unless he thought he had a good chance of getting a conviction.\n\n\"I'm so glad you came around,\" Bob said. \"You've really cheered me up.\"\n\n\"Do I detect a note of sarcasm?\"\n\n\"Just a touch.\"\n\n\"Listen, all I'm saying is in order to talk to the DA, we have to present him with evidence that someone else did this, or at least outline a plausible scenario, which I haven't come across so far.\"\n\n\"Everyone else's motive is just as good as mine. Look at what happened to Inez, for example. She lost everything, just like me,\" Bob replied.\n\n\"But she wasn't in the room next to Amethyst's.\"\n\n\"She was in the building.\"\n\n\"She was next door,\" said Sean.\n\n\"There's supposed to be a passageway that runs between the buildings.\"\n\nSean leaned forward. \"Mark says it's been closed off.\"\n\n\"Bessie says it hasn't,\" said Bob.\n\nSean managed to bite his tongue.\n\nBob shifted his weight to try to get more comfortable on the sofa, a feat Sean judged impossible.\n\n\"Anyway,\" Bob continued, \"how could I get out of where I was? I couldn't.\"\n\n\"Marvin and I are going to check that out again after we leave here,\" said Sean.\n\n\"We are?\" Marvin said.\n\n\"Yes, we are,\" Sean told him before turning his attention back to Bob Small. \"Maybe you killed Amethyst before you got into that space.\"\n\n\"I was in that hole in the ceiling for hours,\" said Bob. \"I needed to pee, and I couldn't get down to do that. Go check with Mark.\"\n\n\"Was he there with you all the time?\" asked Sean.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Then he's not a good alibi for you, and for all I know, you may have had an accomplice,\" Sean said, even though he doubted it.\n\n\"Like who?\"\n\n\"I don't know. You tell me.\"\n\nBob glared at him. \"This is ridiculous. Konrad and Curtis said you'd help me,\" he protested.\n\n\"I am,\" Sean insisted.\n\n\"This is your idea of help?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Sean rubbed his forehead with his hand. \"I need to cover all the possibilities so I can dispute them. Speaking of which, who sprang for your bail?\" It was not that he didn't know; he wanted to hear what Bob had to say.\n\nBob smiled for the first time. \"Mark did.\"\n\n\"Interesting. Did he say how come?\" asked Sean.\n\n\"Because he didn't think I did it.\"\n\n\"He told Libby he thought you had.\"\n\n\"My cousins went to talk to him and changed his mind. I mean, no one else was going to put up money for me. Ever since I got sentenced to Allenwood, no one in my family, except for Curtis and Konrad and a cousin who works as a manager at Burger King, will talk to me.\"\n\nMarvin coughed. Sean glanced at him.\n\n\"You're lucky,\" Marvin said to Bob. \"Not many people would be so nice.\"\n\n\"I know,\" Bob replied. \"He believes in giving people a second chance. Do you want to hear Curtis and Konrad's new tapes?\"\n\n\"Won't they be upset if you monkey around with their machine?\" Sean asked.\n\nBob shook his head. \"I don't see why. I know how to run it. The tapes are pretty interesting.\"\n\n\"So you could hear voices?\" Sean asked.\n\n\"Not voices,\" Bob corrected. \"Bessie.\"\n\n\"Really,\" Sean said.\n\n\"Well, you have to listen real hard,\" Bob allowed, \"but she's there.\" And he got up and went into the other room to get the tapes.\n\nMarvin and Sean looked at each other.\n\n\"He's probably delusional,\" Marvin whispered. \"I understand stress can do that to people.\"\n\nAt last, Sean thought, he and Marvin had found a point they could agree on.\n\n\"At first you don't hear anything,\" Bob said as he turned the machine on, \"except this noise that reminds me of the metal shop. But then\u2014\"\n\n\"You worked in a metal shop?\" Sean interrupted.\n\n\"Yeah. At Allenwood. They taught me how to weld, They've got a really good shop there, with all the latest tools. Why are you asking?\"\n\nSean shrugged. \"No particular reason. Just making conversation.\"\n\n\"I wish I liked doing it better. You can make a lot of money,\" said Bob.\n\n\"I hear it's tough,\" Sean said. \"But then if it wasn't, it wouldn't be paying well.\"\n\n\"True,\" Bob said, and he put a finger on his lips. \"Sssh. Here comes Bessie.\"\n\nSean leaned forward and listened. All he heard was more static. Not that he was listening that carefully. His mind was preoccupied with something else.\n\n\"That was interesting,\" Sean said to Marvin when they were sitting in Marvin's vehicle again, eating the doughnuts and sipping the coffee that Curtis and Konrad had brought back.\n\n\"Are you talking about the tapes?\" Marvin asked as he put the key in the ignition. \"Because I didn't hear anything.\"\n\n\"No. I'm talking about the fact that Bob Small worked in a welding shop.\"\n\n\"So?\" Marvin asked.\n\n\"So that means he probably knows about fiber-optic laser wire. Remember I told you they use it to cut metal.\"\n\nSean sat back and closed his eyes. He thought better that way.\n\n## Chapter 18\n\nBernie parked the van as close to the front of the historical society as she could get, turned off the ignition, and got out of the vehicle. There was no need to lock it, because no one would possibly want to steal it. As she hurried toward the door, she wondered what she'd been thinking when she decided to wear her suede over-the-knee boots on a day like today. Even though she'd put that waterproofing stuff on them that the salesman had recommended, in her experience, it never worked that well, especially not on suede.\n\nThe historical society was nice and warm. Cozy was the word that popped into Bernie's head. Jeanine was sitting by the front desk, staring at the seven bags of candy laid out on it.\n\n\"You got the good stuff,\" Bernie observed as she got close enough to see the kind of candy it was.\n\nShe still remembered getting two large 3 Musketeers Bars plus a Snickers bar from Mrs. Steinberg's mother when she was in the fourth grade. It had been her best score ever, and despite her mother's warning, she'd eaten all three candy bars when she'd gotten home. Much to her mother's dismay, she hadn't gotten sick, either.\n\nJeanine looked up at her and grinned. \"This is what comes from living in a house where my mom gave out apples each year.\"\n\n\"The kids couldn't have been happy.\"\n\n\"They weren't. We got TP'ed a lot. You think this will be enough?\"\n\n\"Depends on the weather.\"\n\n\"I just don't want to be stuck eating it all.\"\n\nBernie laughed. \"The mini bars are the worst.\"\n\n\"Yeah. Every time you go by the bowl, you take just one or two, and by the end of the day, the whole bowl is gone.\"\n\n\"There's always the freezer,\" Bernie suggested.\n\n\"That doesn't help someone with a major sweet tooth.\"\n\nBernie thought of Libby. \"No. I guess it wouldn't.\"\n\n\"So what brings you here? Did your dad want his View-Master back?\"\n\n\"No. He's coming for that himself.\" Was that a smile on Jeanine's face? Bernie wasn't sure. \"I'm here because I know you have a whole mass of old letters, and I'm wondering if I could take a quick look through them just to make sure there's nothing pertaining to Bessie Osgood.\"\n\n\"I'm pretty sure there isn't, but I'll make us some tea,\" Jeanine said. \"And then we'll get started.\"\n\n\"You don't have to help,\" Bernie said.\n\n\"I know I don't, but I'd like to.\" Jeanine gestured around the room. \"It's not as if I'm exactly busy.\"\n\nFive minutes later Jeanine came out, bearing a tray with two bone china teacups, a teapot, sugar and cream, and a plate of gingersnaps.\n\n\"Rosenthal,\" Bernie said, looking at the pattern.\n\n\"My mother's,\" Jeanine said as she poured the tea.\n\nBernie took a sip. It was Indian. Oolong. The two women sat there for a few minutes, savoring their tea, before Jeanine said, \"So how's the case coming?\"\n\nBernie shook her head. \"Could be better.\"\n\n\"That's what I figured.\"\n\n\"Did you find anything with the View-Master?\"\n\nNow it was Jeanine's turn to shake her head. \"If there's anything there, I don't see it. There were just multiple shots from out the second-story windows. It's probably Felicity's idea of a joke.\"\n\n\"Maybe I should go back and ask her,\" Bernie mused, even though talking to Felicity again was not what she wanted to do. Their last conversation had made Bernie feel as if she was standing in front of Mr. Steiffer's math class, and he was saying to her, \"Just look at the board, and tell me the answer. It isn't that difficult.\" But it was to her.\n\nJeanine delicately placed her cup on her saucer. \"You can't ask her. She's in the hospital.\"\n\n\"With what?\"\n\n\"She had a stroke. At this point, she can't use the left side of her body or talk.\"\n\nBernie let out a long sigh. \"My father says getting old sucks.\"\n\n\"It certainly does,\" Jeanine replied. \"Although your dad doesn't seem to be doing too badly in that department.\"\n\nBernie gave her a speculative look. \"He can be a real pain in the ass sometimes.\"\n\n\"I figured,\" Jeanine said.\n\nShe and Jeanine exchanged a woman-to-woman smile.\n\n\"Just so you know,\" Bernie told her while reaching over and grabbing a gingersnap. She took a bite and let the cookie dissolve on her tongue. \"Ready?\" she said when she was done eating.\n\n\"Ready,\" Jeanine answered.\n\nThe two women stood up and moved to the room where the letters\u2014officially called ephemera\u2014were kept. Unlike the other rooms, this one was bare except for the three- and four-drawer file cabinets that lined the wall. A square wooden table sat in the center of the room.\n\n\"The chairs aren't very comfortable,\" Jeanine noted as she went over to the file cabinet on the left. \"But I can't get money to replace them. Everyone wants things done, but they don't want to pay for them.\" She laughed. \"But I'm going to stay off that topic. Otherwise, I'll be talking about it all day. Fortunately,\" she told Bernie, \"I've gone through two of the file cabinets and put them in order, so I know that nothing is misfiled. That leaves us just two to go over.\" And she opened the top drawer of the farthest file cabinet on her left and pulled out three bulging files. \"Here you go,\" she said as she put them in front of Bernie.\n\nBernie eyed the files for a moment before gingerly opening up the first folder. \"Are they in any particular order?\" she asked hopefully.\n\n\"Not that I know of,\" Jeanine said. \"Organization wasn't my predecessor's strong point.\"\n\n\"Wonderful,\" Bernie muttered as she started leafing through the papers.\n\nBy the time she was done, her back was aching, her eyes were burning, and she had a headache. She'd found nothing about Bessie Osgood, but she had found a small item from the local newspaper about the closing of the Peabody School.\n\nBernie sat back in her chair and read it aloud. \"Today, George Marak, headmaster of the Peabody School, has announced that it is with profound regret that he and the Board of Directors of the Peabody School have come to the painful decision to close the school by the end of the semester.\" Bernie looked up. \"There's no mention of Marak killing himself.\"\n\n\"That happened a week later.\"\n\n\"Did the paper do a follow-up?\"\n\n\"I believe they called the suicide an unfortunate accident.\"\n\n\"You could say that.\" Bernie was silent for a moment. Then she said, \"Of course, they called Bessie Osgood's murder an unfortunate accident, too.\"\n\n\"Well, don't forget that in those days people used euphemisms. Suicides were unfortunate accidents, and girls didn't have babies out of wedlock. They went on extended trips to Europe. And married couples slept in separate beds.\"\n\nBernie put the article back in the folder. \"That place really does have bad karma.\"\n\nJeanine stretched. \"So it would seem.\"\n\n\"I wonder why the article is here?\"\n\nJeanine shrugged. \"I guess someone must have thought it was of interest. I really don't know why. As far as I can see, the things in these cabinets are random pieces of stuff, most of which should be thrown out.\"\n\n\"Then why don't you?\"\n\n\"Because I'm afraid that the moment I do, it will turn out that I've thrown out some irreplaceable document.\"\n\nBernie laughed and got up. \"Isn't that always the way.\"\n\n\"Well, it is in my life.\" Jeanine pointed to the folder. \"Here. Take the article with you, and show it to your dad, not that there is anything in it he doesn't already know.\"\n\n\"Are you sure?\"\n\n\"Of course, I'm sure. That's one piece of paper out of here.\"\n\n\"I'll send my dad over with some cupcakes for you,\" Bernie told her.\n\nJeanine patted her hips. \"Just what I need.\"\n\nBernie tucked the article in her bag, thanked Jeanine for all her help, and walked outside.\n\nIt had stopped raining, but the sky was overcast, and the air was cold and damp. Bernie buttoned up her jacket and headed for her vehicle. She'd just gotten behind the wheel when her cell rang. It was Brandon.\n\n\"No. I can't do a matinee,\" she said.\n\nBrandon laughed. \"Don't flatter yourself.\"\n\n\"Very nice. See what you get the next time you ask.\"\n\n\"I'm irresistible. You can't say no to me.\"\n\n\"Talk about misplaced ego.\"\n\n\"Seriously, I'm calling because Inez is here, drinking away.\"\n\n\"I'll be right over,\" Bernie told him.\n\n\"And can you be a sweetie and stop on the way and get me some sugarless gum? I'm all out.\"\n\n\"I'll think about it,\" Bernie said before she clicked off. But, of course, Brandon knew that she would.\n\nIncluding the stop at the gas station to pick up Brandon's gum, it took Bernie fifteen minutes to get to R.J.'s. The place was uncharacteristically empty, except for Inez, who was hunched over her drink at the bar, in the corner farthest from the door.\n\n\"She's been here for the last thirty minutes,\" Brandon told Bernie sotto voce.\n\nBernie nodded as she assessed Inez out of the corner of her eye. She wasn't wearing any make-up, which made the bruise on her jaw stand out. From its purplish color, Bernie judged it was two days old at the most.\n\nThen there was Inez's hair. Bernie shook her head as she contemplated it. It was orange, the obvious result of a bad dye job, and to make matters worse, tufts were sticking out in various directions. It looked as if Inez hadn't taken a comb to it in two or three days. How anyone could do that to themselves, Bernie couldn't imagine. The stained denim jacket over the grey sweatshirt Inez was wearing didn't do anything to help the situation.\n\nBernie turned toward Brandon. \"Well,\" she told him, \"she certainly doesn't look in good shape.\"\n\n\"She's not,\" Brandon said.\n\n\"Is she drunk?\"\n\n\"No. But she's getting there fast. Can I get you anything?\"\n\nBernie grabbed a handful of peanuts and started shelling them. \"A Coke will be fine.\"\n\nA moment later Brandon was back with a Coke. Bernie grabbed it and drifted down to where Inez was sitting.\n\n\"Hi,\" Bernie said as she sat down next to Inez.\n\nInez glared at her. \"What do you want?\" she demanded.\n\nBernie cracked open a peanut and tossed the nut into her mouth. \"Are you okay?\" she asked after she'd swallowed.\n\n\"I'm fine.\"\n\n\"Because it doesn't seem to me as if you are.\"\n\nInez stared into her beer for a moment and then took a drink. \"Well, I am.\"\n\n\"What happened to your face?\"\n\nInez touched the side of her jaw, realized what she was doing, and quickly put her hand back on the bar. \"I fell.\"\n\n\"Are you sure no one hit you?\"\n\nBernie couldn't read the fleeting expression that ran across Inez's face. Was it anger? Sorrow? Pleasure that someone cared enough to ask? All of them? None of them? Bernie didn't know.\n\nThen Inez frowned. \"I got drunk, and I fell off the sofa and hit the edge of the coffee table on the way down. Satisfied?\"\n\nBernie took a sip of her Coke. \"Not really, but if that's what you say happened, then that's what happened.\"\n\n\"That's what I say happened.\" Inez took a gulp of her beer and slammed the glass down on the bar. \"Ian is a putz. You know that?\"\n\nBernie ate another peanut and put the shell on top of a napkin. \"Why is Ian a putz?\"\n\n\"Because he fired me.\"\n\nBernie didn't say anything.\n\n\"I had a doctor's note, too. What am I going to do now?\" Inez demanded. \"Who's going to hire me?\"\n\n\"No one if you don't pull yourself together,\" Bernie told her.\n\nInez gulped down the rest of her beer and signaled Brandon to bring another one. As he went to get it, a man and a woman came in and sat down near the door. The couple was laughing and joking. Inez looked at them with hungry eyes. After a minute or so, she wrenched her eyes away.\n\n\"We used to be like that before Amethyst,\" Inez said wistfully.\n\nBernie knew Inez was talking about herself and her husband.\n\n\"We were really happy together,\" Inez added. She watched while Brandon set her Coors down in front of her and moved on to the new customers. She poured it into her glass and took a big swallow. \"Really happy. We liked each other.\"\n\n\"Is that why you killed Amethyst?\"\n\nInez wiped her lips off with the back of her hand. \"A lot you know. Why would I kill her?\"\n\n\"Because she destroyed your life? You just said as much.\"\n\n\"Yeah. She did. But I was making her pay.\"\n\nInteresting, Bernie thought as she took another sip of her Coke. \"Is that right? And how were you doing that?\"\n\n\"You don't believe me?\" Inez said.\n\n\"Well, it's a little hard to imagine.\"\n\n\"You think she was smarter than I was?\"\n\n\"Well...\"\n\n\"Even with my drinking, I'm still smarter then she was,\" Inez growled. \"Better looking, too.\"\n\n\"I don't believe it,\" Bernie said, egging Inez on.\n\n\"That I was better looking?\"\n\n\"No. That's true.\" Bernie remembered when Inez used to come into the shop.\n\n\"I had a better body.\"\n\n\"That's true.\"\n\n\"And I dressed better.\"\n\n\"I'm not disputing that. It's the intelligence part.\"\n\nInez looked outraged. \"Hey, I have a master's in remote sensing.\"\n\n\"True, but I'm not talking about that kind of intelligence.\"\n\nInez gave Bernie a beery, conspiratorial smile. \"She was a sneaky little bitch, wasn't she?\"\n\nBernie popped another peanut into her mouth. \"In a word, yes.\"\n\n\"But I found out something she didn't want anyone to know.\"\n\n\"Really?\" Bernie hoped that she had conveyed just the right amount of disbelief.\n\n\"Yes. Really. Amethyst was moving, and she didn't want anyone to know. But I knew.\"\n\n\"How did you know?\"\n\n\"I heard her talking.\"\n\nBernie maintained a skeptical expression.\n\n\"It's true. I did,\" Inez insisted.\n\n\"Where? While you were cleaning the bathroom?\"\n\nA crafty expression stole over Inez's face. \"Never you mind.\"\n\nBernie ate another peanut. \"In the supermarket? The garden store? Probably not.\" Bernie contemplated the options some more. \"Did you clean her house?\"\n\nInez looked at her in astonishment.\n\n\"You cleaned her house? I don't believe it,\" said Bernie.\n\n\"Believe it,\" Inez snarled.\n\n\"Given the circumstances, I find that hard to believe.\"\n\n\"I don't want to talk to you anymore,\" Inez said and gulped her drink.\n\n\"Come on,\" Bernie told her. \"You have to give me credit for this. You have to admit I'm good.\"\n\n\"Yes, you are,\" answered Brandon.\n\nBernie was startled. She'd been so engrossed in her conversation with Inez that she hadn't realized Brandon was standing in front of her, with another beer for Inez. She was always amazed at how quietly he moved for a big guy. She smiled at him and turned her attention back to Inez.\n\n\"That must have been hard, working for Amethyst. More than hard given the circumstances.\"\n\nInez didn't say anything.\n\n\"Did you do it so you could get back at her?\"\n\n\"It's none of your business.\"\n\n\"Actually, I think it is.\" Bernie took a sip of her Coke and put it down. \"So after you tried blackmailing her, I'm guessing Amethyst didn't want you working at her place anymore.\"\n\n\"She had no right to do what she did.\"\n\n\"Are you talking about the fact that she broke up your home, the fact that you worked for her, or the fact that she fired you?\"\n\nInez hunched her shoulders and took another swig from her glass. \"A person's got to live, doesn't she?\"\n\n\"So, what did you hear?\" Bernie asked.\n\nA cunning expression stole across Inez's face. \"Maybe it wasn't something I heard. Maybe it was something I saw.\"\n\n\"How much did you ask from Amethyst?\"\n\nInez drained the last drop from her glass and put it down. \"What difference does it make?\" She leaned in toward Bernie. Her mouth twisted itself into a sneer. \"You know what she did? She laughed at me. At me. Told me I was a loser and no one would ever believe me.\"\n\n\"So what did you do?\" Bernie asked.\n\n\"Guess,\" Inez said.\n\n\"Got even?\" Bernie said.\n\nInez laughed.\n\n\"What's so funny?\" Bernie asked.\n\n\"You are,\" Inez replied, and she got up and started for the door.\n\n\"How about if I buy you another drink?\" Bernie said.\n\n\"You think I'm that easy?\" Inez said. \"Well, screw you.\" And she left.\n\n\"That went well,\" Brandon said.\n\n\"Didn't it, though.\" Bernie tapped her fingers on the bar. \"I should have offered her money instead.\"\n\n\"Somehow I don't think that twenty dollars would do it.\"\n\n\"Are you saying I'm cheap?\"\n\n\"No. I'm saying you're broke.\"\n\n\"Amethyst was a real piece of work,\" Bernie said thoughtfully.\n\nBrandon grinned. \"That would be one way of putting it.\"\n\n\"And the other way?\"\n\n\"She was a sadistic little bitch.\"\n\n\"These days people would say she had a personality disorder.\"\n\n\"They'd probably say that about Hitler, too.\"\n\nBernie chuckled. That was one of the things she loved about Brandon. He always made her laugh.\n\n\"You know what?\" she said.\n\nBrandon planted his elbows on the bar and supported his face with his hands. \"What?\" he said.\n\n\"I think I'm going to take a quick look around Amethyst's place.\"\n\n\"And the reason being?\"\n\n\"Because maybe there's something there that we need to know.\"\n\n\"You're thinking about what Inez said.\"\n\nBernie nodded.\n\n\"The police have probably gone through it already.\"\n\n\"It wouldn't be the first time that they missed something.\"\n\n\"You don't have a key,\" Brandon pointed out.\n\n\"I'll use your credit-card trick.\"\n\nBrandon rolled his eyes.\n\n\"You're just jealous that you can't come,\" said Bernie.\n\nBrandon snorted. \"Right. I really want to get arrested. Just don't call me to bail you out.\"\n\nBernie leaned over the bar and kissed him. \"That would never even occur to me.\"\n\n\"Right,\" Brandon repeated.\n\nBernie flashed him her best smile. \"Call me when you're off, and I'll meet you at your place.\"\n\n\"I told you, you'd beg me.\"\n\nShe picked up a peanut and threw it at him. Then she hurried out the door before he could get her back.\n\n## Chapter 19\n\nMarvin and Sean stood in the room of the Haunted House that had the coffin that came out of the floor. No one was there yet, so it was eerily quiet.\n\n\"Should we be here?\" Marvin asked Sean.\n\n\"No one said we couldn't,\" Sean replied.\n\n\"That's because you didn't ask.\"\n\nSean didn't answer. Instead, he stared at the ceiling. It was lower than the ceilings in the other rooms by a good foot or so. Sean was betting it was a dropped ceiling made with two-by-fours and covered over with plaster.\n\n\"You should return those keys,\" Marvin told him.\n\n\"I will,\" said Sean while he continued to study the ceiling.\n\nAnd he would return the keys. He didn't want Konrad and Curtis to get in trouble. He was just going to do it later rather than sooner. Obviously, they didn't need the keys at the moment, or else they would have asked for them by now.\n\n\"Do me a favor,\" he said to Marvin. \"Turn on the lights for me. The control switch is by the door, on your left.\" He paused. \"Left,\" he said to Marvin as Marvin went to the right.\n\n\"You mean this way?\" Marvin asked.\n\n\"Right.\"\n\nMarvin moved toward the right.\n\n\"Left,\" Sean screamed.\n\n\"I did, and you said right.\"\n\nSean took several deep breaths. According to Bernie, this was supposed to help him calm down. It didn't. \"Go to the left,\" he said in as even a voice as he could manage. \"That's correct,\" he told Marvin when he had.\n\n\"You should be clearer,\" Marvin told him in an injured voice.\n\nIn this case Sean decided that silence was a virtue. So, he watched Marvin grope behind the wall hanging. \"Farther in,\" Sean instructed.\n\n\"Got it,\" Marvin told him.\n\nThe lights didn't come on.\n\n\"Obviously, you didn't get it,\" Sean replied.\n\n\"I got something,\" Marvin said.\n\nSean was just about to tell him to try again when out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move. He jumped back as what he now realized was a coffin rose out of the floor. Then he remembered what Bernie had told him about the exhibit, and his heart settled back down.\n\nA moment later the skeleton sat up. It had a patch over one eye. \"Soon you'll look just like me,\" the skeleton cackled. \"Just like me. Eat, drink, and be merry. We don't have six packs in the graveyard.\"\n\n\"I told you I hit the wrong switch,\" Marvin said.\n\n\"See if you can turn the sound off,\" Sean said. It was impossible to think with that thing babbling on.\n\nMarvin went back to fumbling with the wall switches. A moment later the skeleton shut up in mid-cackle.\n\nSean looked at the ceiling. \"Marvin, how high would you say that was?\"\n\n\"About eight feet.\"\n\n\"That would be my guess, too. I want you to do me a favor and stand on the edge of the coffin and see if you can touch the ceiling.\"\n\n\"But...\"\n\n\"You should be used to them.\"\n\n\"That's not the point.\"\n\n\"What is?\"\n\n\"I just don't want to fall in and break the thing.\"\n\n\"You won't,\" Sean said, with more confidence than he felt. After all, if it was possible to break something, Marvin usually did. \"You can hold on to my shoulder for balance.\" Also a bad idea, but the best he could come up with given the circumstances.\n\nMarvin put one foot on the coffin, then stepped up with the other.\n\n\"Steady?\" Sean asked when Marvin was standing on the edge of the coffin.\n\n\"I guess,\" Marvin said.\n\n\"Now lift your hand up, and touch the ceiling.\"\n\n\"Satisfied?\" Marvin said as he made contact.\n\nSean nodded as Marvin started to tilt. He stepped away just as Marvin lurched forward and crashed to the floor.\n\n\"How tall would you say Bob Small is?\" Sean asked Marvin as the younger man picked himself up and dusted himself off.\n\n\"Aren't you even going to ask me how I am?\" Marvin demanded while he rubbed his elbow.\n\n\"No. I'm not asking you, because you're obviously fine,\" Sean said. \"Again. How tall is Bob Small?\"\n\n\"I think he must be almost six feet. I'm five feet ten, and he's about two inches taller than I am. Why?\"\n\n\"Do you have a flashlight in your car?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"A penlight?\"\n\nMarvin shook his head.\n\n\"Don't you keep an emergency kit in your car?\"\n\nMarvin shook his head again. \"I can go out and buy one.\"\n\n\"No. By the time you get back, there'll be people here.\" Sean thought for a moment. Then he took out his cell phone.\n\n\"Who are you calling?\" Marvin asked.\n\n\"I'm not calling anyone,\" said Sean. He opened up his cell and shined the light on the ceiling, directly above where Marvin had been standing. \"Do you see anything?\" he asked.\n\n\"It would help if I knew what I was looking for.\"\n\n\"A crack in the ceiling.\"\n\n\"Why do we care?\"\n\n\"We just do,\" Sean said. \"Now concentrate.\"\n\nMarvin dutifully put his head back and stared at the ceiling. It all looked like a big expanse of white plaster to him. A moment later he rubbed the back of his neck. \"I'm getting muscle spasms.\"\n\n\"Move down a foot, and stop complaining,\" Sean snapped.\n\n\"I'm not complaining. I'm just telling you I have a hypermobile neck.\"\n\n\"Keep looking, anyway.\"\n\n\"Is this what you mean?\" Marvin asked five minutes later.\n\nSean followed Marvin's finger. There was what looked like a small indentation in the ceiling. He smiled. Today was going to be a good day, after all. \"Yes.\"\n\n\"Good,\" Marvin said. \"Because I don't think I can take much more of this. My neck is killing me. I'll probably have to go see the chiropractor now.\"\n\nIt took a lot of willpower on Sean's side to not say anything, even though he would have liked to. Boy, would he ever. He could just imagine the reaction he would have gotten if he'd said something like that to his dad. He probably would have gotten a kick across the room. But that was what kids were like these days. Whine, whine, whine. How they managed to survive in the world was beyond him. Even though he thought Marvin's dad was an asshole, he was beginning to feel a little more sympathy for him.\n\nSean plastered what he hoped was a pleasant expression on his face and said, \"I just want you to do one more thing for me. I want you to get back on the rim of the coffin and see if you can push the panel forward with your hand.\"\n\n\"What panel?\"\n\n\"The panel that I think is in the ceiling.\"\n\n\"I'm going to fall if I do this,\" Marvin told him.\n\n\"I'll stand next to you. You can lean on me.\"\n\n\"That's what you told me before.\"\n\nSean looked at his watch. They didn't have much time left before people started coming in to prepare for this evening.\n\n\"Please,\" Sean said. \"Try. This is really important.\"\n\n\"For real?\" Marvin asked.\n\n\"Yes. It might help us figure out who killed Amethyst.\"\n\nMarvin thought about it for a moment. Then he got up on the rim of the coffin and spaced his feet apart. Sean moved in so Marvin could lean against him. Marvin raised his hands and pushed. Nothing happened.\n\n\"Try again,\" Sean urged.\n\nMarvin did. \"I think I felt something move.\"\n\n\"Good,\" Sean said encouragingly. \"Just once more. If it doesn't happen, then I'm wrong.\"\n\n\"Okay,\" Marvin said.\n\nSean watched as Marvin rebalanced himself on the rim of the coffin, put his hands up flat against the plaster, and pushed. He could see something moving. Marvin pushed harder. The panel slid back some more.\n\nSean looked up at the eight inches of space Marvin had created. \"There goes Bob Small's alibi,\" he said.\n\n\"Someone else could have done it, too,\" Marvin said.\n\n\"I suppose,\" Sean agreed. \"But it's highly unlikely.\"\n\n\"But it's possible,\" Marvin insisted.\n\n\"It's possible,\" Sean agreed. \"Possible, but not probable.\" He sighed. \"Of course, we won't have proof positive until someone crawls up there and tests my theory out,\" he added as Marvin turned the switch and the coffin disappeared back into the ground.\n\n\"Someone?\" squeaked Marvin as he turned off the lights.\n\n\"Yes. Someone. Obviously, it can't be me,\" Sean told him as they walked out of the room, through the Chain-Saw Massacre Room, and out into the corridor that led to the outside. Sean paused to lock the outside door to the Haunted House. Then he pulled on the door to make sure it was locked. Test and retest. That was his motto.\n\n\"Obviously,\" Marvin said to Sean's back.\n\nSean grunted a reply.\n\n\"I'll be back in a sec,\" Marvin said to Sean, and then he ran to the car, which, on Sean's advice, he'd parked behind the Haunted House. That way no one driving by would see them.\n\nSean looked at his watch. \"Make it fast. People will be here soon,\" he called.\n\nMarvin broke into a trot. He got to his vehicle, put the key in the ignition, started her up, put the car in reverse, and immediately backed into the tree behind him. God. The more nervous he got, the klutzier he became. He jumped out and looked at the damage. Fortunately, it was just a ding in the bumper. He jumped back in his car, put the car in drive, and zoomed off to get Sean.\n\n\"What was that I heard?\" Sean asked him.\n\n\"Nothing,\" Marvin lied. \"Absolutely nothing.\"\n\nA moment later they were driving out of there. And not a moment too soon, Marvin thought as he glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Another couple of minutes and people would be coming up. Thank God they hadn't gotten caught. If Marvin never saw this place again, he'd be ecstatic. As far as he could see, nothing good had ever happened here.\n\nMaybe his dad was right. Maybe a funeral director was a good thing to be. No surprises in that, or at least not the kind of surprises that raised your blood pressure. All he wanted to do now was sit in the kitchen and talk to Libby and eat a slice of her warm apple pie with her homemade vanilla ice cream.\n\nInstead, he was running around with her dad, doing things that could get both of them arrested. And if that happened, it would be his fault. He'd get blamed for it, because he always got blamed for everything that went wrong. That was just the way things were. Marvin sighed and slowed down for the steep curve coming up.\n\nMaybe after Libby was through working tonight, they could go to R.J.'s and have a beer. It wasn't as good as having Libby's pie, but it would be good enough. He had just finished taking another curve\u2014the road to the Haunted House had more twists and turns than a bad soap opera\u2014when he looked over at Sean and saw Sean looking at him, and somehow he knew exactly what Libby's dad was thinking.\n\n\"I don't like heights, and I don't like small spaces,\" Marvin told him.\n\n\"The ceiling isn't that high, and the space isn't that small.\"\n\n\"I'll fall through.\"\n\n\"No, you won't. Ceilings like that, built with drywall and two-by-fours, can support a considerable amount of weight.\"\n\n\"How do you know?\"\n\n\"Because I've put them up.\"\n\nMarvin thought for a moment. \"What happens if I get stuck?\"\n\n\"You won't get stuck.\"\n\n\"But what happens if I do?\"\n\n\"We'll walk away and pretend we never met you.\"\n\nMarvin snuck a quick peek at Sean. He could never tell whether he was kidding or not.\n\n\"I was joking,\" Sean said. \"And you don't have to do this. You've been more than enough help already.\"\n\n\"Then who will?\"\n\nSean shrugged. \"Don't worry about it. I'll find someone. If worse comes to worst, I'll do it myself.\"\n\nMarvin groaned.\n\n\"Well, it's the truth,\" Sean said. \"Or maybe I can get one of my daughters to do it.\"\n\n\"Why don't you twist the knife a little deeper?\" Marvin asked him.\n\nSean grinned. \"I'm good at guilt, aren't I?\"\n\n\"Yes, you are.\"\n\n\"It's a talent I inherited from my mother's side of the family.\"\n\n\"Fine,\" Marvin grumped. \"I'll climb up there. But if anything happens to me, it's on your head.\"\n\nSean laughed. \"I think I can handle that responsibility.\"\n\n\"When is this going to happen?\"\n\n\"Probably tonight after the Haunted House closes.\"\n\n\"What?\" squeaked Marvin.\n\n\"Well, I am going to have to give the keys back to Konrad and Curtis. Or we could go over to the Home Depot in Thompsonville and get them duped. That might give us a little more leeway.\"\n\n\"Leeway is good,\" Marvin said.\n\n\"Always,\" Sean said as he leaned over and turned on the radio. For a moment, both men were quiet as they listened to the music.\n\n\"So what do you think happened?\" Marvin asked once they hit the main road. \"How do you think Bob Small pulled this off?\"\n\nSean sat back in his seat and told Marvin what he thought.\n\n## Chapter 20\n\nBernie still couldn't believe that Amethyst had lived in Stanton as she pulled up in front of Amethyst's flat.\n\n\"Are you sure she lived there?\" she'd asked Bree Nottingham, real estate agent extraordinaire, social arbiter of Longely, and general pain in the butt, when she'd tracked her down yesterday morning. After several false starts, Bernie had finally located her at Kim's Nifty Nails.\n\nBree had fixed her with a gimlet eye. \"Of course, I'm sure,\" she'd snapped.\n\nShe'd been, as was usual these days, dressed in pink from head to toe, up to and including her Prada bag. It was, she'd told Bernie, her signature color. Bernie didn't believe in signature colors\u2014people weren't pens\u2014but she'd never say that to Bree, who threw a fair amount of business their way. Actually, she wouldn't have said it to her face, anyway. However, she did say it to her sister in private on several occasions.\n\nBree had taken her right hand out of the bowl she was soaking it in and had held it out for the Korean girl to dry before speaking. \"I tried to persuade Amethyst to live in town, but she wasn't having any of it,\" she'd told Bernie.\n\n\"But why did she choose Stanton of all places?\" Bernie had wondered out loud. \"That's so strange. I would imagine her somewhere a lot more upscale.\"\n\nBree had frowned. \"Think about it.\"\n\n\"Nothing comes to mind,\" Bernie had said.\n\n\"Well, she said\"\u2014Bree bracketed the she said with her voice\u2014\"that she liked the people there.\" Here Bree had paused meaningfully. \"She said they were more authentic.\"\n\n\"Authentic? Please.\"\n\nBree had nodded encouragingly, pleased that her point had been made.\n\nBernie had frowned. \"Amethyst didn't care about authentic unless the word applied to diamonds and gold. I mean Stanton is made up of Mexicans and Portuguese. I never saw Amethyst look at anyone who wasn't driving at least a Lexus.\"\n\n\"Exactly.\" Bree had nodded at the Korean girl, who had begun filing her nails. \"And this time I want them straight across,\" she'd told her. \"Straight. You understand?\" The girl had bobbed her head and had kept filing. Bree had watched her for a moment to make sure she was doing what she'd asked and then had turned her attention back to Bernie. \"My guess is that Amethyst was living there because she could come and go as she pleased, without anyone knowing her business, which would most definitely not be true if she lived in Longely or another community she socialized in.\"\n\n\"Makes sense,\" Bernie had told Bree.\n\nBree had nodded. \"Of course, it makes sense. The expression 'Don't poop where you eat' comes to mind, which would be especially important to someone of Amethyst's...\" Bree had paused while she hunted for the right word and had finally said, \"To someone of Amethyst's bent. Plus, she kept her overhead low and put her money into what counted\u2014herself. From a business point of view, it was a good decision.\"\n\n\"Not that it helped her,\" Bernie had pointed out.\n\n\"No, it didn't,\" Bree had acknowledged before changing the subject. \"I want you or your sister to call me tomorrow. I'm having a dinner party for fifteen in two weeks, and I want to discuss the menu. I was thinking we could do something retro, something Julia. You do know Julia, don't you?\"\n\n\"Of course, I know Julia Child,\" Bernie had said, incensed. How could someone who loved food not know her? She was an icon.\n\n\"Good. Because I was thinking we could build the menu around beef Wellington, the real one, with a Bavarian cream for dessert. Or maybe some sort of cr\u00eapes flamb\u00e9. Yes. Let's do that. Maybe cr\u00eapes suzette.\"\n\n\"Sounds great,\" Bernie had said.\n\nAnd she'd meant it. She loved traditional French food. She just didn't get a chance to make it anymore, because people were so concerned with their diets and the amount of fat they ingested, but in her mind, there were two kinds of food: regular food and party food. And you should be allowed to eat what you wanted at a party. If you couldn't, what was the point? In fact, when Bernie thought about it, cooking wasn't as much fun as it used to be. Ever since people had started saying things like, \"I need protein\" instead of \"I'd like a nice, fat, juicy steak,\" things had definitely gone downhill.\n\nOn her way to Stanton, Bernie found herself thinking about what kind of first course and appetizers she could serve at Bree's dinner party. She would keep the appetizers on the light side because the meal was going to be heavy. She'd start the ball rolling with Kirs and a good prosecco. They were always good aperitifs. They had just enough alcohol to loosen people up, but not so much that it dulled their taste buds.\n\nAlong with the drinks, she could serve two types of spiced nuts, one with pepper and rosemary, and the other with salt and a dash of anise. People seemed to like those. Then she could serve a selection of olives and tiny toast points with heated goat cheese. That should really be enough. Unless she added cubes of feta cheese marinated in olive oil and garlic.\n\nFor the first course, she'd serve a clear beef broth with one or two small circles of baked custard and a dusting of chopped chives floating in it, or she could do a celery r\u00e9moulade, which was also very nice, and celeriac was in the market these days. Naturally, they'd have to make the mayo for the r\u00e9moulade sauce, but she liked doing that. There was something very meditative about whisking the oil into the egg yolks and watching the emulsion form a light yellow cream. Hellmann's just didn't cut it.\n\nThen, after the beef Wellington, she could serve a salad made up of endive and watercress and arugula in a vinaigrette dressing. The sharpness of the greens would be a nice foil to the richness of the main course. She'd do the cr\u00eapes suzette that Bree had requested for dessert, or maybe something like cr\u00eapes filled with an apple compote and flamb\u00e9ed with a good apple brandy, which would be a little more seasonal.\n\nOr maybe not. The problem with calvados was that you needed a really good one; otherwise, it tasted like diesel fuel. And, thanks to the dollar's weakness, good bottles of calvados were extremely expensive these days, and since they didn't have any on hand in the shop, Bernie would have to purchase a bottle. So she would forget the apple cr\u00eapes and stick with Bree's original suggestion. Unless, of course, Bree was willing to buy a bottle of the stuff, which Bernie was pretty sure she wouldn't be.\n\nBernie was almost at Stanton by the time she'd worked through the pricing of Bree's menu. Between the labor and the ingredients, this was not going to be a cheap meal, but then a good cut of beef, let alone p\u00e2t\u00e9, never was. She was wondering whether or not Bree would want to pay that much when she caught sight of one of the street names on her map. It was, she realized, time to focus on the task at hand.\n\n## Chapter 21\n\nAmethyst's home was four blocks away from the commercial district, in an unprepossessing neighborhood of small houses, smaller yards, and older, dented cars. No BMWs here. According to the numbers painted on the wall, Amethyst lived in the bottom part of a two-family house. The sagging fence posts, the paint peeling on the porch stairs, the empty planter boxes, and the absence of holiday decorations of any kind gave the place a forlorn appearance. It looked as if no one had lived in it or taken care of it for a long time.\n\nThe question, thought Bernie, was how to get in. Now that she was actually here, she wasn't so sure. It was one thing to joke around with Brandon about it and another thing to actually do it, breaking and entering not having been a course in her high school curriculum.\n\nShe parked her car and contemplated her options. She could go the legal or the illegal route. Both had good things going for them. The legal route involved something like knocking on the upstairs neighbor's door, seeing if they had the key to Amethyst's place, then making up a plausible story so she could get it. However, there was a big problem with that approach. The upstairs apartment was for rent. So that took care of that.\n\nWhich left the illegal route. For a moment, she debated the wisdom of what she was about to do, and then she thought, The hell with it. What was the worst that could happen? The neighbors could call the cops, and she'd get arrested, her father would kill her, and she'd never hear the end of it from Brandon or her sister. Which, in the scheme of things, wasn't so terrible. It wasn't as if she was going to get shot or anything.\n\nHere goes nothing, she said to herself as she zipped up her jacket and got out of the car. She strode toward Amethyst's door like she had business being there. As she did, another thought popped into her mind. Inez had cleaned for Amethyst, which meant either Inez had a key and had let herself in, Amethyst had let her in, or Amethyst had left the key for Inez somewhere inconspicuous, like under a potted plant or the welcome mat. Bernie decided to go with the third option because it was the easiest, while the other two left her with nothing to do but break a window or open the door with a credit card\u2014something she wasn't good with. Besides, these days everyone had dead bolts, which required a little more finesse. And if option one didn't work, she could always go to option two or three.\n\nBernie casually strolled around to the back of the house, figuring that if Amethyst had left the key anywhere, it would be there, because there was no place in front to hide a key. There was a slot in the door for the mail and no welcome mat on the porch. If anyone asked what she was doing, she would say she was thinking of renting the upstairs apartment and just wanted to see what things looked like.\n\nLike not much, in her opinion. Maple saplings were pushing up through the cracks in the driveway. Their leaves littered the tarmac. Over by the hurricane fence, black-eyed Susans drooped disconsolately. A sand box sat uncovered. In it, three small, chartreuse, plastic starfish molds sat next to a kiddie-sized pail and shovel. She looked in all of them. No key. Then she addressed the doll whose legs were sticking out of the sand.\n\nBernie reached over and pulled her out. It was a Barbie. She dusted the sand out of her hair and sat her down next to the pail. Then she picked her back up. Poor Barbie. She deserved better than being left out for cats to pee on. Growing up, Libby had never liked Barbie dolls, but Bernie had been a Barbie fanatic, bugging her mom to buy her every new outfit that came on the market. She'd never liked Ken, though. She'd always thought he was a dork.\n\nBernie slipped the Barbie into her bag. She'd donate it to Goodwill, because it was obvious that the little girl that had lived upstairs with her parents wasn't coming back. As Bernie continued on, she wondered who they were and if they would know anything about Amethyst. Somehow she doubted it. She also doubted that she'd be able to locate them, but maybe Bree would know who the realtor was who handled this house. Then she or her sister could call up and see if the family had left a forwarding address. It was a long shot, but the way things were going, any long shot was a shot worth pursuing.\n\nBernie walked up to the back steps and picked up the welcome mat. Nothing. Too obvious. She went back down the steps, and taking care to keep her suede boots out of the dirt, she squatted down in front of what had once been a flower bed but was now a tangle of dead and dying weeds that banked the side of the house.\n\nIt seemed like an unlikely place for Amethyst to hide anything, but she ran her hand through the soil, anyway, because you never knew. As her father always said, \"Do it right the first time so you don't have to go back and do it again.\"\n\nAfter a minute of that, her hands were cold from the dirt. Well, that had definitely been a waste of time, she decided as she stood and brushed the soil off her hands. Not only had she not found anything, she'd ruined her manicure as well. Now she'd have to go back to the salon for a touch-up, something that she didn't have time to do.\n\nThis definitely wasn't turning out well. But the key had to be somewhere. Unless, of course, it didn't exist at all, which was a possibility she wasn't prepared to consider yet. Bernie tapped what was left of her nails against the boards of the house, thinking that maybe the key was behind a loose board. She tried prying a couple of boards out. No go.\n\n\"Okay, Bernie,\" she said aloud to herself. \"If this key is here, it's in some easy, accessible place. Just look around.\"\n\nFirst, she looked at the yard again, but aside from starfish molds and the pail and shovel in the sand box, there was nothing in the yard that could be used to hide a key. No trash cans, no cute little garden gnomes, no faux plastic bunnies. The yard was completely bare. So far she was batting zero for zero, or whatever that expression was. She didn't follow baseball, so she didn't know. Bernie turned and studied the back of the house. She got up on her tiptoes and ran her fingers over the top of the door frame. Then she tried the windows. And that was when she got lucky.\n\nThe key was sitting in a magnetic box on the underside of the window to the right. She hit her forehead with the heel of her hand. \"You are such an idiot,\" she said aloud.\n\nWhy do I always have to make things so much harder than they really are? Bernie thought as she slid the key in the lock and turned it. The door opened with a creak. Then Bernie replaced the key under the window frame, went inside, and locked the door from the inside. Better safe than sorry, as her dad would say. Well, that wasn't what he'd say in this situation, but she didn't want to think about that.\n\n\"Might as well start here,\" she muttered to herself, stepping into a small, oblong-shaped kitchen. Since she didn't know what she was looking for, she couldn't afford to skip anything.\n\nThe first thing that struck her was that the kitchen probably hadn't been touched since the sixties. The walls were painted a greenish yellow, the counters were green Formica, and the floors were some sort of speckled linoleum. The second thing that struck her was that the counters were applianceless. There wasn't even a microwave on them. Who, except for her family, didn't have a microwave these days?\n\nBernie started opening cabinets. Most were empty. There was a set of pots that looked as if it had never been used, a paring knife, seven steak knives, five dishes, a couple of mugs, and a box containing a set of glass tumblers. Bernie had had more stuff in her college dorm than Amethyst had had in her kitchen. Bernie continued on. There were a few cleaning supplies under the kitchen sink, and two boxes of cereal, a box of mac and cheese, a box of Bisquick, and a couple of packets of honey roasted peanuts in the kitchen cabinet across from the stove, as well as a bottle of Wild Turkey, a bottle of good French brandy, and a couple of bottles of not-bad Chilean wine.\n\nThe refrigerator didn't yield much more. There were two bottles of water and a carton of Diet Coke on the top shelf, a lemon with green fuzz on it on the second shelf, and nothing in the vegetable bins. The freezer revealed a bottle of vodka and a bottle of Aquavit. Obviously, Amethyst hadn't done any entertaining here. Or eaten here.\n\nBernie turned and opened up the lid of the garbage can. There was nothing in it but a bottle of Diet Coke, a bridal magazine, and a copy of the Longely newspaper. Bernie reached in and fished out the two publications. The paper was dated three weeks ago.\n\nDid that mean that that was the last time Amethyst was here, or did she simply read and dispose of more recent papers elsewhere? Bernie took a quick look at the paper but didn't see anything that linked it to Amethyst in any way. Then she looked at Modern Bride. There was no mailing label, so Amethyst had bought it off the newsstand. Unless someone else had purchased it and left it here, which, knowing Amethyst, was a more likely scenario. Nevertheless, Bernie tucked both pieces of printed matter under her arm. Maybe her dad would see something in them that she couldn't.\n\nAs she walked into the living room, she was wishing that there was some way of finding out what Inez had found out. If she was telling the truth. If this didn't pan out, Bernie decided that she'd appear at Inez's house with a large bottle of booze and some money. Despite what Brandon had said, she could probably spare fifty bucks, and it wasn't as if Inez didn't need the money. Her mother would have disapproved, but Bernie always felt that there were times that justified the expedient approach.\n\nLooking around, Bernie decided the living room wasn't much better than the kitchen. There was a brown leather sofa, two chintz-covered armchairs, a coffee table that looked as if it was made out of particleboard, and a cheapo television set. The furniture looked as if it had come from one of those rental stores, and the television looked as if it was at least ten years old.\n\nWhat Bernie was really struck by was what wasn't there. No cable box. No provisions for music. No books. No magazines. No pictures on the wall. There didn't seem to be anything personal at all. This apartment looked like it was a place for Amethyst to crash and nothing more. Bernie took another quick glance around and headed for the dining room. She found a bridge table and four chairs set up in the middle of the room, along with a floor lamp with a torn lamp shade.\n\nBernie wondered what she'd find in the bedrooms as she walked down the hall. The walls were covered with the kind of cabbage-rose wallpaper that had been popular in the thirties and forties. She opened the first door she came to. The room was empty. The only thing in it were the shades on the windows. She walked in and opened the closet door. A strong odor of mothballs came out and slapped her in the face. She peered inside. Nothing but some metal hangers, an orange metal container appropriately marked CAMPHOR, and an old navy blue woman's cardigan.\n\nBernie closed the closet door, left the room, and opened the next door. A made-up bed sat in the middle of the room. The coverlet was dark green and matched the curtains on the windows and the skirt on the bed. Amethyst's room, Bernie thought. Had to be. The nightstands were a light ash, as was the dresser standing in the far corner. An old-fashioned doll, the kind with a china head, leaned against the mirror hung over the dresser.\n\nBut what really attracted Bernie's attention was the two photographs hanging on the wall. They were both of preteen girls. Both of them were sitting on beds in what looked like dorm rooms, smiling and waving at the camera. Bernie didn't know how she knew who they were, she just did.\n\nThe titles written on the mats confirmed her guess. The girl with the big smile on her face and the slight buckteeth was Bessie Osgood. The second picture was of Zinnia McGuire. Bernie stared at them for a long time. She decided that Bessie looked a little bit like Libby had at that age. Kind of schlumpy. The sort of kid who always got As and did everything her mother told her to.\n\nOn the other hand, Zinnia looked as if she was going to get in her fair share of trouble. But, of course, she hadn't had the chance. She and Bessie had both been killed, their deaths officially declared accidents. Why did Amethyst have their pictures hanging on her wall? Were they trophies? Expressions of guilt? Reminders of the good old days? Bernie shook her head. She didn't know, and now, since she couldn't ask Amethyst, she never would.\n\nShe turned away and went through the dresser and the closet. The dresser had some underwear\u2014the kind you got at JCPenney on sale\u2014a fake pearl necklace, several T-shirts in different colors, and a couple of stretched-out black turtlenecks. The closet turned out to be a little fuller, but the clothes and shoes in it were old and worn, things that Bernie judged Amethyst wore around the house. In any case, Bernie had never seen her in anything remotely resembling the stuff in her closet. Now more than ever, it looked as if Amethyst had been living somewhere else.\n\nIf she needed any more convincing, the bathroom did it. There were towels hanging on the racks, a shower curtain surrounding the bathtub, and a hamper for dirty clothes. Bernie opened the shower curtain. A nubbin of soap sat in the soap dish, while a bottle of shampoo stood on the side of the tub. Bernie lifted up the shampoo bottle. There was practically nothing left in it. Interesting, Bernie thought as she put it down. She opened the medicine cabinet over the sink. There was a bottle of aspirin, an unopened tube of toothpaste, mascara, and a couple of lipsticks. Bernie opened the mascara. It was practically empty. She put it back and opened the lipsticks. One was a horrendous orange\u2014obviously a fashion error\u2014while the other was a cheapo discount brand Bernie had never heard of. If Bernie remembered correctly, the only brand she had ever seen Amethyst use was Chanel.\n\nBernie put everything back the way it had been. She knew Amethyst. Amethyst had not been a back-to-nature kind of gal. She had used lots of product. Lots of styling gel on her hair, three coats of mascara, eyeliner, eye shadow, blush, not to mention concealer, lip liner, gloss, and lipstick. Basically, she'd applied lipstick like Spackle.\n\nAnd where were the moisturizers, body lotions, hairbrushes, hair spray, and all the other things women like Amethyst couldn't do without? No blow-dryer. No perfume. One thing was clear. Bree's information was outdated. Amethyst hadn't really been living here at the time of her death. Maybe she had in the past, but she'd moved out. The questions were, when and to where?\n\nAnother dead end in a case full of them, Bernie thought. She was closing the medicine-cabinet door when she heard a noise. Bernie froze. It was the sound of the back door opening. Then she heard footsteps and what sounded like a crash.\n\nBernie peered out from the bathroom. The sounds seemed to be coming from the kitchen. There was another crash, followed by a muffled curse. Bernie crept down the hall. The prudent thing, she knew, would be to hide in one of the bedroom closets and wait till whoever it was left, but then she'd never been prudent.\n\nBy now she was at the end of the hallway. She carefully stuck her head out and took a look. No one was in the living room or the dining room. Whoever it was, was in the kitchen. Bernie thought for a moment. If she was very careful, she could get a peek at them. She very slowly inched her way to the door that connected the dining room and the kitchen and looked in.\n\n\"You,\" she cried when she saw who it was.\n\nBernie was gratified to see Inez jump. It was rare that she was able to invoke that kind of reaction. Inez had Amethyst's bottle of Wild Turkey in one hand and the bottle of vodka in the other, while the two bottles of Chilean wine were tucked under her arm.\n\n\"Nice,\" Bernie said as the bottles dropped out of Inez's hands and fell onto the linoleum.\n\nInez swayed for a moment, righted herself, and then, with the deliberation of the very drunk, carefully bent over and started picking the bottles up. \"She owed me money,\" she explained. \"I'm just taking what's mine.\"\n\n\"It's not yours,\" Bernie told her. \"It belongs to Amethyst's estate.\"\n\n\"It's mine,\" Inez insisted.\n\n\"First blackmail and now burglary. You're doing well.\"\n\n\"What about you?\"\n\n\"What about me?\" Bernie repeated coolly.\n\nInez burped. \"You're here, too.\"\n\n\"I was given the key,\" Bernie told her, marveling at how easily she lied.\n\nInez clutched the bottles to her chest and burped again.\n\n\"I guess I'm going to have to call the police,\" Bernie continued.\n\nInez continued clutching the bottles to her chest. Bernie wanted Inez to say something along the lines of \"Oh no, you're not\" so she in turn could say, \"I will unless you tell me what I want to know.\"\n\nBut Inez just held on to the bottles. Bernie sighed. She hated when people didn't \"get it.\" But that was the trouble with alcohol. It just made you stupid.\n\n\"Okay,\" she said. \"Tell me what you know, and I won't call them.\"\n\nInez peered at her suspiciously. \"Like what?\" she asked.\n\nBernie wanted to scream, \"What do you think I'm talking about?\" but she didn't. Instead, she said, \"Remember at the bar you told me you'd heard or seen something that got you fired. What was it?\"\n\nInez's eyes narrowed. She swayed slightly. \"Huh?\"\n\n\"You were trying to blackmail her.\"\n\nInez burped. She nodded at the bottles with her chin. \"Are you going to make me give these back?\"\n\n\"Not if you tell me what I want to know.\"\n\n\"It wasn't anything really. I heard Amethyst talking on her cell phone.\"\n\n\"And?\" Bernie prodded.\n\n\"And she was saying that she couldn't believe it, but it was finally happening.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"I don't know. I didn't hear that part.\"\n\nBernie looked at Inez.\n\n\"Honestly,\" Inez cried. \"She thought I did, but I didn't.\"\n\n\"Then why didn't you tell her that?\"\n\nInez shrugged and clutched the bottles closer to her chest. \"Because this was more fun. This way I could get back a little of my own.\"\n\n\"I don't believe you,\" Bernie told her. \"I think I'm going to have to take the bottles back.\"\n\n\"Don't,\" Inez cried. \"It's the truth. I wanted to get back at her. She treated me like dirt. We used to be at dinner parties together, and then she ruined my marriage, and I was working for her. Cleaning out her toilets. She asked for me specifically. Did you know that? That's what Ian said. I told him I didn't want to go, but he said I had to. Otherwise, I wouldn't have a job with him. Amethyst had me working for her just for spite. So I thought I could get a little bit back of my own.\" Inez stopped talking.\n\n\"Only things didn't work out that way.\"\n\n\"No, they didn't,\" Inez said. \"But I'm glad she's dead. I'm only sorry I didn't kill her.\"\n\n\"You could have,\" Bernie pointed out.\n\n\"I didn't.\"\n\n\"Someone did.\"\n\n\"It wasn't me.\"\n\nBernie raised an eyebrow.\n\n\"It wasn't,\" Inez insisted.\n\n\"I don't know. Working for Amethyst. That could have been the thing that threw you over the edge.\"\n\n\"That's why I wanted the money,\" Inez cried.\n\n\"Yeah. But killing her would have been so much more rewarding.\"\n\nInez drew herself up. \"Think whatever you want,\" she told Bernie. Then, clutching the bottles to her chest, she stumbled out the door.\n\nA moment later Bernie heard a car engine turn over and realized that Inez shouldn't be behind the wheel of a car. But it was too late. By the time she got outside, Inez was weaving down the road.\n\n## Chapter 22\n\nAmber had finished loading the last of the cartons with the pies snugly nestled in them into the van as Libby hurried toward the vehicle.\n\n\"You have everything in there, right?\" Libby asked.\n\nAmber nodded.\n\n\"You're sure?\"\n\n\"Positive.\"\n\n\"The walnuts? The sprinkles?\"\n\n\"I checked off the list you gave me.\"\n\nLibby noticed she had a Cheshire cat grin on her face.\n\n\"What?\" Libby said. \"Is it the costume I'm wearing?\"\n\n\"No. I think you look very nice.\"\n\nLibby looked down at the blue taffeta number Bernie had convinced her to wear. She couldn't bend without getting stabbed in the side by a piece of plastic. She might as well be wearing her grandmother's corset. How Bernie managed to work in this kind of getup was beyond her. The only saving grace was that the skirt was long enough, so no one could see her shoes. Thank God she was wearing sneakers. If she had to wear heels, she didn't know what she'd do. The truth was, she felt like an idiot. There was just no way around it.\n\n\"Are you sure I don't look ridiculous?\" she asked Amber.\n\n\"Oh yes.\"\n\n\"Then what are you smiling at?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" Amber told her.\n\n\"You're smiling at something.\"\n\n\"You'll find out,\" Amber told her, and then, before Libby could ask her exactly what it was she was going to find out, Amber turned and headed back in the shop.\n\nUnder different circumstances, Libby would have followed her inside, but she wanted to get going, especially since she was going to have to unload the van by herself. Playing detective was all well and good, she decided as she slid behind the wheel of the van, but then she was always left to do the shop stuff while Bernie went off, running here and there.\n\nShe wondered how Bernie would like it if their positions were reversed. Not at all, Libby would wager. What she wanted to know was, why did she always have to be the responsible one? It really wasn't fair. She was tired of it. And while she was on the subject, she always did favors for Bernie\u2014like wearing this stupid dress. \"It'll just make things more festive,\" Bernie had said. Why had she listened to her? Especially since by now she knew better. The more she thought about everything, the angrier she got.\n\nBy the time she reached the Foundation, she was in a really bad mood, and seeing the fake skeletons dangling from the trees in those stupid cages Mark had rigged up didn't do anything to improve it. It just reminded her that if it hadn't been for Bernie, they wouldn't have taken that tour of the Haunted House, and someone else would have found Amethyst. She was still having nightmares about that. When was the last time Bernie had done something for her? That was what she would have liked to know.\n\nLibby glanced around the dining room she would be serving in. She had never realized how big it was. Cavernous really. So was the kitchen. And quiet. So quiet she could hear the creak of a door shutting somewhere down the hall. Kitchens should be full of people cooking. Otherwise, they were just creepy. Except for A Taste of Heaven's kitchen. That was cozy.\n\nShe looked at the clock on the wall. It was five-fifteen, fifteen minutes before the Haunted House officially opened. The volunteers who were manning the show should have been here by now, which should have made her feel better. Of course, the volunteers manning the show had been here the last time, too, and precious lot of good it had done her then. She'd been on one side of the door, and they'd been on the other.\n\nShe looked out the window on the far side of the room. It was one of those big jobbies, the kind where both sides open up and you can step outside, only someone had sealed them shut, so you couldn't anymore\u2014not that she would want to now. Raindrops were sliding down the panes. The sky had started darkening just as she had brought her last carton of cider in from the van.\n\nWas something hitting the window? Is that the tapping she was hearing? She walked over to get a better look. There was nothing there except the branches from one of the maples. She walked back. From the looks of the tree branches, the wind was picking up. She just hoped the power didn't go off here. Sometimes a strong wind did that. That was all she'd need. She should have really brought a flashlight along, just in case.\n\nLibby shook her head to clear it. She took a deep breath. Several, in fact. Ever since she'd had that encounter, or whatever you wanted to call it, with...with...Libby refused to say her name, because Bernie was right on this score. Naming things called them forth. She didn't like being in this room by herself, which was something she'd never admit to Bernie.\n\nEver.\n\nBecause how could she be nervous if she didn't believe in stuff like that? That was\u2014and here she was using one of Bernie's favorite words\u2014an oxymoron. If she found out, Bernie would never let her forget how she felt. She'd ride her forever about it. It wasn't that Bernie was malicious. It was just that she didn't know when to stop. And things that Libby was sensitive about, Bernie wasn't. It was as simple as that.\n\nThe whole thing was ridiculous, anyway, Libby decided. There had to be another explanation for what had happened to her the other day, but for the life of her, Libby didn't know what it could be. She'd put in a lot of time thinking about it, and she still hadn't come up with anything\u2014unless there was a secret passageway that led in here from somewhere else.\n\nBut in reality, that explanation didn't work, either. The whole thing, for want of a better word, had happened too fast. The...thing...okay...the manifestation couldn't have disappeared in the blink of an eye. And then there was the fact that Mark had said he'd experienced the same thing that Libby had. Three times. Once was enough for her. And Konrad and Curtis had said the same thing. But they were crazy, so they didn't count.\n\nLibby sighed as she rearranged the vanilla cupcakes with the orange icing on the plate and put them toward the front. Then she took the chocolate cupcakes with chocolate frosting that she'd decorated with orange sprinkles and put them where the vanilla cupcakes had been. After that, she took the lemon squares and put them where the chocolate cupcakes had been.\n\nShe knew what she was doing was pointless, but she couldn't help it.\n\nLibby pulled at her skirt. Then she tugged the bodice of her dress up. No matter what she did, her boobs kept popping out. Why, she asked herself again for the second time in as many minutes, had she let Bernie bamboozle her into wearing this? She supposed being a princess was better than being a bowl of cereal, but just barely.\n\nShe wasn't happy in costume. Especially in this one. She'd never liked dressing up, not even as a little girl. She was what she was. Anyway, it was too cold in here to be wearing something like this. She wanted to be back in her jeans and shirt. The only thing that helped was the fact that she didn't have those sleeves that trailed down and got into everything. She could just see green satin and waffle batter. It was not a pretty picture. Bernie had said Marvin would like the dress, but Marvin wouldn't even see it. He was off doing heaven knows what with her dad.\n\nAnd speaking of Bernie, where was she? She should have been here half an hour ago. Just like her, Libby thought crossly. Always late. She never had any consideration for anyone else. She was reaching for her cell to call Bernie when she felt cold. Chilled to the bone, actually. I need to put on a sweater, Libby told herself. Hopefully, she'd left her zip-up fleece in the van. It might not look pretty, but it would definitely do the job. And then she felt something else. Something she remembered from the last time, the sensation of something crawling up and down her skin. She looked down. There were goose bumps on her arms.\n\n\"Oh no,\" she moaned. \"Please not again.\"\n\nShe sensed a crackling around her.\n\n\"Go away,\" she pleaded. \"Just go away.\"\n\nThe crackling increased. She felt a tickling in her left ear. As if someone was breathing in it. She scrunched her eyes shut. This is a bad dream, she told herself. Nothing more. When she opened her eyes again, everything would be all right. It would be...What was her father's word? Copacetic. She closed her eyes tighter. Flashes of light exploded across her retinas. Then, unable to help herself, she opened her eyes again. She saw the room through a wave of energy.\n\n\"Help me,\" a voice said. Only the voice sounded as if it were coming from inside her head.\n\n\"I can't help you,\" Libby cried. Or had she thought it, too? She wasn't sure.\n\n\"You have to.\"\n\nLibby wanted to move, but her legs weren't working properly. Her heart was beating so quickly, she felt light-headed, as if all the air was being sucked out of her lungs.\n\n\"Leave me alone,\" she cried.\n\n\"Find me. Find me.\" Now the voice seemed to be echoing in the air.\n\nI shouldn't have eaten that pint of ice cream for dinner, Libby told herself. That's why this is happening to me. She knew it was ridiculous, but for some reason, she found the thought comforting.\n\n## Chapter 23\n\nJust when Libby thought she was going to pass out, whatever was holding her let go. Or maybe, she thought as she whirled around, she'd done this to herself. She wasn't really sure. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a fleeting glimpse of a girl dressed in an oxford shirt and pleated skirt. It was the same girl as before. Dressed the same way, too.\n\nOf course, she was. Like she'd have a change of clothes in the great hereafter, Libby thought. They were probably the clothes she died in. Or were they the clothes she was buried in? Libby was trying to decide when the girl vanished. Poof. Just like that. And there was nothing. Libby felt as if she was going to faint again. She closed her eyes and put her hands to her forehead. She was going crazy. She was having hallucinations. Which meant she was a schizophrenic. Or she had a brain tumor. Libby was trying to decide which was worse when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She screamed and spun around.\n\n\"Libby,\" Bernie said.\n\nLibby looked at her sister and struggled to regain her composure. She had no luck. No luck at all.\n\n\"Are you all right?\" Bernie asked her.\n\n\"I'm fine,\" Libby told her.\n\n\"Because you don't look all right.\"\n\n\"Well, I am.\"\n\n\"Who were you talking to?\"\n\nLibby squared her shoulders and tried to stand up straight when what she wanted to do was sit down. Lying down would be even better. She was suddenly exhausted. More than exhausted. Totally fried.\n\nShe moistened her lips with her tongue. \"I wasn't talking to anyone,\" she lied.\n\n\"But I heard you outside,\" Bernie protested. \"You were yelling at someone to leave you alone. That's why I came running in here.\"\n\nWas I yelling that loud? Libby wondered. She didn't think she was, but if she was being honest with herself, she'd have to say she didn't remember. She didn't remember Bernie opening the door, either. A definite brain tumor. She'd be dead inside of a month. Two at the most.\n\n\"So who was it?\" Bernie said when Libby didn't answer. \"Who were you yelling at?\"\n\n\"I wasn't yelling at anyone. You imagined it.\"\n\n\"I see.\" Bernie looked at Libby carefully, something Libby hated. \"You look awfully pale.\" She reached over and took her hands. \"And your hands are freezing.\"\n\n\"That's because I'm freezing in this dress,\" Libby countered while she pulled her hands out of Bernie's grasp and tucked them under her armpits to warm them up. \"I'm going to get pneumonia standing here.\"\n\nBernie studied her sister's face some more. Finally, she said, \"You saw her, didn't you?\"\n\n\"I don't know what you're talking about,\" Libby replied.\n\n\"Yes, you do. What did she want?\"\n\n\"She didn't want anything.\"\n\n\"Then you admit that you saw her.\"\n\nLibby started walking back to the long tables they'd set up the first evening they'd worked here. \"I didn't.\"\n\n\"Why are you lying?\"\n\n\"I'm not lying.\"\n\n\"I told you. I heard you outside.\"\n\nLibby turned to her. \"I don't want to talk about this anymore. Is that clear?\"\n\n\"Yes. But this could be important.\"\n\nLibby started setting up the coffee machines. \"This always has to be about you,\" she told her sister.\n\n\"Now you're making no sense whatsoever.\"\n\n\"So, you're telling me that I'm crazy on top of everything else?\"\n\n\"That's not what I said at all, and you know it.\"\n\n\"And, by the way, I hate this dress,\" Libby told her. Now seemed as good a time as any to share that thought.\n\n\"Then why did you wear it?\"\n\n\"Because you wanted me to.\"\n\nBernie snorted in exasperation. \"You could have said no.\"\n\nLibby shrugged and began measuring out the coffee. She knew that this whole thing with Bernie was about her being scared by\u2014okay, she was going to come out and say it\u2014being scared by Bessie Osgood's ghost. When she got scared, she had a bad habit of covering up by getting angry, and the more upset she became, the further away she pushed people. She closed the coffee bag with a snap and reached for the unleaded stuff. But that was the way she was. She was too old to change now. She knew Bernie was watching her. She wanted to say something to her, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to.\n\nAfter another moment had gone by, Bernie said, \"If that's the way you want to be, fine.\"\n\nBernie walked over to the table and began to stack the paper plates. Then she grabbed a couple of wicker baskets and arranged the napkins in one, a lot of napkins, because people tended to grab a handful of them at a time, and the plastic knives, forks, and spoons in the other. She liked that they were black. It had taken her a while to locate them at a reasonable price, but white would have ruined the ambience. Although in lots of countries, white was the color of death. But not here. Libby would come around when she was good and ready, Bernie knew. She just didn't know why Libby was making such a big deal about something like this.\n\nA ghost appeared to you. So a ghost appeared to you. Especially this time of the year. Cultures all over the world recognized that this was the time of the year when the membrane that separated the living from the dead was at its thinnest. That was just the way it was. It was nothing to be ashamed of.\n\nIn fact, Bernie was slightly miffed that Bessie Osgood hadn't appeared to her. Why pick someone who so obviously didn't want to have anything to do with you? The only reason she could come up with was that Libby had been in the room by herself the two times it had happened and Bernie had always been here with Libby.\n\nFor the next couple of minutes, the two sisters worked in silence. Finally, Libby looked up at the clock.\n\n\"Five minutes till we open,\" she said.\n\nBernie grinned. She recognized a peace offer when she saw one. \"No one ever gets here before six-thirty or seven,\" she countered, extending her own olive branch.\n\nLibby nodded. What Bernie said was true. Most people came after dinner. Actually, their busiest time was between seven-thirty and nine. Then they had lines out the door. But before that, things were pretty dead. Dead was a bad word. Things were quiet.\n\n\"I made extra pumpkin walnut muffins, so we shouldn't run out this time,\" Libby told Bernie as she began slicing up the pies.\n\n\"Good,\" Bernie replied. \"Sorry I was a little late, but I found some interesting things at Amethyst's place.\"\n\nLibby stopped slicing for a moment. \"What were you doing at Amethyst's place?\" she asked. As far as she knew, that wasn't in the game plan.\n\nBernie told her sister about her encounter with Inez at R.J.'s.\n\n\"You're kidding me,\" Libby said when Bernie was done.\n\nBernie shook her head. \"Nope. I'm not.\"\n\nLibby went back to slicing. \"Talk about rubbing salt in the wound, as Mom used to say. Boy, if that isn't a motive for killing someone, I don't know what is.\"\n\n\"I wonder if Inez is telling the truth.\"\n\nLibby put the apple-cranberry pie aside and began on the apple crumb, which was difficult to cut neatly. \"You mean about the whole thing being Amethyst's idea?\"\n\n\"Yeah. Maybe the whole thing was Inez's idea. Maybe she wanted to work for Amethyst so she could get even.\"\n\nLibby bisected the pie and then cut the halves into quarters. \"Could be,\" she said thoughtfully.\n\n\"There's one way to find out,\" Bernie said, and she reached for her cell phone and dialed.\n\nLibby continued cutting pies while her sister talked to Ian.\n\n\"Well, that was interesting,\" Bernie said when she hung up. \"Evidently, Ian didn't even know that Inez was working for Amethyst. She was doing it off the books.\"\n\nLibby put the knife down, reached over, took a half-moon cookie off the table, and began to eat it. \"So we don't know who suggested what.\"\n\n\"And we probably won't know, either. But we do know that Inez was telling the truth about one thing.\"\n\n\"What's that?\"\n\n\"That Amethyst was going away,\" said Bernie. \"All of her clothes are gone. There's no product in the bathroom, and she was definitely a Spackle and spray kind of gal.\"\n\nLibby poured herself a glass of cider to go with the cookie. By their nature, half-moon cookies, even hers, were somewhat dry. She'd never been able to find a recipe that kept their half-moon essence and was moist. It was one of those mysteries that still needed to be solved.\n\n\"I wonder where she went.\"\n\n\"Not that far, obviously.\"\n\n\"Or she went and came back,\" Libby said.\n\n\"Interesting.\" Bernie poured herself a cup of cider and took a sip. \"This is really good,\" she commented. \"Cotter should sell this in the stores.\"\n\n\"He can't, because it's unpasteurized. State law.\"\n\n\"But we can use it, right?\" Bernie asked.\n\n\"Correct.\" Libby finished slicing the apple crumb pie and went to put the knife away in its case. \"Getting married? Libby asked as she moved her sister's jacket and bag off the carton the knife belonged in.\n\nBernie's head shot up. \"What do you mean?\"\n\nLibby lifted up the Modern Bride magazine that had been buried under Bernie's jacket.\n\n\"Oh that.\" Bernie laughed. \"I got that from Amethyst's house, along with a newspaper.\"\n\nLibby looked at the date. It was current. \"You know,\" she said. \"What if Amethyst was planning to get married?\"\n\n\"That's a pretty big jump.\"\n\n\"I agree, but bear with me. You said that Inez overheard Amethyst telling someone it was really going to happen, and she was pretty excited....\"\n\nBernie nodded.\n\n\"And then she packed up everything and left. What if what she was excited about was getting married?\"\n\n\"She could have been moving in with someone,\" replied Bernie.\n\n\"Then why Modern Bride?\"\n\n\"Wishful thinking? A friend getting married?\"\n\n\"Amethyst didn't have friends, and she never struck me as the kind of woman who engaged in wishful thinking.\"\n\nBernie had to admit that was true. \"But she came back.\"\n\n\"Maybe things didn't work out,\" said Libby.\n\n\"That's an understatement if ever I heard one.\"\n\nLibby nibbled on her cuticle for a moment. \"Here's another idea. Maybe she went to speak to Ed Banks to see if she could hold the wedding at Lexus Gardens. It would be a great spot.\"\n\n\"And she did know him through the Foundation.\"\n\n\"Do we know that for a fact?\" Libby asked.\n\n\"No. But it seems that they would have met at a dinner party or something like that.\"\n\n\"Can we find out?\"\n\n\"We can ask Banks's personal assistant when he hits land,\" replied Bernie.\n\nLibby brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. \"I don't know. You're saying the person who killed Amethyst killed Ed Banks to keep him from talking? That's a definite stretch.\"\n\n\"It's a link.\"\n\n\"A very weak link,\" said Libby.\n\n\"It's possible, but not probable,\" both sisters said together. They laughed.\n\n\"Good old dad,\" Bernie said. She could hear him saying it now.\n\nLibby and Bernie looked at each other.\n\n\"This is all supposition, you know,\" Bernie said.\n\n\"But it makes as much sense as anything else,\" Libby countered. \"It makes more sense than having a ghost kill her.\"\n\n\"Bessie lied about that, remember? She just wanted to take credit for it.\"\n\nLibby took the palm of her free hand and smacked herself on the forehead. \"Excuse me. How could I forget?\"\n\n\"Yeah. Curtis and Konrad are going to come up with the real killer's name now any day.\" Bernie reached over and took a pumpkin bar, broke it in half, and began to nibble on it. \"Maybe Amethyst's husband killed her. You know, she married him under false pretenses, and he realized what he'd gotten himself into.\"\n\n\"An annulment would have been easier.\"\n\n\"But not nearly as satisfying,\" Bernie pointed out.\n\nLibby laughed. \"This is true.\" She finished her half-moon cookie and wiped the crumbs off her hands. \"Do you think we should tell Dad what we're thinking?\"\n\nBernie could just hear her father now. And you think this based on what? A copy of Modern Bride and something a hostile and unreliable witness, a witness who is a suspect in the homicide case, told you? \"No,\" she said. \"I don't think so. At least not yet.\"\n\nLibby tugged at the top of her dress again. \"We could sort of float it by him.\"\n\n\"It would help if we had positive proof that Amethyst got married.\"\n\n\"I could go down to the town hall and check it out,\" said Libby.\n\n\"Go ahead. But the odds are that if she got married, she didn't get married here.\"\n\n\"True,\" Libby agreed. \"She was fairly secretive.\"\n\n\"Fairly? Fairly?\" Bernie opened her eyes so wide, she looked like a Kewpie doll. \"She lived in Stanton, for heaven's sake. She didn't want anyone in Longely to know her business.\"\n\nLibby returned to the subject of Ed Banks. \"That's why Lexus Gardens would fit in so nicely.\"\n\n\"So go check.\"\n\n\"I intend to,\" Libby admitted. \"Although if she did get married, knowing Amethyst, she probably did it somewhere like Palm Springs or Miami Beach....\"\n\n\"Or Paris or Rome.\"\n\n\"Or Morocco,\" Libby added while she tugged at the top of her dress.\n\n\"Here. Let me fix that for you.\" And Bernie went over and pulled the back of Libby's dress up. \"Better?\" she asked.\n\nLibby looked at her boobs. They were back where they should be. \"Much better. Thank you.\"\n\nBernie studied her sister while she tapped her fingers against her chin.\n\n\"Are you still thinking about Amethyst?\" Libby asked.\n\n\"No. I'm thinking that I'm sorry I made you wear this.\"\n\n\"You didn't make me. I could have said no. And, anyway, I think you're right. I think Marvin is going to like this.\"\n\n\"It might even make him jealous,\" Bernie said. \"Which would be a good thing.\" When Libby didn't say anything, Bernie said, \"Trust me on this. I'm the expert.\"\n\nLibby laughed.\n\nBernie stuck out her hand. \"Friends,\" she said.\n\n\"Friends to the end,\" Libby answered. They'd been saying that to each other for as long as Libby could remember.\n\n\"So,\" Bernie said. \"Now that we're pals again, are you going to tell me what happened before, when you were yelling?\"\n\n\"I wasn't yelling.\"\n\n\"Okay. Speaking loudly.\"\n\n\"You just don't give up, do you?\" Libby said.\n\n\"No, I don't. It's the secret to my success.\"\n\n\"Yes, it is,\" Libby agreed.\n\nAnd Libby gave her a blow-by-blow of what had occurred, which, if she was being honest with herself, she knew she was going to do all along, because eventually, she always told her sister everything.\n\n## Chapter 24\n\nLibby looked at the clock on the wall. It was now a little past nine. Half an hour and she and Bernie could pack up and leave. Thank heavens. The traffic had been nonstop. Once the people had started coming in, they had never slowed down. Usually, people came in clumps, so you had a chance to take a break, but she hadn't even had time to run to the bathrooom.\n\nIn addition, her back was killing her from standing, and her wrists hurt from making all those waffles. She hoped she wasn't developing carpal tunnel syndrome. That would be all she'd need. Maybe she should go to the store and get those braces. See if those helped.\n\nAt least her feet weren't killing her. She didn't know how Bernie managed in her three-inch stilettos. Libby didn't know what she'd do if she couldn't wear her sneakers. If she had to wear Bernie's shoes, she'd be going barefoot and the hell with the health codes. She wanted to go home, get out of her dress, take a bath, and go to bed, but instead, she and Bernie were meeting Brandon and Marvin at R.J.'s.\n\nWhen she'd protested, Bernie had said to her, \"First of all, Marvin hasn't seen your dress, and second of all, it's the least you can do to thank him for driving Dad around all afternoon.\"\n\nBernie was right. Marvin was incredibly sweet, and she shouldn't take him for granted, which, she was the first to admit, she had a tendency to do. Still, she hoped it would be an early night.\n\nShe surveyed what was left on the table. The one bright note was that they didn't have much to take back to the shop. All the cider was gone, as were the pies and the fruit breads, except for the last piece of banana bread, which she was going to eat right now. They could store what was left of the apple compote in the fridge in the kitchen adjoining the dining room, though she'd have to make more tomorrow morning. The leftover waffle batter had got tossed, as had the coffee. Libby was thinking that she wished she could find a use for the leftover batter\u2014it pained her to throw anything out\u2014when she realized that Bernie was talking to her.\n\n\"Maybe there's something about you that's attracting Bessie Osgood,\" Bernie was saying.\n\n\"There's nothing about me that's doing that,\" Libby said firmly and dove into her bag for a piece of chocolate. She knew what Bernie was going to say, and she didn't want to go there.\n\nJust the thought of what had happened was enough to give her the chills.\n\n\"You want a piece of chocolate?\" Libby asked her sister. \"I've got French made, estate harvested, unblended, eighty percent dark, or good old Hershey's Milk Chocolate Kisses.\"\n\n\"I'll take the Kisses,\" Bernie told her.\n\n\"Me too,\" Libby said.\n\nYou could say all you wanted about the joys of dark chocolate, Libby thought. You could go on and on about the notes of cinnamon and cranberry present in it, you could feel virtuous because dark chocolate was now considered good for you, but in times of stress, nothing worked like Hershey's Kisses. Somehow when they dissolved on your tongue, they took your worries with them. For a little while. But in this case, a little while was good enough.\n\nDefinitely good enough, Libby thought as she hoisted her bag off the floor and began rummaging through it, although what she really needed was a milk-chocolate IV right now.\n\n\"What in heaven's name do you have in there?\" Bernie asked her.\n\n\"Stuff. You know.\" Libby looked at Bernie's sleek clutch. \"Or maybe you don't.\" And she opened her bag as wide as she could and peered in. \"Where is that bag of Kisses?\" she muttered. \"I know I have it somewhere.\"\n\n\"You have a whole bag?\" Bernie asked.\n\n\"Well,\" Libby said defensively, \"you never know when a chocolate emergency will arise.\"\n\n\"Like the Hudson River will overflow, and we'll be stranded here for weeks.\"\n\n\"Exactly,\" Libby said. \"Or we get caught in a blizzard.\" She started removing things. Out came a pocket knife, a wallet, sunglasses, a bottle of aspirin, a bottle of vitamin B complex, a screwdriver. \"So that's where it was,\" Libby said as she put the screwdriver down on the table. \"I spent twenty minutes looking for this yesterday.\" Her eyes widened. A moment later she drew out a brown paper bag. \"I know I didn't put this in here.\" And then she remembered. \"Amber.\"\n\n\"Amber what?\"\n\n\"Amber said she had a surprise for me.\" Libby felt instantly guilty. Amber was probably waiting for her to call.\n\n\"A surprise from Amber is not necessarily a good thing,\" Bernie observed.\n\n\"Don't make me more nervous than I already am,\" Libby told her. \"It's been a bad enough day already.\"\n\nBernie snorted. \"Such a delicate flower.\"\n\n\"I'm serious. What with everything that's going on, I'm a nervous wreck. I think I need an antianxiety drug.\"\n\n\"No. What you need is to get laid.\"\n\n\"Bernie!\" Libby wailed.\n\n\"What's wrong with what I said?\"\n\n\"That's personal.\"\n\n\"No, it's not. It's true. It's true for everyone. You mean, it's not? You mean, you don't feel more relaxed afterwards?\"\n\nWhen Libby didn't answer, Bernie decided to change the subject. This was another topic Libby didn't like to talk about, and they'd had enough arguments for one day.\n\n\"What's in there?\" Bernie asked, motioning to the brown paper bag with her chin.\n\n\"Let's see,\" Libby said. She gingerly opened the bag and peered inside.\n\n\"Well?\" Bernie demanded.\n\n\"It's the puzzle box Felicity gave you.\" And Libby lifted it out.\n\n\"Why did Amber give it to you?\"\n\nLibby shook her head. \"Don't know. Dad left it downstairs on the kitchen counter. Maybe Amber wanted to make sure it didn't get lost.\"\n\n\"Why should she care?\" Bernie asked.\n\nLibby shrugged her shoulders.\n\n\"I'm going to call her,\" Bernie said, reaching for her cell phone. But her call went straight to voice mail. Amber must have turned off her phone, Bernie decided. So, she left a message to call her and hung up. \"She's probably with that yo-yo she's seeing.\"\n\n\"Her taste in men isn't very good, is it?\" Libby noted as she spotted a piece of paper in the bottom of the bag. Probably a sales receipt, she thought as she took it out.\n\n\"No, it's not,\" Bernie agreed as her sister unfolded the paper.\n\n\"It's a note,\" Libby said. She read it quickly. \"It's instructions for opening up the puzzle box. Amber must have figured it out.\"\n\n\"Impressive,\" Bernie said. She certainly hadn't been able to, and neither had her dad or Clyde.\n\nLibby took the puzzle box and looked at it. It was a little bigger than the palm of her hand. The top was made of three pieces of dark wood; the bottom, of two. The pieces of wood fit together so neatly that you had to look carefully to see where they were joined. Libby smoothed the paper with the edge of her hand and read the instructions.\n\n\"Press on the far left-hand piece once.\" She did. \"Then tap lightly on the far right piece.\" She did that, too. \"Then tap the bottom far right piece of wood, and the box should open.\" Libby looked up at Bernie. \"Here goes.\" She rapped once, and the top flew open.\n\nLibby and Bernie peered in. Inside the box was a piece of paper folded into a tiny square. Bernie lifted it out and began unfolding it.\n\n\"What is it?\" Libby asked as Bernie finished opening it.\n\nBernie flattened the paper out with the side of her hand. The writing was so fine, she was having trouble reading it. She brought the paper closer. \"It's a map,\" she said.\n\n\"A map of what?\"\n\n\"Maybe the old Peabody School. I'm not really sure.\"\n\nLibby took the paper out of Bernie's hand and studied it. \"The ink is brown.\"\n\n\"It's from a fountain pen.\"\n\n\"I know that,\" said Libby.\n\n\"I thought you were asking.\"\n\n\"No. I was commenting.\"\n\nBernie took the map out of Libby's hand and refolded it. \"We should show this to Dad. He'll probably know.\"\n\nLibby was about to agree when Bernie's cell rang.\n\n\"It's Amber,\" Bernie mouthed after she'd answered it. \"Yes,\" she said into her cell. \"We just opened the box. Yes. No. Libby forgot. Well, it was busy from the time she walked in here. I'm sorry your feelings are hurt. No. She doesn't mean to be insensitive.\"\n\n\"Insensitive?\" Libby squeaked. \"I'm insensitive?\"\n\n\"Sssh,\" Bernie whispered and went back to listening to Amber. \"Yes. We were very surprised. And impressed. How did you manage to figure it out?\" She nodded as she listened to Amber's explanation.\n\n\"What is she saying?\" Libby asked.\n\nBernie held up her hand as a signal for silence and went on talking to Amber. \"So you know where the map is pointing to?\" Bernie was silent for a few more moments as she listened to Amber talking. \"Interesting,\" she said as she hung up. Then she turned to Libby as she put her cell back in her clutch and folded it over.\n\n\"We're meeting her and the twins in front of the Foundation in half an hour,\" Bernie told her. \"By that time, everyone should have cleared out from here.\"\n\n\"They'll be gone in ten minutes.\"\n\n\"There are always stragglers. Anyway, it'll take everyone a little time to get here.\"\n\nLibby took the bag of chocolate Kisses out of her bag and poured several into the palm of her hand. She had a feeling she was going to need them.\n\n\"How does Amber know where to go?\" Libby asked.\n\n\"She looked at the old plans for the Peabody School. I guess the twins have them,\" Bernie explained before Libby could inquire.\n\n\"How does she know the twins?\"\n\n\"They live on the same block.\"\n\n\"It figures,\" Libby said morosely. She could see her bath and her bedtime receding further and further into the distance. \"What about Marvin and Brandon?\"\n\n\"I'll call them now. They can meet us there. We'll go for a drink later.\"\n\nLibby unwrapped two chocolate Kisses and popped them into her mouth.\n\n\"What is the matter with you?\" Bernie demanded.\n\n\"I'm tired.\"\n\n\"Aren't you excited to see what we're going to find?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" Libby lied.\n\n\"No, you're not.\"\n\n\"Have it your way.\"\n\nLibby popped another two Kisses into her mouth. It was going to be even colder and wetter out there now than it had been when she'd come in, and she was dressed in this stupid dress. She didn't even have a warm coat with her. Bernie had insisted she use her mom's paisley shawl instead. She'd loved it since she was a little girl, and it was definitely more elegant than her black, puffy coat. But sometimes elegance wasn't everything, although she doubted she could convince Bernie of that.\n\nLibby knew what was going to happen. She was going to get pneumonia, and then she wouldn't be able to work and the shop would close and they'd be out on the street. And on top of that, they wouldn't find anything tonight. She, Libby, would die of pneumonia for nothing.\n\n\"I don't know,\" Bernie said.\n\n\"You don't know what?\" Libby demanded. Her sister was looking at her and shaking her head in that particularly smug, irritating way she had.\n\n\"If you're like this now, I don't know what you'll be like when you're fifty.\"\n\nSince Libby couldn't think of a sufficiently cutting reply, she decided that it was better to say nothing at all.\n\n## Chapter 25\n\nBernie and Libby were five minutes early for their rendezvous, but Amber was even earlier. They immediately spotted her in the parking lot right behind the Foundation. Hers was the only car in the lot, but even if it weren't, it would have stood out like a lighthouse beacon.\n\nWonder Woman was a neon green Beetle with big white flowers on the doors and the words FLOWER POWER printed across the hood. And then there was Amber herself. \"Not exactly inconspicuous,\" Bernie had said to her sister. But she had to admit Amber had style, and that was a good thing. On the other hand, given the circumstances, more circumspection might have been better. Before coming here, Amber had changed out of her work clothes and was now wearing black-and-white striped leggings, motorcycle boots, a red baby-doll dress, and a black leather jacket.\n\n\"I like the hair,\" Libby said to Bernie as Amber came galumphing toward them. Since she'd seen her at the store, Amber had dyed her hair a bright yellow and braided it.\n\nBernie got out of the van. \"Very colorful,\" she commented.\n\nLibby rubbed her arms and drew the shawl around her as tightly as she could. \"At least it's better than the blue she had last month.\"\n\n\"I kinda liked the blue,\" Bernie confessed. \"In fact, I'm thinking of dying my hair that color myself.\"\n\n\"You wouldn't,\" Libby said.\n\n\"Why not?\" Bernie asked. \"I can always change it if I want to.\"\n\nBut before Libby could answer, Amber had reached them. The metal piercings in her nose and eyebrow gleamed in the glow of the security lights.\n\n\"This is so-o-o cool,\" Amber squealed, reminding Bernie of a five-year-old about to go into an ice-cream store. \"I'm so excited.\"\n\n\"I never would have guessed,\" Libby said dryly. If she didn't get pneumonia from being out in this weather, it would be a miracle.\n\nBernie kicked her in the shin.\n\n\"Ouch,\" Libby cried.\n\n\"Sorry about that,\" Bernie said. \"I must have tripped. Where is everyone?\"\n\nAmber pulled on one of her braids. \"They're coming,\" she replied. \"Curtis and Konrad had to stop and get some batteries.\"\n\n\"They're recording this?\" Libby asked.\n\nAmber gave her a look that clearly said that she was too dumb to live. \"Shite, mate. Sodding right they are.\"\n\n\"How silly of me.\" Libby had thought Amber was through with her Brit period, but evidently she was wrong.\n\nA moment later she heard the sound of engines approaching. Then two cars came roaring out from behind the scrim of tall trees that hid the Foundation and headed for Bernie and Libby's van.\n\nFor a second, Libby panicked, because she thought they were security, but then she realized the cars belonged to Brandon and to Konrad and Curtis. They both screeched to a halt at the same time. Marvin and Brandon jumped out of one car, while Konrad and Curtis jumped out of the other.\n\n\"The cavalry has arrived,\" Bernie said to Libby out of the side of her mouth.\n\n\"So it would seem,\" Libby agreed.\n\n\"What's a cavalry?\" Amber asked.\n\nSuddenly, Bernie felt very old. \"I'll explain later,\" Bernie told her.\n\nKonrad beamed at everyone. \"I'm totally psyched,\" he said. Then he dove back in his car and came out with a tape deck, which he handed to Curtis. He went back in again and came out with a camera. \"Infrared,\" he explained.\n\n\"Cool,\" Amber repeated.\n\n\"Very,\" Brandon agreed.\n\nWatching Amber, Bernie thought that she now understood the expression \"grinning from ear to ear.\"\n\nLibby looked at Marvin. She could tell from the expression on his face that he had the same misgivings about this that she had, a fact that comforted her, because everyone else seemed to think that what they were doing was fine.\n\n\"Nice dress,\" Marvin told Libby. \"I especially like the neckline.\" And he moved both eyebrows up and down.\n\nLibby grinned; then she caught Bernie's eye and stopped smiling. Okay. So Bernie was right about a few things, mostly men and clothes. She'd grant her that, but she wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of showing it.\n\n\"Be right back,\" Marvin said, and he trotted off to his car.\n\nA few seconds later, he returned with a jacket under his arm. He handed it to Libby. \"Here,\" he said.\n\nLibby put it on gratefully.\n\n\"So,\" Brandon was asking Amber, \"how did you solve the puzzle?\"\n\nAmber shrugged as everyone gathered around her to hear the answer. \"I just like to fool around with stuff like that, you know.\" She nodded in Bernie's and Libby's direction. \"I asked your dad if I could give it a try, and he told me to go ahead.\"\n\nBernie buttoned up the sweater she was wearing over her she-devil costume. \"Did you tell him that you'd figured it out?\"\n\n\"No. I thought it would be neater if we could show him what we found,\" said Amber.\n\n\"If there's anything there,\" Libby said.\n\n\"Why shouldn't there be anything there?\" Amber demanded.\n\n\"Well, because whatever it is has been...in its place...for a long time. Things happen,\" Libby pointed out.\n\n\"Like what?\" asked Amber.\n\n\"Like stuff,\" Bernie said.\n\nThe sound of a car pierced their conversation.\n\n\"You know what I think?\" Brandon said. \"I think we should get on with it before security comes around.\"\n\n\"He's right,\" Konrad agreed. \"Mark wouldn't be happy if he saw us here.\"\n\n\"Don't be stupid,\" Curtis said. \"Of course, he'd be happy\u2014\"\n\nLibby interrupted. \"So where do we go?\" She had no intention of standing there while they argued.\n\n\"I'll show you,\" Amber said, and she danced off in front of them.\n\nMarvin began walking. \"It must be nice to be young,\" he remarked.\n\n\"You are young,\" Libby said as she walked beside him.\n\nMarvin beamed.\n\n\"Hey, Konrad,\" Brandon called.\n\nKonrad turned slightly.\n\n\"You expect to get anything with that stuff?\" Brandon pointed to the tape deck and the camera.\n\n\"Yeah. Absolutely,\" said Konrad. \"It's almost Halloween. Everyone is out. This is the time when the dead come visiting.\"\n\n\"So Halloween is sort of like New Year's Eve for the dead? Party time,\" Brandon asked.\n\nCurtis laughed. \"Yeah. That's exactly right. And this is something about Bessie, so she'll probably be there, too.\"\n\nBoy, I hope not, Libby thought. She'd had enough of her to last for a long time. Libby gave a short prayer that if Bessie was around, she'd pick on someone else for a change.\n\n\"Where are we going?\" Libby asked.\n\nEveryone shrugged.\n\n\"I'm following Amber,\" Konrad said.\n\n\"Me too,\" Curtis said.\n\nSomehow that didn't make Libby feel any better. After all, Amber was the person who seriously believed in past-life regression and guided dreaming, and based all of her decisions on the I Ching. But then who was she to talk? She'd seen a ghost. She'd done more than see. She'd talked to it. What did that make her?\n\n\"How'd you get the plans?\" Bernie asked Curtis.\n\n\"Mark gave them to us. He said they might help us get...situated vis-\u00e0-vis the whole recording situation. Well, they're not really plans. They're more like sketches we made from the plans, because he wouldn't let us take the plans out of the building, which really is okay, because they're really, really large, and they'd be hard to carry around.\"\n\n\"Are your sketches to scale?\" Marvin asked.\n\n\"What's scale?\" Konrad replied.\n\nMarvin looked at Libby and raised an eyebrow. Libby gave an infinitesimal nod back. Now she was even more dubious about the whole endeavor than she'd been before.\n\n\"How much farther?\" Bernie asked.\n\nAmber turned around and pointed. \"We're almost there.\"\n\nBernie looked around. There was nothing she could see that looked anything like what was on the map. \"I don't get it,\" she said.\n\nAmber asked for the map from the puzzle box; then she laid the map and Konrad and Curtis's sketches side by side on the bench next to the Foundation's front door.\n\n\"It's simple,\" she said. \"See.\" She pointed to the right wing. \"That's the girls' section, and the left wing is the boys'.\"\n\n\"How do you know this?\" Libby demanded. \"It doesn't say that on the map.\"\n\n\"I just know,\" replied Amber.\n\n\"How do you just know?\" asked Libby.\n\nAmber put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. \"I dreamt it, okay?\"\n\nLibby snorted.\n\n\"See,\" Amber cried. \"I knew if I told you, you'd get all weird on me.\"\n\n\"I'm not weird,\" said Libby.\n\n\"But you wouldn't have wanted to come,\" said Amber.\n\n\"You're right,\" Libby told her. \"I wouldn't have, but we're here now, so let's get it over with.\" But not for the reason you think, she silently added.\n\nAmber hesitated for a moment before pointing up to the second floor. \"See the windows?\"\n\nBernie looked up. \"And Bessie Osgood stood there?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Amber said. \"She liked to watch everyone coming and going.\"\n\nLibby zipped up Marvin's jacket. It was getting colder by the minute. \"And that's where she was pushed from?\"\n\n\"That happened on the other side.\" Amber pointed to one of the sketches. \"That's where the French doors are.\"\n\nBernie leaned in closer. She could vaguely, and she meant vaguely, make out the drawing. \"I don't suppose anyone brought a flashlight?\" she asked.\n\nEveryone shook their heads.\n\n\"Use your cell,\" Brandon suggested.\n\nBernie tried, but the light was minimal, certainly not enough to read by. She flipped her cell phone closed and slipped it back in her clutch.\n\nAmber turned around and pointed over to the maple tree about twenty feet away. \"In my dream, I saw someone burying something right by the base of that tree.\"\n\nKonrad and Curtis ran over to where Amber was pointing.\n\n\"Here?\" Konrad asked.\n\nAmber nodded.\n\nKonrad fumbled with the tape deck for a moment. Then he clicked on the switch. \"Are you here, Bessie?\" he asked.\n\nBrandon moved next to him. \"Is she answering?\"\n\nCurtis shot him a dirty look. \"We won't know that till we play it back.\"\n\n\"I'm surprised you can hear anything on that tape deck. Where did you get that thing?\" said Brandon.\n\nKonrad put his finger to his lips. \"Sssh. You'll scare her.\"\n\n\"How can you scare a ghost?\" Brandon asked.\n\n\"They have feelings just like we do,\" Curtis said.\n\nBrandon was just about to ask him how he knew that when Amber let out a small shriek. Everyone jumped.\n\n\"What is it?\" Libby cried.\n\nAmber put her hand up to her mouth. \"Shite. I gotta go back to Wonder Woman. I forgot the shovel.\"\n\n\"Wonder Woman?\" Marvin asked Libby as Amber dashed away.\n\n\"That's her car,\" Libby explained. She rubbed her arms. Even with Marvin's jacket, she was still cold. \"This is silly. I think we should go.\"\n\n\"Go on,\" Bernie told her. \"I'll stay.\"\n\nLibby sighed. Somehow Bernie telling her to go made it harder to do just that. Go figure. She was still debating with herself what to do when Amber came back with a shovel. Libby looked at it carefully.\n\n\"That looks like the one we keep by the shop's back door,\" Libby observed.\n\n\"That's because it is,\" Amber told her. \"I figured you wouldn't mind.\"\n\nAmber marched over to the tree and started digging. Spadefuls of dirt began to fly. Bernie stepped back to avoid getting hit.\n\n\"Maybe you should slow down,\" Bernie told her as a hole began to appear.\n\nAmber wiped some dirt off her cheek. \"Why?\"\n\n\"Well, whatever is down there might be fragile...,\" said Bernie.\n\nAmber finished the sentence. \"And I don't want to damage it.\"\n\n\"Exactly,\" Brandon said. \"Here. Let me do this.\" And he knelt down next to where she'd been digging and began to scoop the dirt away with his hands while Amber peered over his shoulder.\n\nEveryone moved in closer.\n\nBrandon looked up. \"People,\" he said, \"you have to move back. You're blocking whatever light there is.\"\n\nEveryone moved back half an inch except for Amber. She knelt next to Brandon and began scooping the dirt out with her hands as well.\n\n\"Found something,\" Amber cried after sixty seconds had gone by. Then she corrected herself. \"Sorry. It's a tree root.\"\n\nBrandon grunted and kept digging.\n\n\"Maybe your dream is wrong,\" Libby said to Amber. \"Have you ever considered that?\"\n\n\"I doubt it,\" Amber replied. \"I doubt it very much.\"\n\n\"But how do you know?\" asked Libby.\n\n\"I just do. That's all. Don't you dream?\" said Amber.\n\n\"Not like that,\" Libby lied, trying not to think of her recent dreams.\n\n\"It must be cool to have precognition,\" Bernie observed.\n\n\"Pre...what?\" Amber asked.\n\nBernie was about to explain when she saw Brandon stiffen. Like a hunting dog catching a scent, she thought. \"Did you find something?\" she asked.\n\n\"I think so,\" Brandon replied.\n\nEveryone leaned forward to watch Brandon as he began clearing the dirt away. Amber helped. Their movements became faster. No one spoke, not even Konrad or Curtis. Libby could see their breaths drifting upward in the air. The only sound was the whoosh of the tape deck.\n\n\"I think it's a box,\" Amber said.\n\nBrandon lifted it out.\n\n\"It's definitely a box,\" Bernie said.\n\nAmber got up and brushed the dirt off her leggings. \"Wow,\" she said. \"This is just like a movie. You know, like the Curse of the Maya or something like that. We open the box and the evil spirit comes out and we all die slow, lingering deaths. Wouldn't that be cool?\"\n\n\"Not really,\" Brandon said as he straightened up and carried the box over to the bench in front of the Foundation.\n\n\"But it would be exciting,\" Amber said.\n\n\"Only in the movies,\" Brandon replied as he laid the box down.\n\n\"It looks like an old-fashioned cash box,\" Marvin noted. \"My dad still has one of those in his drawer. He keeps his stamps in it.\"\n\n\"That's exactly what it is,\" said Brandon as he flipped up the latch that held the box closed. He was surprised that it opened as easily as it did. He'd expected he'd need a small crowbar and a can of WD-40 because it would be rusted shut. But it wasn't.\n\nLater, when Bernie recalled the event, she would say, \"It was almost as if Bessie wanted us to open it,\" but right now she was too excited to focus on anything but Brandon opening the box. She leaned in as he opened the lid. A smallish something lay wrapped in a paisley scarf.\n\n\"I guess we're still standing,\" Marvin said. \"So much for the curse.\"\n\nAmber picked a leaf off the hem of her dress. \"Well, there could still be one. Only we won't know about it for a month or so.\"\n\nAmber was about to say more when Libby pointed. \"That scarf looks just like the shawl I'm wearing,\" she cried out.\n\nBernie looked up at her mom's shawl, which was draped over the jacket Libby was wearing, and then back at the scarf in the box. \"You're right. It does,\" she said.\n\nLibby frowned. \"That's very weird.\"\n\n\"It was probably a popular pattern back then,\" Bernie said as she turned her attention back to Brandon while he slowly untied the knots that were holding the scarf together.\n\nThere were three of them.\n\n\"Three is a magic number,\" Amber told everyone.\n\n\"We know,\" Bernie said as Brandon untied the last of the knots. Then he carefully opened up the scarf.\n\nA small leather journal lay in the center.\n\nBernie reached over and took it out of Brandon's hand. It smelled of earth and mold. The brown leather cover was blank. She unwound the cord that bound the book together and gently opened the cover and read the title page. It was printed in a neat hand.\n\n\"This is Bessie Osgood's journal,\" Bernie read. Underneath the title, in larger letters, Bessie had written \"Keep Out\" and had underlined the sentence three times.\n\n\"Wow,\" Libby said to Amber. \"Maybe you were right, after all.\"\n\nAnd then it occurred to Libby that maybe this was what Bessie Osgood had meant when she'd asked Libby to find her. She certainly hoped it was, because then Bessie would leave her alone. Even if Libby hadn't found the diary, she was present when it was found. That had to count for something, right?\n\nBernie put her hand out. \"I felt a raindrop.\"\n\n\"Me too,\" Konrad said.\n\nLibby looked up. The sky was even darker than it had been. She could see the clouds overhead. A raindrop fell on her forehead and ran down her cheek.\n\n\"It's going to pour,\" she predicted.\n\nA second later there was a clap of thunder, and the sky opened up. Everyone ran for their cars.\n\n## Chapter 26\n\nSean sighed as he looked at the tiles he'd just been about to put down on the Scrabble board. The word would have been a twenty-five pointer.\n\n\"Saved by the kids,\" he told Clyde as his daughters, their boyfriends, Amber, Konrad, and Curtis came trooping into the living room. He didn't know what this was about, but it was definitely something big, although getting a twenty-five-point word with three letters was pretty big, too.\n\nClyde snorted and finished the cream-cheese brownie he was eating. \"You'll use any excuse to keep from losing, won't you? I bet you arranged this whole thing.\"\n\nSean leaned forward and tapped the board with his index finger. \"Believe what you want if it makes you feel better,\" he told Clyde as Bernie came over and handed him a leather-bound journal.\n\nHe ran his hand over the cover while everyone crowded around him. They were close enough so that he could smell the damp and the night air on their clothes, which was way too close for him.\n\n\"What is this?\" he asked Bernie. \"You look like the cat that swallowed the canary.\"\n\n\"It's Bessie's journal,\" Bernie said. \"We just dug it up.\"\n\n\"Literally?\" asked Sean.\n\n\"Yes,\" Brandon said and showed Sean his hands. There was dirt underneath his fingernails.\n\nSean raised an eyebrow. \"Did you now?\" he asked Bernie. \"Why don't you fill me in.\"\n\nBernie told him about the puzzle box, the map, and how they dug up the journal.\n\n\"You didn't ask me to come?\" Sean said.\n\nBernie gave an apologetic shrug. \"We didn't want to disturb your game.\"\n\nRight, Sean thought as he turned to Amber, who was looking a little worried about what he was going to say. They just hadn't wanted the old man along. Too much trouble.\n\nBut Sean didn't say that, because that would have been whining. Instead, he told Amber she'd done a good job. But then he went and ruined it all by telling her that she should have come and told him first.\n\n\"But I...,\" Amber protested.\n\nSean held up his hand. \"No need to explain, and I really am very impressed. I couldn't open the box, and heaven only knows I tried.\"\n\nTwo dots of color appeared on Amber's cheeks. She plucked at one of her braids. \"It wasn't anything.\"\n\n\"No, it was,\" Bernie told her.\n\nSean watched as Amber looked down at the floor and dug a little hole in the carpet fibers with her toe. \"Is anything the matter?\" he asked.\n\nAmber paused for a moment.\n\n\"Tell us,\" Sean urged.\n\nAmber looked down and picked a wet leaf off her legging. She hesitated for another moment, and then she blurted, \"The truth is, I didn't figure it out. I got the solution off the Web site of the people who made the puzzle box. I guess I should have told you before, but I kind of liked you thinking I was this really smart person, and I figured that this way you'd let me come along.\"\n\n\"Hey,\" Bernie said. \"You are really smart.\"\n\nAmber studied the toes of her boots. \"No, I'm not. Everyone says that.\"\n\n\"You were smart enough to go online. That was more than any of us did. And we wouldn't have hired you if we didn't think you were intelligent.\"\n\nAmber brightened. \"Really?\" she asked.\n\n\"Really,\" Libby replied.\n\nAmber was about to say something else when Sean interrupted. \"Ladies, enough already with the confidence building.\" He wanted to say \"bullshit\" but managed to restrain himself. \"I want to know what the journal says.\"\n\n\"We don't know,\" Bernie said.\n\n\"What do you mean you don't know?\" Clyde and Sean both said at the same time.\n\n\"Just what I said,\" Bernie snapped.\n\n\"You haven't read it?\" Sean asked. He couldn't believe it. That would have been the first thing he would have done.\n\n\"No, Dad,\" Libby told him. \"We haven't. We wanted to wait till we could read it with you. We figured since you weren't there when we found it, you'd want to be there when we read it.\"\n\nSean ducked his head so no one would see how touched he was by the gesture. \"That's ridiculous,\" he barked. \"You shouldn't have waited for me.\"\n\nBernie grinned. \"I figured that's what you would say.\"\n\nNever could fool her, Sean thought as he handed the journal back to Bernie.\n\n\"Why don't you read it out loud?\" Sean suggested.\n\n\"Good plan,\" Konrad said. \"Then we can play our tapes, too. I bet we got some really good stuff, like maybe Bessie telling us how mad she is that we're reading her journal.\"\n\nNot if I can help it, Sean thought as Marvin said, \"Super.\"\n\nSean glared at Marvin, but Marvin was too busy brushing the water out of his hair to notice.\n\n\"That's what I'm worried about,\" Amber cried out. \"Maybe we should have an exorcism.\"\n\n\"We'll see,\" Libby said as she guided Marvin to the sofa.\n\n\"Because I know an exorcist,\" Amber said. \"I can call him if you like.\"\n\nLibby stole a look at her dad. He didn't look happy. She couldn't imagine what he'd look like if they actually got an exorcist up here. He'd probably shoot him.\n\n\"Maybe later,\" Libby told Amber.\n\nThen Libby sat down next to her father, while Bernie sat in the armchair, and Brandon perched himself on one of its arms. Instead of sitting on one of the wooden spindle-back chairs, Amber plopped herself on the floor, and after a moment Konrad and Curtis sat down next to her.\n\n\"This is pretty exciting,\" Marvin said. \"I wonder what we're going to find.\"\n\n\"The treasure map to the Templar's gold. I'm kidding,\" Sean said quickly before Marvin could say anything else. He nodded toward Bernie. \"Okay. Let's see what this baby has to tell us.\"\n\nEveryone leaned forward as Bernie opened the book and began to read.\n\n## Chapter 27\n\n\"Dear Diary,\" Bernie began. \"Mommy gave this to me because she said it would make things easier. I can put down everything that I would say to her. That way I won't be lonely. I don't want to go to the Peabody School, but Mommy says that Rose says that's a better place for me. She says I'm smart, and I should go to college and do all that stuff that she never had a chance to do. I think I'm going to miss everyone, but Mommy says I'll make lots of new friends. She says that everyone there is really excited I'm coming. I'm taking my teddy with me just in case.\"\n\nBernie stopped reading and looked up at her dad. \"Do you think Rose is Mom?\" she asked.\n\n\"Definitely,\" Sean said immediately. Had to be. It would be too big a coincidence otherwise.\n\nLibby thought back to the scarf the journal had been wrapped in. \"I wonder if Mom gave Bessie that scarf?\"\n\nClyde put down the brownie he'd been eating. \"What scarf?\"\n\n\"This scarf,\" said Libby as she leaned over and took a scarf out of her backpack. \"It has the same pattern as one of Mom's shawls.\"\n\nClyde turned to Sean. \"Any idea on that?\"\n\nSean shook his head. \"I worked a lot in those days. Rose took care of the social end of stuff.\"\n\n\"Did you ever meet Bessie Osgood?\" asked Clyde.\n\n\"I met her mother once,\" said Sean. \"I remember Rose and she were having tea. But that was about it. I was coming back after pulling a fifteen-hour shift.\" He turned to Clyde. \"The Anson robbery.\"\n\nClyde nodded. \"I remember.\"\n\n\"I went straight up to bed,\" said Sean.\n\n\"No wonder Mom never talked about Bessie,\" Bernie mused.\n\nLibby sneezed. She was definitely going to get sick. \"I don't get what you're saying.\"\n\nBernie sighed. \"I'm saying that considering what happened, I bet she felt guilty about being the one that convinced her mother to send her there.\"\n\nLibby bit her cuticle. \"Well, I certainly would have.\"\n\n\"Me too,\" Bernie allowed.\n\nSean nodded at Bernie. \"Read some more.\"\n\nBernie turned back to the book. \"The next entry is dated four days later. Dear Diary, I want to go home.\" Bernie looked up. \"The word home is underlined four times.\"\n\nShe went back to reading. \"No one here is very nice. The food sucks. We've had macaroni and cheese, pineapple, and peanuts four nights in a row. For dessert, we had Jell-O. I asked for ice cream, and the lady in charge of the food said that was a special occasion thing. At home I can have ice cream every night!\n\n\"I called Mom, and she promised to bring me some lasagna and my favorite brownies. The ones she makes with walnuts and tiny marshmallows on top. The only good thing is I like my classes. I get to write stories in English, and we have a class in Greek mythology. I started reading the stories already. The assignment sheet said we should read the first one, but I went ahead and read the first four.\n\n\"My roommate says I'm stupid. But I think she's pretty dumb. She never studies or anything. I guess she doesn't want to be here, either. Amethyst says her mom made her come, too, so that means we have something in common. But I don't think so. She was really mean to the cleaning lady when she came in to wash the floor this afternoon, during free time. I tried to tell her not to do that, but she wouldn't listen to me. I should have told her my mom cleans houses. I don't know why I didn't.\" Bernie looked up. \"I didn't realize they roomed together,\" she said.\n\nSean ate the last of his brownie. \"Me either. Go on,\" he said.\n\nBernie continued on to the next page. \"Not much here,\" she said. \"Bessie's mom dropped by with some homemade brownies and promised she'd be back in two days. They're reading Macbeth in English class, which Bessie loves. She's already memorized act one, scene one.\"\n\n\"I remember doing that,\" Libby said.\n\n\"Me too,\" replied Bernie. \"I guess nothing much has changed. Anyway, she really doesn't like her math teacher, and she has to write a report for social studies on the Revolutionary War. And she says, 'Teddy is feeling very, very sad.' Poor thing. But she doesn't say why.\"\n\nMarvin flicked a drop of water off his sleeve. \"I think I can guess.\"\n\nBernie moved her finger down to the bottom of the page. \"Listen. This is interesting. She says, 'The kids say there are shadow people here.'\"\n\n\"Shadow people?\" Libby echoed.\n\n\"That's another name for ghosts,\" Konrad said.\n\nBernie continued. \"I think I might have seen one, because I saw a lady walking down the hall. She was dressed in funny clothes. The lady that lives in the corner room said not to worry, that it's fine, and that she won't hurt me. I haven't told anyone else, because I don't want them to think I'm crazy.\"\n\n\"She probably saw Esmeralda,\" suggested Curtis.\n\n\"Bad enough to be in boarding school, let alone a haunted one,\" Libby commented.\n\n\"I don't know,\" Bernie commented. \"It could be kind of cool.\"\n\n\"I'm not so sure about the boarding school part,\" Amber said.\n\nLibby watched enviously as Amber straightened her legs out, leaned over and grasped her shoes with her hands, pulled her body down to her knees for a moment, then let go.\n\n\"When my mom was sick, I had to go to my aunt's for a month when I was in high school,\" Amber said. \"It sucked.\"\n\nSean made a hurry-it-along motion with his hand to Bernie. \"Does Bessie say anything else about Amethyst?\"\n\nBernie started leafing through the pages. \"Here's something. I went home for the weekend. I didn't want to leave, so Mom made my favorite cupcakes\u2014white cupcakes with white buttercream frosting and sprinkles on top\u2014to take with me. I put them in my cubby and went to give Mr. Marak, he's the headmaster, the envelope my mom gave me. When I came back, Amethyst and her retarded friends were eating the cupcakes.\n\n\"I told her that wasn't nice, and she started to laugh. I started crying, and she told me she could do whatever she wanted, because no one cares about me. I hate her. Hate her. Hate her. I called my mom and told her, and she said to forget it. She said she'd bake me some new ones.\n\n\"I said I didn't want to stay here anymore, and she said she'd speak to Mr. Marak about getting me another roommate, but I know that's not going to happen, because I heard him say to someone that they were full up. I started crying on the phone and then Mom started crying and that made me feel worse. She said I'd have to make the best of things for now and that I could come home for good if I wanted at Christmas.\"\n\nBernie looked up. \"I wonder what was happening with her mom?\"\n\nSean thought for a moment. \"If I'm not mistaken, I think her dad lost his job. He worked for the power company. And he went to California to help someone he knew put up a house, which meant Bessie's mom had to do more cleaning jobs. Did Bessie say anything to anyone about this?\"\n\nBernie shook her head. \"If she did, it doesn't say so here. Here she says she read The Catcher in the Rye.\" Bernie's finger stopped moving. \"Oh dear. Something happened to teddy.\"\n\n\"What?\" Marvin asked.\n\n\"He disappeared,\" said Bernie. \"Bessie says Amethyst told her the shadow woman took it, but she doesn't believe her....\"\n\n\"Go, Bessie,\" Brandon cried.\n\n\"She thinks Amethyst did it, but she can't prove it,\" said Bernie. \"She says she cried for hours, but she doesn't want to tell her mom, because she doesn't want to upset her even more. Also, she thinks she's fat, and all the other girls are making fun of her because of her clothes. She says, 'Amethyst said I'm fat like a pig and that if I had a circle pin, I would have to wear it on the right side, because no boys want anything to do with me.'\"\n\n\"That's terrible,\" Libby protested, thinking back to her own high school days. No one had said anything like that, but she'd always felt that they'd thought it.\n\n\"Don't kids at boarding schools have to wear uniforms or something?\" Brandon asked.\n\n\"Evidently not here,\" Bernie told him. \"And, anyway, you're missing the point.\"\n\n\"No, I'm not,\" Brandon said. \"I'm just asking a question.\"\n\n\"You know,\" Konrad interjected, \"Bessie said something on tape about how she wanted a white blouse with a Peter Pan collar and a pleated skirt, and how the girls were being mean to her. You want to hear?\"\n\n\"I think we need to finish reading the diary first,\" Sean told him. \"We don't want to mix our media.\"\n\nCurtis frowned. \"What does that mean?\"\n\nSean nodded to Bernie. \"She'll explain.\"\n\n\"It means,\" Bernie said as she marked her place in Bessie's journal with her thumb, \"that we're going to do one thing at a time, and when we're done with this, we'll listen to the tape.\" She looked up and caught her father's eye. \"Tomorrow. Tomorrow we'll listen. We'll be too tired tonight to give it the attention it deserves.\" She went back to reading the journal before Konrad and Curtis could protest.\n\n\"Okay. More trouble with Amethyst. She stole Bessie's favorite pair of socks. They were pink and gray, and her mom had knitted them for her. But she got an A on her math test. She guesses the math teacher isn't so bad. She loves her mythology course and is excited that she's going to take Latin next semester. Her teacher read one of her stories in class and told her she should submit it to the school magazine, which she's going to do. So she's doing well academically, but she still hasn't made any friends, and she really wants to go home.\"\n\nBernie turned the page. \"Here's something.\" And she cleared her voice and began to read. \"We have dance lessons tomorrow in the gym. They're going to teach us all the steps because we have a mixer in two weeks. I don't want to go, because no one is going to want to dance with me, because I'm fat. Amethyst says I'm too clumsy to learn how to dance, anyway. I told the housemother I don't want to go, but she said I had to. Everyone has to. I told her I couldn't learn the steps, and she told me that was ridiculous. Then I told her that no one would dance with me, and she said that that was just plain silly. Lots of the boys liked me, and anyway, everyone had to dance with everyone else. It was the rules. I'm going to run away.\"\n\nBernie stopped reading. \"We never had dance lessons.\"\n\n\"I hated the dances,\" Marvin said. \"My hands used to get all sweaty. It was embarrassing.\"\n\nBrandon stood up and stretched. \"Well, I liked them. I used to sneak out and have a smoke with Daisy Dixon.\"\n\n\"Just a smoke?\" Bernie demanded.\n\nBrandon grinned. \"No.\"\n\n\"That's what I thought,\" said Bernie.\n\nSean cleared his throat. Everyone turned toward him. \"Can we get back to the journal please?\"\n\n\"No problem,\" Bernie said and resumed reading. By now the wind had picked up, and the rain was splattering the windows. \"Let's see.\" She started running her finger down the pages as she scanned them. \"More stuff about classes. She's doing well in everything. More complaints about Amethyst and her friends.\"\n\n\"Do we know who they are?\" Clyde asked.\n\nBernie shook her head. \"So far she hasn't mentioned them by name.\"\n\n\"Pity,\" Clyde murmured as Bernie went back to the journal.\n\n\"Here's another entry about the shadow lady. She says, 'I saw her in the east wing near the kitchen. I'm never going to sneak food again.' That would certainly cut down on midnight snacking,\" Bernie noted as she went on. \"Okay.\" She continued turning pages. \"Same old. Same old. Aha.\" She stopped. \"This is something new.\"\n\nBernie continued reading. \"Dear Diary, We had our first dancing lesson today. I knew I was going to hate it. All the other girls had pretty skirts and blouses on, and I just had my old stuff. Mrs. Richards practically had to push me into the room. And then I kept tripping over my own feet. Why do I have to learn to dance, anyway? No one is ever going to ask me. But the worst was when we had to dance with the boys. We formed two lines, and everyone had to rotate every five minutes or so. All the boys looked unhappy when they had to dance with me.\"\n\n\"Poor thing,\" Libby murmured.\n\n\"And then,\" Bernie continued, \"I danced with the headmaster's son, Ken. He said he had heard a lot about me and that he had wanted to meet me. I thought he was just being polite, but when the dance ended, he said he'd meet me tomorrow by the maple tree outside the girls' wing. He had something he wanted to show me.\"\n\n\"Boy,\" Brandon interjected. \"If that isn't a classic line, I don't know what is.\"\n\n\"Be quiet,\" Bernie said to him. Then she coughed to clear her voice and went on. \"I couldn't sleep all night long. It's probably nothing. His father probably told him to be nice to me. I mean, he's so cute, so why should he pay attention to me?\n\n\"But I couldn't help it, I put on my plaid gray kilt and my good red V-necked sweater and my Sunday loafers and my last pair of clean white kneesocks, anyway. I even used a little bit of Amethyst's rouge on my cheeks. I hope she doesn't find out, but I don't see how she could, because it was just a little dab. Then I tried to get both sides of my hair to turn under the way the cool girls do, but one side kept flipping up. Good grief!\n\n\"I got there five minutes early even though I wanted to get there five minutes late. My mom says it's always best to make the boys wait. Ken wasn't there. I felt so silly standing there that I was going to leave, but then I looked up and saw Ken walking toward me. He was holding something out to me. A book. 'I thought you'd like this,' he said. It was a book of mythology, only this one was about the Celtic people.\n\n\"He said they had lots of stuff about Halloween in there, because that's where it came from. I was so happy, I didn't even say thank you. 'Don't you like it?' Ken asked. I told him I loved it, that that was the best thing anyone had ever given me, and he smiled. He has a great smile. It turns out he likes books, too. He even likes fairy tales, which is fairly weird, but he's going to give me some of the old ones. He says they're different. Also, he said he can help me when I start Latin. We're going to go for a walk tomorrow after dinner. I can hardly wait.\"\n\n\"Looks like things are picking up for our Bessie,\" Marvin said.\n\nBernie grunted as she kept reading. \"Okay. Nothing about Amethyst or being homesick or schoolwork on the next five pages. They're all about Ken. She says, 'Ken gave me a book about Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table today. Ken and I went for a walk, and we found some bright red leaves on the ground. Ken and I held hands. Ken is the cutest guy in the whole school.' Here's one page with Bessie Marak written all over it. Here's another page with little hearts and the initials KM & BO written in them. Looks like our girl is in love. Okay. Here's something. She says, 'Ken kissed me.'\"\n\n\"At last we're getting to the good stuff,\" Brandon said.\n\nBernie clucked. \"Don't you ever think about anything besides sex?\"\n\n\"No. Not really. What does she say about it?\" said Brandon.\n\n\"This. 'Dear Diary, This is the first time I've ever done anything like this except with my cousin Jerome when I was six. I was really worried that Ken's braces and my braces would lock, but they didn't. We kissed for a long time. It was lots better than I thought it would be. We only quit because we heard someone coming. I'm meeting him tomorrow night in the kitchen, and I don't care about the shadow woman, even if she is creepy. I can't believe I made out. I never thought it would happen to me!!!!'\" Bernie paused. \"That was a four-exclamation sentence,\" she noted.\n\n\"Then Bessie goes on and says, 'Amethyst was up when I came back to my room. She was smiling at me, which she never does. Talk about creepy. Anyway, she told me that she thought that Ken was real cute, and that I was very lucky to have a boyfriend like that, and maybe we could all go out together some time. I didn't want to get her angry, so I told her that was a neat idea, even though I don't think it is. I think it's a very bad idea. Then she smiled at me again. I wish I had teddy.'\"\n\n\"Trouble in paradise,\" Libby commented.\n\n\"There always is,\" Bernie observed, thinking back to some of her run-ins with women like Amethyst.\n\n\"Go on,\" Clyde urged. \"Tell us what happened.\"\n\nBernie shook her head to clear it and continued. \"Bessie's next entry takes place the next day. It starts: 'We met in the kitchen. It was really spooky. Lots of shadows, but Ken said I'm just imagining things. He says the shadow people are lots of bunk, so I shouldn't be worried. I'm trying to do what he says, but I keep thinking I'm hearing somebody talking in my ear. I think she's jealous that I'm going to be kissing Ken and she can't kiss anyone. Or maybe shadow people do kiss, and we just don't know it. We did lots of kissing, anyway. Ken says he's going to get me a circle pin, and we're going to go steady. That would be really neat.'\"\n\nBernie looked up. \"However, the next day she says, 'I saw Amethyst talking to Ken at lunch. He was laughing. When I asked him what was so funny, he shrugged his shoulders and said she'd told him a joke and that he didn't think she was as bad as he'd heard she was. I told him she was awful, and he said I was being silly and walked away. When I got back to my room, Amethyst was smirking at me. I told her to leave Ken alone, and she said, good grief, it was a free country, and that she was just talking to him. What was wrong with that? Maybe I'm being silly, but I don't like this at all.'\"\n\n\"I'd say her instincts are pretty good,\" Sean commented.\n\nLibby's stomach rumbled. \"Sorry,\" she said, mortified.\n\nHer dad laughed. \"I think we could all use a little something to eat.\"\n\n\"Cookies would be nice,\" Clyde suggested.\n\n\"More than nice,\" Konrad observed. \"Especially the gingersnaps.\"\n\nThat was the nice thing about baking, Libby thought. It made people happy.\n\nFor the next fifteen minutes, everyone helped themselves to the plates of chocolate chip cookies, gingersnaps, and molasses cookies, and to the decaffeinated tea and coffee that Libby and Amber brought up. Bernie got up, got a bottle of brandy from the bottom shelf of the cabinet, poured a little in her coffee, then passed the bottle around.\n\nKonrad raised his cup. \"A toast to Bessie,\" he cried.\n\n\"To Bessie,\" everyone repeated, and they clinked their cups and drank.\n\n\"To proving my cousin innocent,\" Curtis said.\n\nEveryone drank to that, too, but this time the response was less enthusiastic. Bernie poured another slug of brandy into her cup and passed the bottle around again. Then she took a sip, opened the journal back up to the page she'd marked, and began to speak.\n\n\"Okay,\" she said. \"The next page has more hearts with Ken's and Bessie's initials in them, except down at the bottom, where Bessie's written Amethyst's name and she's drawn a hatchet through it. See?\" Bernie passed the book around.\n\n\"Not a happy camper,\" Clyde commented as he looked at the page.\n\n\"That's because she knows what's coming,\" Amber said, \"and she doesn't know what to do about it.\"\n\nBernie nodded her agreement as Libby handed the journal back to her. Bernie took another sip of her coffee and picked up where she had left off. \"Dear Diary, I hate Amethyst. She says she wants to borrow the book on Norse mythology that Ken gave me. She says it's so interesting, and maybe she and I can discuss it some time. I told her I didn't want to lend it to her, and I guess she told Ken, because when I met him in the kitchen, he asked me why I wouldn't give it to her. I tried to explain, but he said I was just being silly. He said she was just misunderstood, and that she had a really bad mother and lots of problems at home, and I had to be understanding, so I told him about the cupcakes, but he said that just proved his point. We spent all this time talking about Amethyst and almost no time kissing, and when we did kiss, it wasn't very good. I could tell his mind wasn't on what he was doing.\"\n\nBernie turned the page. \"The next day we have, 'I think Ken likes Amethyst better than me. Yesterday I followed them. They didn't see me, because I hid behind the bushes. And they walked down the path that Ken and I walked down. They were both laughing and talking. Amethyst doesn't even like him. He's not her type. And she has lots of boyfriends. She just wants him because I like him. It's so unfair.'\n\n\"New entry. 'Tonight I was supposed to meet Ken and take a walk. I got all dressed up and everything. I even set my hair in the rollers Mom brought me. Then he called on the house phone and told me he was sorry, but he couldn't make it. Amethyst was really upset about her social studies test that was coming up\u2014she didn't understand the chapter\u2014and he had to stay in and help her. I'm so mad I don't know what to do. Amethyst smirked at me when she came in.\n\n\"'My mom says I should just ignore them both. That I'm just playing into Amethyst's hands by doing what I'm doing, and that boys don't like girls that run after them. Then she said that I'm much too young to be in a relationship, anyway, and that I'm at the Peabody School so I can better myself. She just doesn't understand!!!!' That's another four-exclamation sentence.\"\n\nBernie turned the page and read, \"When I got back this afternoon, Amethyst had her friends in our room. They were laughing and drinking and smoking out the window. I think one of them was smoking weed. One of them was even sitting on my bed. I told them they couldn't do that, and they all laughed some more and said they could do whatever they want.\n\n\"I was so mad I stomped out of the room, but on the way, I think I saw something on Amethyst's dresser that said Social Studies final. I'm not sure, but I think I did. I'm going to check when we go to dinner. I was right. I did see it. Oh my God. I bet she stole it. Or maybe Ken gave it to her. That would be too horrible to contemplate. I don't know what I'm going to do! I wish teddy was here.\"\n\n\"Then what?\" Marvin asked as Bernie paused to eat a part of her chocolate chip cookie.\n\nBernie wiped her hands on a napkin before continuing and perused the page. \"Let's see. We have more angst. No more hearts and initials. No more Bessie Marak. Instead, we have, 'Last night Amethyst came in and told me she and Ken kissed in the kitchen, and that they'd done other things too, things that Ken really liked. I started to cry, and she laughed and said he had told her that he went with me because he felt sorry for me because no one else would because I was so fat, and that he doesn't like me at all, and he thinks I smell bad, and all the kids are making fun of me.'\" Bernie stopped reading for a moment and looked up. \"You know, judging by the picture of her hanging on the wall in Amethyst's apartment, Bessie wasn't fat at all. She looked good.\"\n\n\"Yeah,\" Amber interjected. \"But she didn't know that. I bet Ken didn't even say those things. I bet Amethyst made them up.\"\n\n\"Possibly,\" Bernie said. \"No. Make that probably. Poor Bessie.\" Her finger tapped the bottom of the page. \"Her last entry on this page is, 'I called Mom and told her I wanted to come home now, and she said I couldn't, not until Christmas. I told her I had to and she should come and get me right now, and she told me that I had to learn to stand on my own two feet and take care of my own problems, and that I'd thank her later for doing this. Then she hung up. I don't know what I'm going to do.'\"\n\nBernie paused. \"The next entry takes place two days later, which is the night before Halloween,\" she said. \"Here Bessie writes, 'I've thought and thought, and I know what I'm going to do. I'm going to tell the headmaster all about Amethyst. I'm going to tell him about her drinking and smoking and sneaking out and not being in class and about the test and about how I think she stole teddy. Then they'll kick her out, and things will be like they were before. I already told Ken, and I guess he told Amethyst, because she said I'd better not. I told her I would.\n\n\"'Then she said I wouldn't dare. I told her I would do it tomorrow. She was trying on her costume for tomorrow night\u2014she's going as Lucy\u2014and she turned to me and said, \"No, you won't.\" Then she went back to looking at herself in the mirror. I don't know why I'm scared. I'm just being silly. There's nothing else she can do to me. She's already ruined my life, because I'll never get over Ken.'\"\n\n\"She's not going to have the chance,\" Amber said.\n\n\"What does she write next?\" Sean asked.\n\nBernie thumbed through the pages. \"Nothing. She wrote her last entry the evening before Halloween. She died the next day.\"\n\nEveryone fell silent.\n\n## Chapter 28\n\nLibby looked at the clock on the wall. It was a little after eleven, and from the way things were going, she wouldn't get to sleep for quite a long while. She'd been up since six in the morning and had wanted to be in bed an hour ago. The good news was that Konrad, Curtis, and Amber had finally left, which gave everyone a little more breathing space, not to mention giving her ears a rest.\n\n\"I'm glad we don't have to listen to the tape again,\" Libby said. Once was enough. Twice was definitely way too much.\n\n\"I can't imagine why,\" Bernie retorted. \"I love hearing static at ear-piercing levels, don't you?\"\n\n\"Oh yes,\" Marvin said. \"And I'm sure Amber's mom will feel the same.\"\n\n\"Yes, she's going to be very welcoming,\" said Bernie. She could see Amber's mom's prune face now. There was no way that Konrad and Curtis and the tape deck were going to get into Amber's house at eleven o'clock at night.\n\nClyde reached for another chocolate chip cookie. \"A definite case of the emperor's new clothes, if you ask me.\"\n\n\"Well,\" Libby said, stifling a yawn, \"Amber claims she heard Bessie saying, 'That's private. Don't read my journal.'\"\n\nBernie snorted as she slipped off her boots and lined them up next to the sofa. \"First of all, she wouldn't have said journal. She would have said diary. And secondly, you'd think she'd want us to read it.\"\n\nMarvin leaned forward and snagged another cookie from the platter on the coffee table. \"She probably thinks it makes her look bad.\"\n\nLibby turned and stared at Marvin.\n\nTwo dots of color appeared on Marvin's cheeks. \"That's what she'd be feeling if she existed,\" he stammered.\n\n\"But she doesn't,\" Sean said. \"She did, but she doesn't now. Otherwise, we might as well consult the Ouija board. It would be faster.\"\n\n\"My dad has one of those in the attic. I can get it if you want,\" said Marvin.\n\n\"I'm kidding, Marvin,\" said Sean.\n\nSean patted the pocket in his pants where his cigarettes were hiding. He would give anything to have one now. They'd always helped him think. Picked him up and clarified his thoughts. In the old days, he'd tell Rose he was going to answer an emergency call, and then he'd drive a little ways, park on one of the town's side streets, light up, and stare into nothingness. He'd always gotten his best ideas that way. Now, of course, that was impossible, because one or another of the girls was always hovering over him. At least, he thought, I'm well enough now, so I can walk down the stairs if I hold the banister and use a cane. Remission was a beautiful thing, and he was going to do as much as he could for as long as he could.\n\n\"What's the matter, Dad?\" Libby asked.\n\nSean looked at her. \"Why should anything be the matter?\"\n\n\"Well, you were sighing. I just thought you might need something,\" replied Libby.\n\n\"I'm fine,\" Sean lied. Drat those cigarettes. Okay. He knew they were really bad for him, but that didn't help. He could taste them. \"I was just thinking about poor Bessie and wondering who buried the journal.\"\n\n\"I guess she couldn't have,\" Marvin observed.\n\nSean moved his wheelchair so he could be nearer to the cookies. He particularly liked the lace oatmeal ones. They'd been his wife's specialty. At one time they'd been popular, but to his knowledge, his daughters' shop was the only place that made them anymore, mostly as a favor to him, he suspected.\n\n\"No. I don't think Bessie could have,\" Sean remarked. \"Dead people don't usually do things like that.\"\n\nBrandon grabbed another cookie and took Amber's place on the floor. \"So who do you think did, Mr. Simmons?\"\n\n\"My first guess would be Felicity Huffer. I think she found the journal and read it and didn't know what to do with it, so she buried it and drew herself a map so she wouldn't forget where it was.\"\n\nBernie rubbed her feet. She loved the boots she'd been wearing, but if she wore them for too long, they pinched her toes and gave her blisters. \"When I spoke to her, she did say she couldn't tell anyone what had happened, because she was afraid she'd lose her job. She said that Amethyst's parents exerted a lot of influence at the school.\"\n\nMarvin sneezed. \"There's nothing that incriminating in the journal.\"\n\n\"There's enough stuff in there to get Amethyst thrown out of school,\" Bernie countered.\n\n\"Yeah,\" Marvin replied. \"That's true. But I'm talking in the criminal sense.\"\n\n\"Well,\" Clyde said as he wiped cookie crumbs off his leg and into his cupped hand and dumped them in the saucer in front of him, \"I'm not so sure about that. If I had what I thought was an accidental death or a suicide and I read that journal, it would definitely get me thinking in a different direction.\"\n\nMarvin sneezed again. Whenever he got wet, he got sick. \"Then why not just destroy it?\" he asked. \"That would have been lots easier.\"\n\n\"Felicity's conscience probably wouldn't let her,\" Clyde responded. \"This way she could always tell herself that when the time was right, she'd show the journal.\"\n\n\"Which she did,\" Bernie said. \"Never mind that it's a little late to do any good.\"\n\n\"Of course, there's another possibility,\" Sean said. \"Someone else could have buried it. Like Amethyst or Ken Marak.\"\n\n\"And Felicity saw them do it and drew the map,\" Brandon said.\n\nSean nodded. \"Exactly.\"\n\nClyde said, \"This is all very fascinating in the academic sense, and Bessie's journal is very sad, but I don't think it helps us any.\"\n\nBernie looked at her dad. \"What do you say, Dad?\"\n\n\"My gut tells me there's something here,\" said Sean. He pointed to Bessie's journal, which was now resting on the coffee table, next to the cookies. \"I just don't know what.\"\n\n\"I don't see anything that fits with what we already know,\" said Clyde.\n\n\"Clyde, you don't know that for a fact,\" Sean objected.\n\n\"I think I do,\" Clyde insisted. \"The only facts we know for certain are that we have three people with pretty good motives for killing Amethyst, and each one of them had access to the place where she died. We know that the person that killed her had to have had some facility with tools or been some place where they'd seen a fiber-optic laser cutter at work, which actually isn't much of a lead, because they're used at construction sites and in body shops. But most importantly, we know that Amethyst wanted to use Lexus Gardens as the site for a wedding ceremony. Now whether\u2014\"\n\n\"Excuse me,\" Libby interrupted. \"How do we know this?\"\n\n\"I finally got hold of Banks's personal assistant,\" said Clyde.\n\n\"Why didn't you tell us?\" Bernie demanded.\n\n\"We were going to,\" her dad said, \"but you guys came running in here, and we never got the chance.\"\n\n\"Wow,\" Bernie said. \"Married. The ceremony had to be for her.\"\n\n\"That's what I figured,\" Clyde said. \"By the way, Banks refused the request. He didn't want a ceremony, a reception, or anything at his place. He really did like to keep to himself.\"\n\n\"And this ties in with his death how?\" Libby asked.\n\n\"It's a stretch,\" Sean hypothesized, \"but the only connection I can see is that Ed Banks was killed because the person who killed her didn't want it known that Amethyst was getting married.\"\n\n\"That's a big stretch,\" Libby said.\n\n\"It's a huge stretch,\" Sean agreed.\n\n\"Which leaves us in the same position we were in before, with Bob Small as our primary suspect,\" Clyde said.\n\n\"Well, Amethyst certainly wouldn't be marrying him,\" Bernie said. \"He has no money.\"\n\n\"Neither does Inez,\" Brandon observed.\n\n\"Inez is a woman,\" Marvin said.\n\nBrandon just looked at him. \"Really? I hadn't noticed. For your information, Inez goes with whatever moves.\"\n\nMarvin blushed again.\n\n\"Which leaves Zachery,\" Bernie said.\n\n\"But he hated her,\" Libby protested.\n\n\"What better reason to marry and kill her?\" Bernie asked.\n\n\"Someone would have to be really cold-blooded to do that,\" Brandon said.\n\n\"Maybe he is. I've known some psychopaths in my time. They act like everyone else until you get to know them real well,\" said Bernie. She screwed up her face while she thought. \"I think I should go have another talk with him.\"\n\n\"Why? We'd know if they got married,\" Libby said. \"We would have heard.\"\n\n\"Not if it was a secret,\" Sean said. \"Not if they went away and got married somewhere else.\"\n\n\"But we would have heard that they were living together,\" Bernie objected.\n\n\"Maybe they weren't,\" Marvin said. \"Maybe they were living in separate residences.\"\n\n\"Then why bother marrying?\" Libby asked. \"That makes no sense whatsoever.\"\n\n\"It makes as much sense as everything else about this case does,\" said Bernie as she picked up her cup and put it down again. \"Here's another thought. What if Amethyst was getting married to Ed Banks? What if they got married? Then killing him makes a lot more sense. It means that someone needed to kill them both.\"\n\nClyde snorted. \"How do you come up with that?\"\n\n\"What, exactly, did you ask Banks's personal assistant?\" Bernie inquired.\n\n\"First, I asked him if Amethyst Applegate had talked to his employer, and he said she had,\" said Clyde. \"Then I asked him how he knew, and he said she'd come up to the estate, at which point I asked him what the conversation had been about. He said he heard his employer saying that he didn't want the reception held here, and then Banks shut the door, and he couldn't hear anything else.\"\n\nBernie leaned forward and pointed a finger at Clyde. \"So Banks and Amethyst could have been talking about holding a reception for their wedding on the estate grounds. I mean, it is a possibility.\"\n\n\"I guess if you put it that way, then yes,\" Clyde conceded.\n\n\"Would there be a record of the wedding in the town hall or somewhere like that?\" Brandon asked.\n\n\"For the fourth time, not if they didn't get married here,\" Sean said. \"If we're following Bernie's scenario, then it's just as likely that they hopped on a plane to Reno or Vegas, got hitched, and flew back the next day. What do you think, Clyde?\"\n\n\"I think Bernie should have been a lawyer, that's what I think,\" said Clyde.\n\nBernie stood up and took a mock bow.\n\n\"But I'm still sticking with what I said before, and all the fancy logic in the world can't convince me otherwise,\" Clyde told her. \"What do you think, Libby?\"\n\n\"I'm too tired to think,\" replied Libby.\n\n\"Me, too,\" Marvin said.\n\nLibby turned and looked at him. His eyes were like slits. She was just about to tell him he should go home when her father beat her to it.\n\n\"Get some sleep,\" Sean said to Marvin. \"We have a busy day tomorrow, and we need to start bright and early.\"\n\nClyde stood up, too. \"That goes for me, too.\"\n\nLibby and Bernie walked everyone down the stairs and said good night. After Bernie locked up, she turned to Libby and said, \"This is going to sound crazy, but I'm thinking about having a little work done.\"\n\n\"Work done?\" Libby echoed. \"What kind of work?\"\n\n\"Cosmetic surgery kind of work.\"\n\n\"Are you nuts?\" Libby asked.\n\n\"But see\"\u2014Bernie pointed to her forehead\u2014\"I'm beginning to get lines here.\" She pointed to the area between her nose and chin. \"And here. And look at the circles under my eyes.\"\n\n\"You are nuts,\" Libby told her.\n\n\"Look closer.\"\n\nLibby did. \"I still don't see anything.\"\n\n\"That's because the light down here is bad.\"\n\n\"You're having surgery?\"\n\n\"Well, I'm hoping Botox will take care of everything for awhile. And, anyway, it's not surgery. It's maintenance.\"\n\n\"I don't care what you call it. It's still injecting a deadly toxin into your body.\"\n\n\"It's not a big deal. Millions of people do it, and I think there's something new on the market. That's why I have a consult tomorrow morning.\"\n\n\"Tomorrow morning?\" Libby cried. \"Why tomorrow morning?\"\n\n\"Because they had a cancellation. Otherwise, I'd have to wait four months.\"\n\n\"Maybe you should. It'll give you time to think about it.\"\n\n\"I've been thinking about it for almost a year,\" said Bernie.\n\n\"You never mentioned it to me.\"\n\nBernie shrugged. \"That's because I knew what you'd say.\"\n\n\"Do you know how busy we're going to be?\"\n\n\"It's always about you.\"\n\nLibby rolled her eyes. \"I have an idea,\" she said. \"Why don't we grow a little botulinum here, and you can do it yourself.\"\n\nBernie ignored her. \"I've got the first appointment. It's at eight. I'll be in and out of there in half an hour at the most, and then, if there's time, I'm going to drop in on Zachery, and if not, I'll come right back to the shop.\"\n\n\"Have you told Dad about what you're going to do?\"\n\n\"I'm not doing anything. I'm going for a consult,\" said Bernie.\n\n\"Fine, Miss Have-To-Say-It-Exactly-Right. Let me rephrase. Have you told him about what you're thinking of doing?\"\n\nBernie snorted. \"What, are you crazy? He doesn't even like it when I change my hairstyle.\"\n\n\"I bet Brandon won't be too pleased, either.\"\n\n\"He's not going to know. No one is.\" Bernie fixed her eyes on Libby. \"And you're not going to tell them, either. Right?\"\n\nLibby studied the hallway light fixture.\n\n\"Promise me you won't say anything,\" said Bernie.\n\nLibby folded her arms over her chest.\n\n\"I mean it.\"\n\n\"I know you do.\"\n\n\"Well?\" Bernie said after a moment had gone by.\n\n\"Fine,\" Libby said sullenly. \"I swear. Satisfied?\"\n\n\"Sister swear.\"\n\nLibby groaned. Sister swear was an unbreakable oath, the most serious oath there was between them. She might have known Bernie was going to pull this out of the proverbial hat.\n\n\"I mean it,\" Bernie said.\n\n\"All right,\" Libby said. \"I sister swear it. But I think you're making a big mistake.\"\n\nBernie gave her a hug. \"I know.\"\n\nTheir dad barely looked up when Bernie and Libby came upstairs. He was too engrossed in reading Bessie's journal.\n\n\"Do you want me to put the Scrabble game away for you?\" Libby asked him.\n\nSean shook his head. \"No. Leave it. I'm not done with it yet.\"\n\n\"Some more tea?\" asked Libby.\n\n\"No, Libby. I'm fine, honestly,\" said Sean.\n\nBernie leaned over him. \"Are you getting any ideas?\"\n\nSean looked up at her and smiled. \"Actually, I am.\"\n\n\"You want to tell us what they are?\" asked Libby.\n\n\"Not yet. Maybe tomorrow,\" said Sean. He went back to reading.\n\nLibby and Bernie stood there and watched him. After a moment, they both gave him good-night pecks on his cheeks and went off to sleep. Even Bernie was tired. The whole thing with finding Bessie's journal must have taken more out of her than she thought.\n\n## Chapter 29\n\nIsn't this just the way? Libby thought bitterly as she stared at the clock on her nightstand. She desperately needed to go to sleep. She was so tired, she couldn't keep her eyes open, but now that she was in bed, she couldn't fall asleep. All she could do was stare at the numbers on the clock face: 2:30, 2:31, 2:33. She was now down to three hours of sleep before she had to get up. At this rate, she might as well get up and go downstairs and start baking. At least she'd be getting something done.\n\nShe pulled the comforter up and rearranged her pillow. Maybe she needed to get a new pillow. Then she turned over and stared out the bedroom window. The rain was smearing everything. The street lights outside looked blurry, and the houses across the street had disappeared behind a watery film. A branch of the maple tree she and Bernie used to climb up when they were young had twisted itself into a face.\n\nFunny. Why hadn't she noticed that before? It had a mouth and eyes. And a nose of sorts. Nostrils, actually. She blinked. It must be a trick of the light. Then she blinked again, because she recognized the face. It was Bessie's. Bessie was tapping at her window. The strange thing was, she wasn't even scared. She was just annoyed. Very odd.\n\n\"Go away,\" Libby told her. \"Go bother someone else for a change. I've had enough.\"\n\nBessie looked as if she were going to cry. \"But I like you.\"\n\n\"Well, I don't like you.\"\n\nBessie stamped her foot. \"You are so mean.\"\n\nThen, before Libby could answer, Bessie was floating above her, around her. She was everywhere Libby looked. Something wet was falling on Libby's face. Bessie's tears. They were coming faster and faster. She was getting soaked. She felt as if her bed was floating. She looked down. Water was filling her room. It was carrying the bed up toward the ceiling. She was going to drown.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" Libby cried. \"I didn't mean it. I'm tired.\"\n\n\"You swear?\"\n\n\"I swear,\" Libby said. At least it wasn't sister swearing. All at once the bed fell, and she was on the floor again.\n\n\"We found your journal,\" she told Bessie. \"We dug it up. Isn't that what you wanted to happen? Don't you want everyone to know what's going on?\"\n\nSuddenly, Libby found herself back at the Peabody School. The windows were decorated with cutout witches and pumpkins. Jack-o'-lanterns hung from the trees. Paper skeletons danced on the doors, while students in werewolf masks stalked the hallways. It was the night before Halloween, and she was watching Bessie talk to Ken.\n\n\"I don't understand,\" Bessie was saying. \"I don't understand why you're doing this.\"\n\n\"I'm not doing anything,\" Ken said.\n\nLibby could tell from the way Ken was standing that he was clearly impatient with Bessie. Somehow Libby knew that this discussion had been going on for a half an hour and that Ken was more than ready to leave. And with every word that Bessie said, his interest faded a little bit more.\n\n\"But you are,\" Bessie insisted. \"You're helping Amethyst cheat.\"\n\n\"I didn't know she was going to take the test,\" Ken insisted.\n\n\"Then tell your dad.\"\n\n\"I can't.\"\n\n\"Why not?\" asked Bessie.\n\n\"Because I can't, that's why.\"\n\n\"You can't, because you like her.\"\n\n\"I don't like her at all.\"\n\n\"Yes, you do.\"\n\nJust let it go, Libby wanted to tell Bessie. Just walk away. He still likes you. He likes you better than Amethyst, even though he doesn't know it yet. He'll come back to you. But Libby couldn't get the words out of her mouth.\n\n\"I'm going to tell your dad,\" Bessie declared.\n\n\"Bessie, don't,\" Ken pleaded.\n\n\"I am,\" Bessie said.\n\nWhy does Ken look so familiar? Libby wondered as she watched letters come out of Bessie's mouth and form themselves into words above her head. Just like in the cartoons, Libby thought. She was trying to read them, but the rain kept on getting in her eyes. Now the letters had turned into Scrabble tiles and had fallen to the ground. They were forming themselves into two words. A name? A place? Whatever it was, it was important. It was more than important. It was crucial. Libby leaned over to get a better look, and suddenly, she was falling, down, down, down. The ground was coming up fast, but she was still trying to see the words. Then, just before she hit the ground, a name flashed through her mind.\n\nLibby woke up with a start. She was covered in sweat, and her heart was hammering so hard, she couldn't catch her breath. It took her a second to realize she was in her bedroom. She sat up.\n\n\"It was a dream,\" Libby said out loud. \"Just a dream.\"\n\nBut it hadn't felt like that at all. It had felt real. This was what she got for going along with Amber's nutty schemes and eating too much ice cream. Whenever stuff like this had happened in the past, her mom had always told her it was because of something she'd eaten before bedtime.\n\nShe wanted to believe that now, but even then she had known it wasn't true. Despite what her mom had said, these dreams were different. And Libby thought that her mom had known it, too. She just hadn't wanted to talk about it, the way she hadn't wanted to talk about other stuff. Libby still remembered when she'd had the dream about her grandmother dying right before she did, and she'd gone and told her mom. After the funeral, her mom had told her not to say anything to anybody about stuff like that.\n\n\"People will think you're weird,\" her mom had warned her. And even though Libby had only been nine at the time, she'd understood that her mom had meant \"more weird,\" and she'd never told another living soul about her dreams\u2014except for Bernie\u2014ever again. Eventually, they'd stopped happening. This was the first one she'd had in a long time, and now that she'd had it, she remembered why she'd hated those dreams. They totally freaked her out.\n\nLibby pulled her comforter, which wasn't supplying much comfort, over her head and told herself to go back to sleep. Instead, she spent the rest of the night tossing and turning and trying to remember the name the Scrabble tiles had formed just before she fell, but the name kept skittering away from her, hiding in the recesses of her mind.\n\n## Chapter 30\n\n\"And I thought I had circles under my eyes,\" Bernie said when she saw Libby the next morning.\n\nLibby grunted. She was on her third cup of coffee. Usually, she had just one, but this morning was a notable exception.\n\n\"Maybe you should go as a bag lady tonight,\" Bernie suggested. \"You know, bags under the eyes, bags\u2014\"\n\n\"Ha-ha. I get it. You don't have to explain. You're really going to do this?\" Libby asked.\n\n\"This\" was the cosmetic surgery consult. Bernie looked fine to her. She looked more than fine. The truth was Libby would have killed to look like her sister. Bernie had gotten the good nose, the high cheekbones, and the clear complexion.\n\nBernie nodded. \"You betcha.\"\n\nLibby took another sip of her coffee. Under other circumstances, she would have tried to talk Bernie out of going, but she was too preoccupied with last night's dream to bother arguing that cosmetic surgery was dangerous and a total waste of money.\n\n\"Good luck,\" Libby said and turned back to survey the to-do list she had tacked up on the fridge.\n\nWhen Bernie told Libby she was going to pay a visit to Zachery Timberland after her appointment, Libby merely nodded, because she was trying to figure out, as Julia Child would have said, the order of battle for the day.\n\n\"Are you sure you're all right?\" Bernie asked her. Given everything that had to get done, her sister should be in a frenzy by now.\n\nLibby kept her eyes glued to the list on the fridge. \"Why are you asking?\"\n\n\"Well, ordinarily, I'd think you'd tell me to come right back to the shop. After all, we're going to be pretty busy today.\"\n\nLibby turned and faced her. She had a grim look on her face. \"Why?\" she said. \"Just because it's Halloween night, and we have that dratted Haunted House to deal with, not to mention three large pickup orders between four- and five-thirty, and we're already behind because the chicken hasn't been prepped, and we need to do the onions and the peppers, not to mention hollowing out the pumpkins for the pumpkin and apple soup, as well as all the muffins, pies, cookies, and cakes that still have to be made?\"\n\n\"Something like that. I'll call Amber and Googie.\"\n\n\"I already have,\" Libby informed her. \"They'll be here in half an hour.\"\n\nBernie reached for a semi-stale pumpkin bar, one of several that they'd forgotten to put away last night, broke off a piece, and ate it.\n\n\"You know,\" she said. \"I think I like these better this way. They have more texture. We might even be able to incorporate them into the brownie bars.\"\n\nLibby grunted. Bernie hated when her sister got this way.\n\n\"Well,\" Bernie continued, trying to be positive, \"at least everything will be over tonight.\"\n\n\"Will it?\" Libby asked. \"I don't see how.\"\n\n\"Why won't it be?\" Bernie replied, and then she realized what Libby was really talking about. \"You mean the case?\"\n\nLibby nodded. \"Yes. What were you talking about?\"\n\n\"Our catering gig.\"\n\nLibby reached over and grabbed one of the pumpkin bars and nibbled on it. \"Not bad,\" she conceded. \"As for the Haunted House, if I never see that place again, it will be too soon for me.\"\n\nBernie looked at her carefully. Something was definitely going on behind those bangs and glasses. \"Did something happen last night after I went to bed?\"\n\nLibby shook her head. \"Like what?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\n\"Then why are you asking?\"\n\n\"Because you seem kinda weird this morning.\"\n\nLibby put her hands on her hips. \"So now I'm weird? Thanks a lot. That's certainly helpful.\"\n\nBernie gave an exasperated sigh. \"You know what I mean.\"\n\n\"No, I don't.\"\n\n\"I mean weird as in off, as in something is bothering you.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm fine.\"\n\n\"Are you sure?\" Bernie asked her, noting that Libby was looking at everything but her.\n\n\"Positive. Aren't you going to be late for your appointment? Can't keep the plastic surgeon waiting, can we.\"\n\n\"It's a consult.\" Bernie ate the rest of the pumpkin bar while she thought. Something was definitely wrong. \"You didn't have a fight with Marvin, did you?\"\n\n\"Marvin and I are fine.\" Libby reached for another pumpkin bar and practically inhaled it.\n\nBernie studied her some more.\n\n\"Stop looking at me,\" Libby told her.\n\nBernie snapped her fingers. \"I know. You had one of your dreams, didn't you?\"\n\nLibby blushed.\n\nBernie scrutinized her for a moment longer. \"You did, didn't you?\"\n\n\"No, I didn't.\"\n\n\"It's not a bad thing,\" Bernie said gently.\n\n\"Maybe the dreams aren't bad to you,\" Libby flung back. \"But that's easy for you to say because you're not the one that has them. You might feel differently if you did.\" She turned back and began studying her list with a great deal of intensity.\n\n\"So you're against miscegenation?\" asked Bernie.\n\nLibby turned back to her. \"What are you talking about?\"\n\n\"You believe there shouldn't be any mixing.\"\n\n\"Mixing?\"\n\n\"You know. The dead should stay in their world, and the living should stay in theirs.\"\n\nLibby burst out laughing. \"I guess I do.\"\n\n\"So you're a deathist.\"\n\n\"Deathist?\"\n\n\"Deathist. Like a racist. You're prejudiced against dead people.\"\n\nLibby laughed harder. \"You're nuts,\" she said when she could talk again.\n\n\"I know.\"\n\nWhen Bernie went out the door, Libby was still laughing, which somehow made Bernie feel better.\n\nIt was so ironic, Bernie thought as she slid into her car. Libby had a gift that some people would give anything to possess, and she refused to have anything to do with it. But wasn't that the way it always was. Bernie, for example, usually wanted men that were totally wrong for her, while she was uninterested in those that were suitable. Fortunately, Brandon was turning out to be the exception to that rule. The operative words here were turning out, because, if truth be told, she still didn't entirely trust him yet.\n\nBernie sighed as she turned on the ignition. It was going to be a long day, and she didn't enjoy starting it this way, but you had to go with what you could get in the appointment department. The drive over to the doc's office took five minutes. Since she was booked for the first appointment of the day, her behind hadn't even had a chance to hit the expensive leather-covered seats, the ones that she'd seen in an architectural magazine and that cost five thousand dollars each, before she was called in. Fifteen minutes later, she left, armed with a price list and an extensively illustrated brochure that described all the procedures Dr. Cornelius Love did.\n\n\"Is that your real name?\" Bernie had asked when she'd walked into his office.\n\nDr. Love had laughed and turned the conversation back to her, which probably meant that it wasn't. Having that last name in school would have been...well, it would have been awful. She was still thinking about Dr. Love as she thumbed through the brochure. The words that came to mind as she did were \"yuck\" and \"blech,\" although \"gross\" was fitting as well. Bernie didn't consider herself squeamish, but looking at the color photographs made her want to throw up.\n\nMaybe Libby's right, Bernie thought as she put her car in drive and headed over to Zachery Timberland's house. Maybe I should forget about this. On the other hand, those lines on her forehead and the folds between her nose and her chin were only going to get worse. It was better to do little maintenance jobs over time than to do a face-lift when she got to fifty. Those really did look awful unless they were done by someone very, very good, and even then you couldn't be sure. Look what had happened to Joan Rivers.\n\nAnd the doc was kinda cute\u2014not that that was a good reason to choose him to do this. But it certainly wouldn't hurt. God. Why did everything have to be so complicated? Maybe she'd try microdermabrasion first, and if that didn't get rid of the lines, she'd go the Botox route. Who knew? By then they might have even come out with a new product.\n\nWith that settled, she gradually started thinking about Bessie's journal again and about Amethyst and whether or not she'd gotten married. She was definitely playing a long shot here, but she was running out of ideas.\n\nShe had half a mind to turn around and go back to the shop and start making the dough for the pies, but the way things were going, Bob Small was going to go to jail for Amethyst's murder for sure\u2014unless she, Libby, or their dad came up with something. And if her dad did what he wanted to do\u2014which was to demonstrate that Marvin could crawl in and out of the ceiling in the Haunted House\u2014that would be another nail in Bob Small's metaphorical coffin. But fortunately, she'd pretty much convinced her dad to leave things alone. For the moment.\n\nWhat she'd said was, \"Why help Lucy?\" And her dad had agreed. Marvin had been incredibly relieved. And she was happy, too, because the more she knew about Bob Small, the more unlikely it seemed to her that Bob had killed Amethyst. Like Libby, she just couldn't imagine him doing something like that. Shooting someone in a fit of rage, yes; but something that took lots of advanced planning, no.\n\nBob Small seemed so clueless, which, of course, was why he'd gone to jail in the first place. If he wasn't clueless, he would have been able to see through Amethyst. Or, to be perfectly accurate, he wasn't so much clueless as thinking with his dick\u2014but maybe that was the same thing.\n\nThis case was like a huge, tangled skein of wool. Every time she, Libby, or her dad thought they were making headway, they ended up in the same place they had been before. Which was why she was going to Zachery Timblerland's house at 8:35 in the morning. He probably wasn't even there. He most likely was on his way to his office. But it was worth a try. As her father always said, \"When in doubt, do something. Don't sit around like a lump.\"\n\nMaybe her visit would shake Zachery up a little. Hopefully. She'd read a statistic somewhere that most homicides were solved within the first seventy-two hours, or they were not solved at all. Well, they'd certainly gone past the seventy-two-hour limit, that was for sure. And with that in mind, Bernie turned onto Smith Street and took that straight to Zachery Timberland's house.\n\nHe lived in an odd little cul-de-sac off of Meadview Drive. The street wasn't marked, because someone had driven into the street sign last year, and the town had never replaced it. You really had to know it was there to be able to find it.\n\nAt one time the cul-de-sac had been the site of a proposed development. Five houses were supposed to have been built on the site, but the builder had gone bankrupt after he'd put up Zachery's. Since Zachery had already purchased his, he was stuck because no one wanted to buy him out. Other developers had bid on the site, but for one reason or another, none of the deals had gone through, so Zachery's house sat in lone splendor on what was now an extremely large vacant lot.\n\nDespite the DO NOT LITTER. VIOLATORS WILL BE FINED TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS sign, piles of leaves, Styrofoam peanuts, and crumpled-up pages of newspaper littered the grass. Three kitchen chairs sat over to the far left, waiting to be claimed by the winter. A little farther on, someone else had disposed of two bags of trash, which were now spilling their guts out onto the ground.\n\nBernie shivered. You could do whatever you wanted here, and no one would ever know. It was not a comforting thought. Even if she had a couple of big dogs, she wouldn't want to be living here, Bernie decided as she turned onto Dewdrop Lane. It was too spooky. She preferred to live close to people rather than to be isolated. She shook her head. Halloween was getting to her. More to the point, she realized, was the fact that there were no neighbors she could talk to.\n\nShe was relieved to see that there were two cars in the driveway of the Timberland residence. The first one, she knew, belonged to Timberland, because she'd seen it parked behind his office. She wondered to whom the second vehicle belonged as she pulled in behind it, got out of her car, and marched toward the front door. This is going to be interesting, she thought while she rang the bell.\n\nThe house itself was a nondescript, generic Colonial, the housing equivalent of a pair of Wal-Mart blue jeans. It was rendered even more so because everything on it was painted beige except for the dark brown front door. Just like his office, Bernie thought. Either the man had a severely limited color palette, or he'd gotten a real good deal on the paint.\n\nAt least the foundation plantings weren't beige. But they were tightly pruned, and the driveway was immaculate. The word constipated came to mind. She rubbed her arms while she waited for someone to come to the door. It had turned out to be way colder than the weatherman had predicted. The kids were going to have to wear jackets over their costumes tonight when they went trick-or-treating.\n\nShe was remembering how much she'd hated that when she heard Timberland say, \"Coming.\" A moment later the door swung open. Bernie could see he was not a thing of beauty in the morning. He had stubble on his chin. His belly was hanging out of his sweatpants, and he had man boobs, a fact his suits had managed to hide. Her mom had always said it was amazing what a decent tailor could do, and she'd been right. Zachery Timberland had a very good one.\n\n\"You,\" he said when he saw her. \"What do you want?\"\n\nThen, before Bernie could reply, she heard another voice. It was a young woman. Probably his girlfriend from the sound of it. Bernie cursed under her breath. It looked as if this trip was going to be a waste of time, after all.\n\n\"Who is it?\" the unknown woman trilled.\n\n\"No one,\" Timberland shot back.\n\n\"No one? How rude,\" Bernie countered. \"I'm sure your company wouldn't like to hear how you treated a potential customer.\"\n\n\"Oh sure,\" Timberland sneered. \"You're just so excited about the prospect of buying insurance from me that you had to come straight to my house.\"\n\n\"And who's to say that isn't the case?\"\n\n\"And I'm the queen of Sheba.\"\n\n\"I didn't know you were a woman. But now that I look more closely, I can see the beginning of boobs. How are the hormones working out?\"\n\nTimberland looked down at his chest, realized what he was doing, and looked back at Bernie. He brought his lips back into something that was supposed to resemble a smile. \"You need to be taught some manners.\"\n\nBernie opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, Timberland's guest came into view. \"Honey, what do you mean no one?\" she asked.\n\nBernie estimated that she was about half Timberland's age. She had long blond hair, which she'd put up in a ponytail, and the kind of glowing, flawless skin that Bernie now realized came from dermabrasion, as well as a killer body. The loose pajama bottoms decorated with pictures of cows emphasized her slender hips, and the forest green cami covered breasts that stood at attention without any visible means of support.\n\nBoob job. Got to be, Bernie thought as she turned her eyes away, but not before the young woman saw her looking.\n\nThe young woman smiled. She had perfect, white, even teeth. She pointed at her chest. \"He bought my boobs for me,\" she chirped, motioning to Timberland with a toss of her head. \"I think the surgeon did a very nice job, don't you? I was going to go down to Mexico to have them done, but Zachy insisted I go somewhere first rate.\"\n\nBernie raised an eyebrow. \"Zachy?\" she repeated.\n\nTimberland glared at her.\n\n\"Well,\" the young woman continued, undaunted, \"if you ever need a little pick-me-up, call and I'll give you my surgeon's name. His office is on Park Avenue.\"\n\n\"Sadie,\" Timberland wailed.\n\nSadie made a little moue with her lips. \"It's not like it's a secret or anything.\" Then, as Bernie watched, she came up next to Timberland and patted him on the shoulder. \"The poor thing is grumpy in the morning without his coffee,\" she confided. She stood on her tiptoes and gave Timberland a peck on his cheek. \"But,\" she said to Bernie, \"he is cute, so I forgive him.\"\n\nBeauty is definitely in the eyes of the beholder, Bernie thought as she watched Timberland open his mouth and close it again. Bernie could see he was delighted with Sadie's attention on the one hand and mortified on the other.\n\nSadie extended her hand to Bernie. \"Hi,\" she said. \"I'm Sadie Palogski. But then you already know that.\"\n\n\"Sadie's a nice, old-fashioned name,\" said Bernie.\n\n\"I think so. Of course, it's not my real name,\" said Sadie. \"My real name is Scarlett. My mom is a huge Gone With the Wind fan. But Scarlett is really lame. All those hoop skirts and that fainting.\" She wrinkled her nose. \"And I don't even like the color.\"\n\n\"I can see why you'd prefer Sadie,\" Bernie told her.\n\n\"I'm going to court to change it,\" Sadie declared. \"Of course, my mom's pissed, but she'll get over it. She always does.\"\n\nTimberland interrupted. \"What do you want?\" he asked Bernie.\n\nBernie smiled. After watching Sadie and Timberland together, she'd decided to tell the truth. She had nothing to lose. Plus, she was curious to see what Sadie's reaction was going to be.\n\nBernie turned to Timberland. \"I came to see if you had married Amethyst.\"\n\nTimberland just stared at her.\n\n\"I guess not,\" Bernie said.\n\nIt took another minute before Timberland recovered himself. \"You're kidding, right? That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.\"\n\n\"Her being married or married to you?\" Bernie asked.\n\n\"Both,\" said Timberland.\n\nBernie turned to Sadie, who had burst out laughing. Laughing was not a reaction she had expected. \"Pretty silly, huh?\"\n\n\"Well, yeah,\" Sadie said. \"How did you ever get that idea?\"\n\n\"Just sprung into my head,\" replied Bernie.\n\n\"I mean Zach would never marry her, not after what she did with his daughter, and she really wasn't too fond of him,\" said Sadie. She looked at Timberland. \"Well, it's true. She wasn't. She told me you were a real asshole.\"\n\n\"So obviously, you knew her,\" said Bernie.\n\n\"I knew who she was, and we said hello, but that was about it. I didn't know her, if you get my meaning,\" said Sadie. She looked at Bernie, and Bernie nodded to show that she understood. \"I ran into her down in the City when I was getting my consult at this really cool lingerie shop down in SoHo. It has the best things.\" She mentioned the name of the store, one Bernie knew from reading the fashion magazines. \"She told me she was getting married.\"\n\nBernie leaned forward. \"Really?\"\n\nSadie nodded.\n\n\"When?\" asked Bernie.\n\n\"Pretty soon. She was very excited. I've never seen her so excited,\" said Sadie. \"And she was buying all this cool new underwear. Lace bras. Thongs. The whole bit. She showed me her diamond. Five carats.\" Sadie gave Timberland a meaningful look.\n\nTimberland, I hope you have lots of money, Bernie found herself thinking, because you're going to need every cent of it with this one. The thought pleased her.\n\n\"So, Sadie,\" Bernie said. \"Did she happen to mention who she was marrying?\"\n\n\"Yeah, she did. But I've forgotten the name,\" said Sadie. \"I was kinda half listening because I was looking at some really hot teddies at the time. I didn't want to be rude, but I didn't have lots of time, because I was going to have to make the four thirty-seven back to Longely.\"\n\nBernie took a deep breath and told herself to stay calm. \"Do you remember anything?\"\n\n\"Well, it was her old boyfriend. She'd just met up with him again,\" said Sadie.\n\n\"Anything else?\" asked Bernie.\n\n\"Actually, it was more than an old boyfriend. It was the first boy she'd ever kissed,\" replied Sadie. \"Isn't that sweet?\"\n\n\"Very,\" Bernie said. \"By any chance was his name Ken Marak?\"\n\nSadie clapped her hands together. \"That's it,\" she squealed. \"How did you know?\"\n\n\"I'm psychic,\" Bernie replied.\n\nWhen she was back in her vehicle, Bernie got out her cell and hit her dad's speed-dial number. He didn't pick up. Bernie wondered what the point of having a cell was if you always forgot to take it with you. She tried Libby next.\n\n\"You're not calling to tell me you want another two hours, are you, Bernie?\" Libby said when she answered.\n\n\"You could at least say hello. And no, I'm not,\" Bernie replied. \"I'm calling to tell you something much more interesting.\"\n\n## Chapter 31\n\nThe dining room at the Haunted House was draftier than usual, Libby decided as she listened to what her sister was saying. Even with wool socks on her feet, they were beginning to feel like Popsicles.\n\nLibby looked up from the cookies she was arranging on a platter. \"I think you're nuts,\" she said to Bernie when she'd finally paused to take a breath. \"One hundred percent certifiable.\"\n\nBernie dipped the knife she was using to cut the pumpkin cheesecake in a bowl of water, dried it with a towel, and went back to cutting. \"No, I'm not.\"\n\n\"Talk about cobbled together,\" Libby said as she put the platter she'd just finished next to the chocolate cupcakes with orange frosting. \"You don't have a lick of proof. This is all speculation and hearsay.\"\n\n\"How can you say that given your dream?\"\n\n\"That's why I'm saying it. This is like saying that Konrad and Curtis's tapes are real.\"\n\n\"Maybe they are. And, anyway, it's not just the dream. It's the plastic surgery....\"\n\n\"More speculation...\"\n\n\"But it works in conjunction with everything else,\" said Bernie.\n\nLibby sighed and started arranging the cinnamon spiced shortbread cookies on a second platter. It was enough already. She and Bernie had been going at it since this morning. She didn't want to talk about it anymore. At least she thought she didn't, but before she knew it, words were spilling out of her mouth again.\n\n\"I really am sorry I told you about my dream. I should have kept my mouth shut.\"\n\n\"You shouldn't be sorry,\" replied Bernie.\n\n\"Well, I most definitely am.\"\n\nLibby shut her eyes for a moment and opened them again. Nope. Everything was still the same. If she could only keep her mouth shut, half of her problems would be solved. When Bernie had called her on her way back from Timberland's house, she'd been in the middle of writing \"Happy Halloween\" in a nice cursive script on a chocolate frosted yellow cake.\n\nShe'd been admiring the n she'd just made and thinking that her fourth-grade teacher would have been proud of her\u2014she'd always had the best handwriting in the class\u2014when all of a sudden it had hit her. Maybe writing \"Happy Halloween\" had jogged her memory, or maybe it had been hearing the name Ken Marak, or maybe it had been having them both happen at the same time\u2014Who knew?\u2014but she had suddenly seen the letter n that had been in her dream. The a had appeared next. Then she'd seen the rest of the tiles.\n\nShe'd been so excited that when Bernie had walked in the kitchen, she'd blurted the name out before she could stop herself. She should have kept quiet because, as she could have predicted, Bernie had come up with this incredibly stupid, half-baked idea, which Libby had been trying to argue her out of ever since.\n\nBernie dipped the knife blade back in the water and wiped it off again. That was the problem with cheesecake, Libby thought. It was hard to make good, clean cuts, especially when the cheesecake was at room temperature. Cheesecakes were much easier to slice when they were cold, but she hadn't wanted to take the chance of cutting them in the shop and having them fall apart.\n\n\"Okay, Libby,\" she said. \"Then give me a better explanation.\"\n\n\"I can't,\" Libby said. \"But that doesn't mean there isn't one, and that isn't the point.\"\n\n\"It certainly is.\" Bernie made her final cut on the cheesecake, wiped the blade off again, and went on to the pies. They were much easier to slice. The only trick here was to make all the slices even. \"Dad agrees with me. He said my explanation was possible.\"\n\n\"Dad is just saying that to humor you.\"\n\n\"No, Libby. He's not.\"\n\n\"Yes, Bernadine. He is.\"\n\n\"Don't call me that.\"\n\n\"Sorry,\" Libby said, but Bernie could see that she didn't look remotely contrite.\n\n\"What about Bob Small?\" Bernie asked her sister.\n\n\"What about him?\"\n\n\"Don't you care what happens to him?\" asked Bernie.\n\nLibby looked indignant. \"Of course, I do.\"\n\n\"You're not acting that way.\"\n\n\"Now that is a rotten thing to say.\"\n\n\"No, it's the truth. If we don't do something, he's going to go to jail for a long, long time for this.\"\n\n\"Not necessarily,\" said Libby.\n\nBernie banged the knife down on the table and turned to face her sister. \"Yes, necessarily.\"\n\n\"Something could come up,\" Libby countered.\n\nBernie put her hands on her hips. \"Like what?\" she demanded.\n\nLibby remained silent.\n\n\"Exactly my point,\" Bernie said. \"You can't think of anything, can you? And even if some small scintilla\u2014\"\n\n\"Excuse me. What does scintilla mean?\"\n\n\"It means a little bit, a shred.\"\n\n\"So why don't you say that?\" asked Libby.\n\n\"I just did. Anyway, even if a bit of evidence does come to light, no one is going to follow it up or, for that matter, go looking for new leads, and you know it as well as I do. Don't deny it.\"\n\n\"I wasn't going to. It is true,\" Libby conceded.\n\nThat was one point Libby couldn't argue. She knew from her father how the prosecutor's office worked. How could she not? She'd seen them in action. When they had someone they liked for a crime, they didn't go running around, looking for alternate explanations. They stuck with what they had. \"They're like pit bulls,\" her dad used to say. \"Once they hang on, you can't get them to let go.\"\n\nLibby knew that it was the defense attorney's job to sniff out new leads, but a good defense lawyer cost lots of money, a commodity Bob was notably lacking. And who was he going to borrow it from? His wife? His business partner? Not too likely. The Simmons family was all he had.\n\nLibby started filling up the pitchers with waffle batter. \"Fine. I admit that it seems as if Bob is the fall guy for Amethyst's murder. Happy?\"\n\nBernie brushed a crumb off the table and onto the floor. \"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. At least we're in agreement about that. He's like a custom-made suit. If you'd ordered him up, he couldn't fit this job any better.\"\n\n\"And Ed Banks?\" Libby asked. \"What about him? How does he fit into this mess?\"\n\n\"Simple. He was collateral damage. Killing him was merely a matter of tying up a loose end.\"\n\nLibby stopped to wipe a blob of batter off the rim of the pitcher she'd just filled. \"But once again,\" she continued, \"we come down to the inconvenient fact that you have no proof for any of this.\"\n\nBernie snagged one of the extra lemon cupcakes with a ginger glaze and took a bite. If she had to say so herself, it was pretty good. \"I know,\" she said.\n\n\"And there's no way of getting any.\"\n\n\"That's not true. It's more a question of Bob Small not having the money,\" Bernie replied. \"If he did, we could hire someone to go through the records, but since we don't have a state where the marriage occurred, much less a town, it would be pretty expensive. That's why I've come up with my plan, such as it is.\"\n\n\"Such as it is, is right.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't say that. I do my schtick and stand back and see what the reaction is. It's called stirring the pot.\"\n\n\"I don't think Dad would approve,\" said Libby.\n\n\"That's why we're not telling him.\"\n\n\"I still think we should.\"\n\n\"No, we shouldn't,\" Bernie insisted. \"You know what he's like. He'd be down here in a flash, even if he had to crawl on his hands and knees to get here.\"\n\nLibby couldn't argue that point, either. When it came to her and her sister, her dad was incredibly overprotective. Always had been and always would be. Bernie finished the cupcake, crumpled up the paper wrapper, and threw it in the trash.\n\n\"Okay,\" Libby agreed. \"But what happens if you don't get any reaction?\"\n\n\"Then we'll come up with something else.\"\n\n\"But then he'll know you suspect him, and he'll move away.\" Something else occurred to Libby. \"What happens if he takes out a gun and shoots you?\"\n\nBernie stopped for a moment.\n\n\"Obviously,\" Libby said, \"you haven't considered that possibility.\"\n\n\"Why are you always so negative?\"\n\n\"I'm not negative,\" Libby said, forcing the words out between gritted teeth. \"I'm realistic. And you haven't answered me.\"\n\n\"He won't,\" Bernie said.\n\n\"That's your answer? He won't?\"\n\n\"That's right,\" Bernie said.\n\n\"And why not? Because you wear cute shoes? Because you're carrying a Prada bag?\"\n\n\"Ha-ha. For starters, I don't think he has a gun. If he did, he would have used it on Banks and Amethyst. It would have been a hell of a lot easier than what he did do.\"\n\n\"So he won't use a gun. He'll use a knife. This man has murdered two people,\" said Libby.\n\n\"Yeah. But he did it for revenge.\"\n\n\"Excuse me. According to you, he didn't kill Banks for revenge. He killed him to keep him from talking.\"\n\nThis, Bernie was forced to admit, was true. She clicked her tongue against her teeth while she thought. \"I'll tell you what,\" she finally said. \"How about if I talk to him where there are lots of people about? In five more minutes, this place is going to become extremely crowded. Is that okay with you?\"\n\nLibby nodded reluctantly. It was better than nothing.\n\n\"And if worse comes to worst, Konrad and Curtis can step in.\"\n\n\"Now that's reassuring,\" Libby mumbled.\n\n\"I think they'll be okay. They're going to be pretending they're taping, so if things get funky, I'll signal them and they'll come over.\"\n\nLibby bit on the inside of her cheek. She attempted to think of some more objections and couldn't. She'd pretty much covered them all.\n\n\"Bernie, I still think this is nuts.\"\n\n\"Well, it's not the best plan I've ever come up with,\" Bernie said. \"But then again, it's not the worst. Basically, it's the only thing I can think of to do. I mean, we do have to do something. We can't just stand there and do nothing.\"\n\n\"You're right,\" Libby said softly. \"We do.\"\n\n\"If this doesn't work, at least we will have tried.\"\n\nLibby nodded. There didn't seem to be anything more to say. She surveyed the table. They were almost ready for customers. All she had to do was put out the napkins, knives, spoons, and forks, and they'd be good to go.\n\n\"I almost feel sorry for him,\" Libby mused. \"Amethyst probably deserved what she got.\"\n\n\"I'm sure she did. However, laying the blame on Bob Small isn't very nice.\"\n\n\"No,\" Libby said. \"I suppose it isn't.\"\n\n\"Nor was killing Banks. So are we ready?\" Bernie asked.\n\n\"Ready as we'll ever be. Just be careful.\"\n\n\"I'm always careful,\" Bernie retorted.\n\nLibby snorted. Now that was a big fat lie if she'd ever heard one.\n\n\"Well, I am,\" Bernie flung over her shoulder as she marched out the door.\n\nLibby wondered if her sister was feeling nervous, because she was certainly feeling nervous for her.\n\n## Chapter 32\n\nBernie fought her way through the crowd of people waiting to go into the Haunted House. It used to be that only kids dressed up at Halloween, but that wasn't true anymore. Today everyone did.\n\nBernie looked around the hallway. It was like being at a masked ball. There were witches and goblins and ogres, X-Men, Pillsbury Doughboys, Harry Potters, and Voldemorts. There were people in rhinestone and feathered masks, people with bright purple wigs and false noses, and people who had dressed up like Bush, not to mention all the women in bustiers.\n\nBernie looked down at what she was wearing. It was really pretty lame. Some people wouldn't even think it was a costume. It wasn't sexy or ironic or clever or cute. She wasn't a superhero or a famous person, although why anyone would want to be Paris Hilton for an evening totally eluded Bernie. In fact, she was pretty sure no one would know who she was supposed to be except her target, and she wasn't too sure about that. Maybe she wouldn't get the big response she was hoping for, after all. Oh well. She guessed she'd find out soon enough.\n\nBernie had modeled her clothes on the picture of Bessie hanging on the wall in Amethyst's apartment. She was wearing penny loafers, kneesocks, a pleated skirt, a white oxford shirt, and a cardigan, all of which she'd managed to find in the vintage clothes shop three blocks down from A Little Taste of Heaven. She'd gotten the tortoiseshell frames she was wearing from a costume store, ditto the brown, straight-haired wig.\n\nShe stood off to one side and scanned the crowd. She could see Konrad and Curtis fiddling with their tape deck near the restrooms. She gave them a slight nod, and they waved back. She sighed. Obviously, they weren't totally clear on the concept of being inconspicuous, but there was nothing she could do about it now. Going over and talking to them would only make matters worse.\n\nAfter shaking her head at them, she started studying the crowd in earnest. She knew the person she was looking for had to be here somewhere. She looked around the room. Nope, wasn't here. Maybe he was in costume. She scanned everyone's face again. Still nothing. And then, a few minutes later, she saw her target. No. She locked on her target. She liked that phrase better. Much more military. He'd just come in from the dining room and was standing in front of one of the doors that led to the back portion of the house, the portion that hid the scary stuff.\n\nBernie reflexively patted her shirt pocket. The mini tape recorder she'd bought this morning was in there. That was the nice thing about cardigans and oxford shirts. They hid stuff, unlike her Dolce & Gabbana black Lycra shirt. She figured that as soon as she got close to her target, she'd turn the tape recorder on.\n\nHopefully, it would work better than that huge thing Konrad and Curtis were using, and she'd get an admission of some kind that she could hear. The guy at the shop had said that the model she'd bought would pick up anything, and it had seemed to work pretty well when she tried it out in the shop. But you never knew with this kind of stuff. Just when you needed them the most, things like this tended to poop out.\n\nNot that a tape recording was admissible evidence. In fact, it was illegal to tape-record someone without their knowledge; you could get arrested for it. Bernie wasn't worried about that. All she wanted to get was some sort of admission that she could hand over to Bob's court-appointed lawyer. Hopefully, he would then get the ball rolling on this stuff.\n\nShe clicked on the machine, plastered her best smile on her face, and started walking toward him. He was watching a couple dressed as Humpty Dumpty and All the King's Men, so he didn't see or hear Bernie approach.\n\nHere we go, she said to herself. Then she took a deep breath and tapped Mark Kane on the shoulder. He jumped and spun around.\n\n\"Hi, Ken,\" she said. \"How's life treating you these days?\"\n\nAll the color drained from his face. He opened his mouth and closed it again.\n\nBernie motioned to her clothes with a nod of her chin. \"Like what I'm wearing? I think Bessie would be pleased, don't you? I modeled myself after the picture of her that Amethyst had in her bedroom. Curious that, don't you think? I don't know what to make of it. Do you?\"\n\nKane didn't answer. He was still gulping air. Finally, after another moment had passed, he got hold of himself and spoke.\n\n\"I don't know what you're talking about,\" he said. \"My name is Mark Kane.\"\n\nBernie's smiled widened. \"That's your current name, but before that, your name was Ken Marak. You're the headmaster's son and Bessie Osgood's first true love.\"\n\n\"I've always been Mark Kane.\"\n\nLater, Bernie would tell Brandon that it was the way he looked at her when he said his name and the emphasis he put on the two words that made her realize what they really meant.\n\nShe put her hand to her mouth. \"Oh my God.\" It had been in front of her all the time, and she hadn't seen it. \"Mark Kane. Of course. It's an anagram for Ken Marak, isn't it?\"\n\nKane bit his lip.\n\nBernie realized something else. \"Mark Kane. Mark of Cain. They're homophones. You feel that guilty about having taken up with Amethyst all those years ago?\" Bernie scrutinized his face. \"You do, don't you? No. It's more than that. You were involved in her death, weren't you?\"\n\nKane shook his head.\n\n\"Yes, you were. I can see it on your face. Did you tell Amethyst that Bessie was going to go to your dad? Or did you see Amethyst push Bessie out of the window?\" For a moment, Bernie thought Kane was going to faint. \"You did, didn't you? And you didn't do anything.\"\n\n\"Get out of here,\" Kane growled. \"You're nuts.\"\n\n\"I don't think so,\" Bernie replied.\n\n\"People told me you were crazy, and they're right. You are.\"\n\nBernie watched as he turned and tried the door. It didn't open. He pulled harder. It didn't budge.\n\n\"Looks as if it's locked from the inside,\" Bernie observed pleasantly.\n\nKane ignored her and started walking down the hall. Bernie kept by his side. When she looked around, she could see that Curtis and Konrad were following her.\n\n\"Why did you kill Amethyst?\" she asked Kane. \"Was it revenge because she killed Bessie?\"\n\n\"I don't know what you're talking about,\" Kane snarled as he shoved his way between a couple dressed in look-alike Cowardly Lion costumes.\n\n\"Hey, fella,\" the guy cried. \"Watch where you're going, will you?\"\n\nKane didn't respond. People shouted, \"Hey!\" and \"You can't do that!\" and \"Get in line like everyone else!\" as Bernie followed Kane through the crowd milling around in front of the entrance to the Haunted House rooms.\n\n\"We found Bessie's diary, you know,\" said Bernie.\n\n\"I don't care,\" Kane hissed.\n\n\"You were her first love.\"\n\nBy now they were in the Chain-Saw Massacre Room, with about five other people. The sound of the woman screaming was joined by the sounds of the people in the room going, \"Oh my God, that's terrible.\"\n\n\"You shared her first kiss with her,\" Bernie said as a girl grabbed on to her boyfriend and shrieked.\n\nAnother woman glared at Bernie. \"Will you shut up and let us enjoy ourselves!\" she hissed.\n\nBernie was just about to tell her to get a life when Kane spun around. Even in the dark Bernie could see that his normal affable expression had been replaced by fear and anguish.\n\n\"If I knew who this Bessie Osgood was, I might care,\" Kane said.\n\n\"Oh, you know all right. You gave her a book on Celtic mythology. You introduced her to old fairy tales.\"\n\nKane hurried across the room and opened the next door. The skeleton in the casket was cackling and pointing his finger at people. Kane pushed through the crowd to get to the door after that. A woman dressed as the Statue of Liberty told him to watch where he was going.\n\n\"I'll get the manager and have you thrown out,\" she threatened.\n\n\"You do that. I am the manager. In fact, I'm the owner of this place,\" Kane yelled. He turned to open the next door. Bernie watched his hand freeze on the handle as he realized what was on the other side.\n\n\"Are you sure you want to go in there?\" she asked. \"Amethyst's ghost might be waiting for you.\"\n\n\"I don't believe in ghosts,\" Kane told her. But his hand wavered on the knob, and after a few seconds, he turned and went back the way he had come. By now he was practically running. \"Get out of the way,\" he cried as he plowed through the crowd coming in the opposite direction.\n\nBernie followed him out the door and into the hallway. He looked around for a second and headed outside. As she followed, she tried not to think about the promise she'd made Libby about staying where the people were. Given the circumstances, what other option did she have? The temperature had fallen, and she could see her breath in the air. Bernie rubbed her arms as she followed Kane across to the other house. Her four-ply cashmere sweater was warm, but it wasn't warm enough. She looked back. Konrad and Curtis were nowhere to be seen. She should go back, but she knew she wasn't going to.\n\n\"How did you get Amethyst to marry you?\" she asked Kane.\n\nHe froze for a second, then turned to face Bernie.\n\n\"I know you did,\" she told him. \"We can prove it.\"\n\n\"How?\" Kane asked. His voice was hoarse.\n\n\"Amethyst told somebody, and she told my dad,\" Bernie lied.\n\n\"Who told you? I don't believe it.\"\n\n\"I'm not telling you.\"\n\n\"Because there is nobody,\" Kane hissed.\n\n\"No. I'm not telling you, because I don't want you killing them the way you killed Ed Banks.\"\n\n\"I didn't kill him,\" Kane protested.\n\n\"You most certainly did. I talked to Amber, and she remembers you buying some ginger pumpkin bars that day. You made a big deal of it by telling her you were taking them to a friend and you wanted the best ones possible.\"\n\nKane turned and took a step toward her. \"So if I did everything that you say, how come you're here talking to me? Aren't you afraid I'm going to kill you, too?\"\n\n\"Not really.\"\n\n\"And why is that? Could it possibly be because I'm not a killer?\"\n\n\"Oh no. You are,\" Bernie told him. \"There's no doubt about that. I might not be able to prove it, but it's true.\" And suddenly Bernie knew. She knew that what Kane wanted was a sympathetic ear. Someone to tell him he'd done the right thing. Someone to \"get him,\" as the expression went. \"And she deserved it,\" Bernie continued. \"She deserved everything she got.\"\n\nKane didn't say anything.\n\nBernie went on. \"She did. She was an awful person. She brought a lot of pain and misery to a lot of people. She wrecked lives. She certainly destroyed yours. Your dad killing himself, your mom having that accident.\"\n\nKane turned his face so Bernie couldn't see the expression on it. Then he spoke. \"Running a school was his dream. He'd borrowed all this money from my mom and her family, and from his family, and their friends. Then, when that thing with Bessie happened and everyone started taking their children out of the school, Dad, well, Dad couldn't stand it. He was so ashamed. He couldn't face everyone. And he...I found him, you know.\"\n\n\"No, I didn't know that.\"\n\n\"We'd just turned the corner, too. We were starting to make money. And then Amethyst pushed...\" Kane stopped abruptly. \"Are you recording this?\" he said.\n\nSomething told Bernie not to lie. She took the mini tape recorder out of her pocket and handed it to him. \"I was, but I'm not anymore.\"\n\nKane's hand closed over the tape recorder.\n\nBernie brushed away a snowflake that had fallen on her sleeve. \"You must have been planning this for a long time. You changed your name. You got plastic surgery in case Amethyst recognized you. Did she?\"\n\n\"Not at first. But I think she might have later. But she would have liked that. She was a game player.\"\n\n\"Only this time she lost,\" Bernie said.\n\nKane gave a stiff little bow. \"So it would appear.\"\n\nBernie waved her hand in the direction of the Peabody School. \"And, of course, you spent all this money fixing the place up, but you have it, don't you? I looked you up on the Web. You were one of the partners in the J and K Hedge Fund. You guys made\u2014\"\n\n\"Billions,\" Kane said.\n\n\"So I guess you figured you could do pretty much what you wanted.\"\n\n\"I never said that. You did.\"\n\nBernie nodded her head in assent. \"Where did you go after your mother died?\" she asked.\n\n\"I went out to Dallas to live with some relatives there.\"\n\n\"That must have been very hard.\"\n\n\"No. They were nice.\"\n\n\"That's not what I meant.\"\n\n\"I know what you meant.\" Kane looked at the mini tape recorder in his hand. \"They were nice. But all the time I was there, I just wanted to go home.\"\n\n\"And you finally did.\"\n\nKane nodded. \"I'm sorry about Banks. I never meant for that to happen. I didn't even know Amethyst had asked him about using his garden.\" Kane shrugged. \"And when I heard...I don't know. Something just came over me.\"\n\n\"And you did what you thought had to be done.\"\n\n\"I suppose you could put it that way.\"\n\nBy now they were near the Foundation.\n\n\"Damn,\" Kane said. \"The idiot twins.\"\n\nBernie turned and followed his gaze. Konrad and Curtis were running toward them.\n\n\"Stop,\" Konrad screamed. \"Stay where you are. We've got a gun.\"\n\nBernie cursed as she saw the rifle Konrad was carrying. Kane hesitated for two seconds before he took off and ran toward the Foundation. A couple of seconds after that, he opened the front door and entered the building.\n\n\"What are you doing?\" Bernie yelled at Konrad and Curtis as they rushed by her.\n\n\"We're making sure the son of a bitch doesn't get away,\" Konrad cried.\n\nBernie ran after them. \"He won't.\"\n\n\"Damn right, he won't,\" Konrad said.\n\nBernie grabbed on to the back of Konrad's jacket and pulled. Konrad spun around.\n\n\"I want you to stay here and guard the front door while I go up and bring him down,\" Bernie said.\n\n\"We can't\u2014\"\n\nBernie cut him off. \"You most certainly can.\" She ran off before Konrad could say anything else. She made it to the front door before Konrad and Curtis could and locked it.\n\nA second later Konrad was pounding on the door. \"Hey,\" he yelled. \"Let us in.\"\n\nBernie didn't waste time replying.\n\n\"Kane,\" she called.\n\nThere was no reply, but she heard footsteps to the left of her. She took off after them. She was running down a long, dark hallway. The footsteps were fainter now.\n\n\"Kane, stop,\" she yelled. \"We need to talk.\"\n\nNow she heard nothing. She came to a standstill. She was sweating now. Damn the twins, she thought as she caught her breath. Then she heard a key in a lock.\n\n\"We're coming to get you, Kane,\" Curtis called.\n\n\"Great,\" Bernie muttered to herself.\n\nShe'd forgotten they had keys to this place. Lovely. The way things were going they'd probably shoot her by accident. Friggin' morons. Then she heard something ahead of her again. She strained to listen. Footsteps. Kane's. They were coming from up ahead and over to the right. Bernie followed the sound. She could hear the twins behind her. She ran faster. Now she was in the front hallway. She looked up. Kane was running up the stairs.\n\n\"Wait,\" she cried.\n\nBut Kane just ran faster. She took the steps two at a time. They were now on the second floor, on the side where the French doors were. Kane kept on running. Suddenly, Bernie thought she saw something rectangular\u2014a book maybe?\u2014moving across the floor. She knew Kane wouldn't see it, and he didn't. He tripped. She watched him try and retain his balance. He teetered, swaying back and forth, frantically trying to regain his balance, and then he crashed through the glass and fell to the ground below.\n\n\"Now we're even-steven,\" Bernie could have sworn she heard a voice say. Then she saw Bessie smiling at her. \"See you later, alligator,\" Bessie said. And she was gone.\n\nBernie was still staring at where Bessie had been when Konrad and Curtis reached her.\n\n## Chapter 33\n\nBernie looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was a little after one in the morning. Halloween was over for another year. Thank goodness. This one had been a little too intense to suit her. Costumes were one thing, but real live ghosts were another. She thought she knew how Libby felt when she had those dreams. They didn't leave you with a pleasant experience, that was for sure.\n\nShe sighed and poured some milk into a copper pan and put it on the stove to warm up. She was thinking that the kitchen always calmed her down when she heard Libby coming down the stairs.\n\nLibby tapped her on the shoulder. \"How's the hot chocolate coming?\" she asked.\n\nBernie got out six mugs and proceeded to spoon one tablespoon of cocoa powder and two tablespoons of sugar into each of them. \"It's coming.\"\n\n\"Marvin and Clyde want marshmallows in theirs. Brandon and Dad want whipped cream and cinnamon instead, and so do I.\"\n\n\"Is that why you came down?\" asked Bernie.\n\n\"No. I was just wondering if you wanted to tell me what really happened,\" said Libby.\n\n\"I just did up there.\"\n\nLibby looked at her.\n\nBernie hunched up her shoulders. \"Well, I did.\"\n\n\"I told you my dream, remember?\"\n\nBernie sighed and checked the flame under the milk. She didn't want it to boil over.\n\n\"This is just so weird.\"\n\n\"If you're saying that, it must be good.\"\n\n\"And I can't even be sure. I think I imagined the whole thing.\"\n\n\"Kane's tripping and falling?\" asked Libby.\n\n\"But that's the thing. I could have sworn I saw something move across the floor. By itself,\" said Bernie.\n\nThe milk started to bubble. Bernie took it off the flame and poured a tiny bit into each mug. Then she mixed together the ingredients in each mug until they formed a paste, after which she poured the rest of the milk in.\n\n\"And?\" Libby prompted.\n\nBernie took out a tray and began to put the mugs on it. \"I think Bessie did it.\"\n\n\"Did what?\"\n\n\"Moved it. Made it move. I ran up the stairs and looked. Kane had tripped over an old book that was lying on the floor. A book of Celtic mythology.\"\n\n\"Maybe someone left it there?\" Libby suggested.\n\n\"Maybe,\" Bernie said. \"But I don't think so. It had no business being there. And here's the clincher. I opened it up. There was an inscription: To Bessie from Ken. I hope you find this as interesting as I do.\"\n\nLibby stayed silent.\n\n\"Exactly,\" Bernie said as she got the whipped cream out of the fridge. She put two big dollops in four of the mugs and added a sprinkle of cinnamon on top.\n\n\"There's more, isn't there?\" Libby said after a moment had gone by.\n\n\"I saw her. I heard her. She told me, 'Now we're even-steven.'\"\n\n\"Even-steven meaning she and Kane?\"\n\n\"Correct,\" Bernie said.\n\n\"But I thought Amethyst pushed her.\"\n\n\"She did, but I think Bessie blamed Ken. After all, if he hadn't gotten involved with Amethyst...\"\n\nLibby finished the sentence for her. \"This never would have happened.\"\n\n\"Exactly,\" Bernie said. \"And she was smiling. And then she said, 'See you later, alligator.'\"\n\nLibby got out the bag of marshmallows and placed three each in the two remaining mugs. \"She said that to me, too.\"\n\n\"You think I should tell the guys?\" Bernie asked.\n\nLibby put the bag of marshmallows back. \"I think you should stick to the 'he tripped and fell out the window\" story and leave the rest of it alone.\"\n\n\"I think so, too.\" Bernie put the whipped cream back in the fridge.\n\n\"But I believe you,\" Libby said.\n\nBernie grinned. \"You do?\"\n\n\"Yeah. I do. It makes sense in a weird kind of way. But no one else will.\" Libby took a Tupperware container full of gingersnaps down from the shelf and began putting them out on a plate.\n\n\"I guess Bessie finally got her payback,\" Bernie said.\n\n\"So it would seem,\" Libby agreed as she finished arranging the cookies. \"What is it they say about a woman abused?\"\n\n\"What they say is, 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.'\"\n\n\"But she wasn't a woman,\" Libby objected. \"She was a teenager.\"\n\n\"Even worse,\" Bernie said, thinking back to when she was that age. Then she picked up the tray, and she and Libby went upstairs to join the guys.\n\n## Epilogue\n\nKen looked at Bessie. \"How could you do that?\" he demanded.\n\nShe blinked. \"Do what?\"\n\n\"Kill me of course.\"\n\nHe didn't know how he knew he was dead. He just did.\n\n\"Oh that.\" Bessie shrugged. \"You were going to die anyway. At least this way you're here with me.\"\n\n\"But you made me fall.\"\n\n\"You deserved it. You hurt my feelings.\"\n\nKen looked around. He was standing a little way from where he'd gone out the window. He glanced down at himself. He was now wearing the same clothes he had worn at the school. What was that line from one of the Grateful Dead's songs? What a long strange trip it's been? Then a horrible idea occurred to him.\n\n\"Is Amethyst here too?\"\n\nBessie pouted. \"You don't even want to talk to me. All you're interested in is her.\"\n\n\"No. I didn't mean it like that.\"\n\n\"It certainly sounds that way to me.\"\n\n\"Honestly, that's not why I'm asking.\"\n\nBessie looked at him for a moment. Then she said, \"No. She's not here.\"\n\n\"Good.\" Ken heaved a sigh of relief. \"Is anyone else here?\"\n\n\"Like who?\"\n\nHe thought back to when he used to live at the school. \"Like Esmeralda.\"\n\nBessie giggled. \"Nope. It's just us. Isn't that super?\"\n\nKen thought for a moment. Then he took Bessie's hand and gave it a squeeze.\n\n\"Yes, it is,\" he said to her. \"It really is.\"\n\n## RECIPES\n\nI always think of Halloween food as fall food\u2014food made out of apples and pumpkins, pears and cranberries; food seasoned with ginger and cinnamon and cloves; food that says, \"Come in and pull up a chair.\" Here are a few offerings. Two of them are Mexican in origin and are served up in celebration of Mexico's Day of the Dead, one of the recipes comes from the niece of a good friend of mine, and the remaining one comes from my recipe box. I'm not sure where I got it from, but I've been making it for years and can tell you that it's virtually bulletproof.\n\nMaria's Pumpkin Bars\n\n4 eggs\n\n1 2\/3 cups sugar\n\n1 cup vegetable oil\n\n2 cups (16 ounces) canned pumpkin\n\n2 cups flour\n\n2 teaspoons baking powder\n\n2 teaspoons cinnamon\n\n1 teaspoon baking soda\n\n1 teaspoon salt\n\nIcing\n\n8 tablespoons (1 stick) softened butter\n\nTwo 8-ounce packages cream cheese\n\n1 tablespoon vanilla\n\n2 to 3 cups powdered sugar\n\n1 tablespoon milk\n\nBeat all the icing ingredients together in a medium mixing bowl until smooth and creamy. Add more powdered sugar if the icing is too runny. Put aside.\n\nBeat the eggs, sugar, oil, and canned pumpkin in a large mixing bowl. Add the flour and all the other ingredients. Mix well and pour the batter into a greased 10 x 15-inch pan. Bake at 350 degrees for 25 to 30 minutes. Let cool. Apply the icing. Cut in one- to two-inch squares. Keep in the refrigerator.\n\nHere are two recipes that Mexicans serve on the Day of the Dead.\n\nPan de Muerto (Bread of the Dead)\n\n\u00bd cup butter\n\n\u00bd cup milk\n\n\u00bd cup water\n\n5 to 5 \u00bd cups flour\n\n2 (1\/4-ounce) packages active dry yeast\n\n1 teaspoon salt\n\n1 tablespoon whole aniseed\n\n\u00bd cup sugar\n\n4 eggs\n\nGlaze:\n\n\u00bd cup sugar\n\n1\/3 cup fresh orange juice\n\n2 tablespoons orange zest\n\nBring the sugar, the orange juice, and the orange zest to a boil in a small saucepan over medium heat. Boil for 2 minutes. Set the glaze aside.\n\nIn a saucepan over medium flame, heat the butter, milk, and water until they are warm to the touch. Do not boil.\n\nMeasure out 1 \u00bd cups of the flour, and set the rest aside. In a large mixing bowl, combine the 1 \u00bd cups of flour, yeast, salt, aniseed, and sugar. Beat in the warm liquid until well combined. Add the eggs, and beat in another cup of flour. Continue beating in more flour until the dough is soft but not sticky. Knead the dough on a floured board until smooth and elastic.\n\nLightly grease a large bowl, and place the dough in it, cover with plastic wrap, and let rise in a warm place until the dough is double in bulk, about 1 \u00bd hours. Punch the dough down, and shape it into loaves resembling skulls, skeletons, or bones. Let the loaves rise for an hour.\n\nBake the loaves in a preheated 350\u00b0F oven for 40 minutes. Remove the loaves from the oven, and paint on the glaze with a pastry brush.\n\nCalabaza en Tacha\n\nThis Mexican recipe uses pumpkin in an unusual way. The dessert is very sweet, and a little goes a long way.\n\n1 4- to 5-pound pumpkin (Pie pumpkins are best for this.)\n\n2 pounds raw or brown sugar\n\n8 cinnamon sticks\n\nJuice of 1 orange\n\n4 cups water\n\nWith a sharp, heavy knife, cut the pumpkin into 3-inch squares or triangles. Remove the seeds and strings. Cut a diamond design into the pulp.\n\nPut the sugar in a large pot with the cinnamon sticks, orange juice, and water. Boil until the sugar has dissolved.\n\nPlace a layer of pumpkin, pulp side down, in the syrup. Place a second layer of pumpkin on top of the first layer, pulp side up. Cover and simmer. Check every 10 minutes or so. When the pumpkin is ready, the tops of the pumpkin pieces will look glazed and the pulp will be soft and golden brown.\n\nLet the pumpkin cool. Serve the pumpkin with the syrup.\n\nThe recipe for cranberry walnut bread is mine.\n\nCranberry Walnut Bread\n\nThis bread couldn't be simpler to make. It makes one relatively small loaf.\n\n1\/4 cup butter\n\n1 cup brown sugar\n\n1 egg\n\n2 3\/4 cups flour\n\n1 teaspoon baking soda \u00bd teaspoon salt\n\n1 cup canned whole cranberry sauce\n\n3\/4 cup honey or wheat beer (Try different beers to vary the taste.)\n\n2 tablespoons grated orange peel\n\n3\/4 cup chopped walnuts\n\nCream the butter, sugar, and egg in a large mixing bowl. Mix the dry ingredients together in a medium mixing bowl. Combine the cranberry sauce, the beer, and the orange peel. Add the flour mixture and the cranberry mixture alternately to the butter, sugar, and egg mixture. Add walnuts. Bake in an 8-inch loaf pan in a preheated 350\u00b0F oven for 60 minutes. Cool the bread before cutting. This recipe keeps well.\nWhen sisters Bernie and Libby Simmons sign on to cater a prize pooch's birthday bash, they think they're ready for anything. But they haven't bargained for a killer with a bone to pick...\n\nA Little Taste of Heaven catering certainly knows how to feed people. Dogs, however. .? Bernie and Libby will have their chance to impress guests of the four-legged variety when they lay out the spread for Trudy the Pug's birthday luncheon. But this isn't just any doggie 'do. Trudy's owner, Annabel Colbert, is one of the richest women in town\u2014and as mascot of the Colbert toy company, Trudy herself is a bona fide celebrity.\n\nWhen the big day arrives, Trudy and her canine cohorts are ready to dig in to the delicacies\u2014but the first to dip her fangs into the wine is Annabel. Mere moments later, the hostess is shrieking she's been poisoned\u2014and proving it by falling face first into her soup. After two days in a coma, Annabel is dead.\n\nIt seems the woman who had everything also had her share of enemies. In fact, Annabel was cheating, blackmailing, or backstabbing most of the people she knew, including her very own best friend, her very own husband, his personal assistant, and last but not least, Trudy's trainer and kennel owner.\n\nWith so many suspects, sniffing out the truth is rapidly becoming a tricky not to mention risky proposition. Bernie and Libby had better close the oven on this case fast\u2014before they get burned...\n\nPlease turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of A CATERED BIRTHDAY PARTY coming in December 2009!\n\n## Chapter 1\n\nLibby dried her hands on the edge of her apron. She put the spatula covered with brownie batter in the sink before turning to face her younger sister. Then she took a deep breath. When that didn't calm her down, she took a second and a third. Maybe Marvin was right. Maybe she did need to mellow out.\n\n\"You like dogs,\" Bernie said to her in her most soothing voice.\n\n\"Not to the point of making dinner parties for them,\" Libby told her sister.\n\n\"Birthday party,\" Bernie corrected. \"We're making a birthday party.\"\n\nLibby frowned and waved her hand in the air. \"Same thing.\"\n\n\"No it's not.\"\n\n\"It's close enough.\"\n\n\"Let's not get overly semantic.\"\n\n\"You do,\" Libby told her.\n\nBernie decided to ignore the comment and stick to the matter at hand. \"This isn't for any dog,\" Bernie said. \"This is for Trudy, Annabel Colbert's dog.\"\n\n\"I know who Trudy is,\" Libby replied as she studied the toothpick she'd just plunged into the first batch of brownies in the oven. \"Everyone in the world knows who Trudy is.\"\n\nOkay that was an exaggeration, but not by much Libby thought. There might be some obscure tribe living in the Brazilian jungle who didn't know about Trudy but that was about it. Trudy was the model for the Puggables, a group of stuffed toys that were the lynchpin of the Colbert toy empire.\n\nThe collection was composed of Eenie and Minnie, the mom and the dad, plus the three pups, Pagggie, Poogie, and Twinkles, as well as numerous other family members with names too disgustingly cute to mention. Not only that, but they came in a range of annoyingly saccharine pastel colors. However, they had made Annabel and her husband a fortune. Before the Puggables, the Colbert Toy Company had been just another company struggling to survive.\n\nLibby sighed as she turned her thoughts back to the brownies. They were almost done. Five more minutes at the most. That was the trouble with brownies. They were easy to make, but difficult to make well. If you added the chocolate and butter mixture to the flour before it cooled, the bars came out heavy. If you baked them too long, they came out dry.\n\nBernie nodded at the brownies. \"Are these the ones you made out of seventy percent dark chocolate with chili powder?\"\n\nLibby nodded. \"It'll be interesting to see how they sell.\"\n\n\"We need to call them something cool.\" Bernie was a firm believer in the power of names.\n\nLibby shrugged. She wasn't.\n\n\"Dogs can't eat chocolate you know,\" Bernie told her getting back to the matter at hand. \"It gives them heart attacks.\"\n\n\"Then I'm glad I'm not a dog,\" Libby retorted as she watched her sister smooth her shirt down around her waist.\n\nIt was twenty-five degrees out, and Bernie was wearing a long black cashmere sweater, a white and gray stripped scarf, a silk shirt, twill pants, and suede boots. How she did it, Libby didn't know. She herself was wearing a flannel shirt, a hoodie, jeans, and wool socks, and she was still cold.\n\n\"It's really for Annabel Colbert's friends and family,\" Bernie continued. She took up the conversation where she'd left it a moment ago.\n\nLibby slammed the oven door shut. \"And dogs.\"\n\n\"Pugs,\" Bernie corrected. \"Six pugs.\"\n\n\"Wonderful.\"\n\n\"Well, you wouldn't want Trudy to have a birthday party without her friends. That would just be mean.\"\n\nLibby threw the toothpick into the garbage can, stalked over to the cutting board, and began shredding ginger for their special gingered chicken. As Bernie followed her, she reflected that she probably should have talked to her sister about the dinner later in the day. She might have been more receptive then. The fact that they were behind because their counter girl Amber had called and told them she was going to be three hours late this morning hadn't put Libby in a good mood.\n\nAs Bernie peered over Libby's shoulder, she once again marveled at the speed with which her sister's hands moved. \"I'm going to Sam's Club to get napkins, plates, sugar, and salt. Do we need anything else?\"\n\nLibby kept chopping. \"I don't like pugs,\" she informed Bernie.\n\n\"Neither do I,\" Bernie said as she snagged a piece of carrot off the table. \"They wheeze.\"\n\nLibby stopped chopping and turned to face her. \"So why are we doing this?\"\n\nBernie snorted. \"You can't be serious?\"\n\nLibby wasn't. Not really. She new exactly why they were doing this. They were doing this because you don't say no to the wealthiest person in town. At least you don't if you want to stay in business. Libby chewed on the inside of her lip as she extracted a piece of chocolate from the pocket of her shirt, unwrapped it, and popped it in her mouth.\n\nThat wasn't the issue. Not really. The issue was respect. Bernie was always running off and committing them to engagements without asking her first, leaving her to run around like a chicken without its head, to coin one of her mother's expressions. Frankly she was sick and tired of it.\n\n\"You should have discussed it with me first,\" Libby told her.\n\n\"I was going to,\" Bernie protested. \"But you were asleep when I got home.\"\n\nLibby grunted. \"You could have left a note.\"\n\n\"I wanted to talk to you.\"\n\nLibby felt her resolve weakening. This was the problem. She could never stay annoyed with her sister for long. \"When is this event supposed to take place?\"\n\nBernie hemmed and hawed. Libby started tapping her foot.\n\nBernie plastered a grin on her face. \"Friday.\" She gave the word an upward swing.\n\n\"Which Friday?\"\n\n\"Err...this Friday.\"\n\n\"That's two days away!\" Libby yelped.\n\nBernie looked unhappy. \"Well, you know how impulsive Annabel Colbert is. But on the bright side, the Fields canceled their dinner party, so that leaves an opening.\"\n\nLibby's eyes narrowed. \"You didn't tell me that either.\"\n\n\"It was on the answering machine last night. I figured you'd listen to the messages.\"\n\nLibby cursed silently as she strode towards the calendar hanging on the wall. At least they hadn't butter-flied the lamb yet or ordered the scallops for the coquille St. Jacques so that was good. And she had to admit that what Bernie had just said was true. Annabel Colbert was impulsive. And insistent. She never took no for an answer. She had that sense of entitlement the super-rich have. Just saying it made it so for her.\n\nLibby clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth while she studied the calendar. They were pretty well booked, what with dinner parties, benefits, and bar mitzvahs. But Bernie was correct. The Fields had been the only event they had going for Friday night.\n\n\"She's going to want a deal,\" Libby said. \"She always does.\"\n\n\"No. I'm not,\" a voice behind them trumpeted. \"Nothing is too good for my Trudy.\"\n\nLibby and Bernie spun around. Annabel Colbert was standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the counter area with her pug in her arms. She'd recently gotten a short, spiky hairdo, but instead of making her look punk, it made her appear even more gaunt. Scrutinizing her, Bernie decided that the \"thin\" part of the adage \"you can never be too rich or too thin\" had definite limits, and Annabel Colbert was on the verge of transgressing them. There was thin and then there was just plain bony. Bernie was thinking about what the tipping point was when she noticed that their counter guy, Googie, a.k.a. George Nathan III, was right behind her.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" he stammered as he wiped his hands on his apron. \"I couldn't stop her. She just barged in.\"\n\nLibby nodded. \"It's okay.\"\n\n\"I...\"\n\n\"Seriously. Go back behind the counter,\" Libby said, and she shooed Googie away before turning her attention to Annabel. A Little Taste of Heaven wasn't packed, but there were ten people out front waiting to be served. Aside from which it didn't do to leave the cash register unguarded. Longely wasn't the type of place where you had to worry about stuff like that, but why take chances? \"I'm sorry but Trudy can't be in the kitchen,\" Libby told Annabel. It would just be their luck to have the health inspector walk in on them.\n\n\"But I'm holding her,\" Annabel protested.\n\nBernie shrugged. \"Health code rules are health code rules.\"\n\nAnnabel scowled. \"She's cleaner than most people.\"\n\n\"I'm sure she is,\" Bernie said as she escorted Annabel out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the Simmons' living quarters.\n\nLuckily her dad was out at the moment, because he wasn't a big fan of the Colbert family.\n\n\"Morons\" was the kindest comment he made whenever their name came up.\n\n\"I like Trudy's collar,\" Bernie said on the way up the stairs. It was thick braided leather with a large gold buckle.\n\n\"Hermes,\" Annabel trilled.\n\nBernie managed to restrain herself from asking how much. But it had to be at least five hundred dollars. Probably more.\n\n\"This is so...so...cozy,\" Annabel commented in that annoyingly arch way she had when she and Bernie walked into the Simmons' living room.\n\nTranslation: small. But then Bernie supposed that when you lived in a place that boasted its own solarium, library, gym, media room, bowling alley, and beauty parlor, as well as a canine fitness center complete with treadmill, the Simmons' flat was small. Annabel plopped herself down on the sofa, put the pug on her lap, and began fingering one of her diamond studs.\n\nIn case I missed them, Bernie thought as she took the armchair opposite her customer. Like that was possible. Missing them would be like missing a flashlight beam in the dark. Despite Annabel's makeup, Bernie noted the dark circles under Annabel's eyes and the fine lines around her mouth. The haircut was definitely not kind to her. Bernie bet it had been expensive, too. Probably six hundred dollars. Maybe even eight. She was just about to ask Annabel who did her hair when Annabel started talking.\n\n\"We have to revamp the menu,\" she announced.\n\nBernie barely managed to suppress a groan. It had taken them three hours yesterday to agree on the one they had.\n\n\"I've decided I want the same menu for the dogs and their humans,\" Annabel continued. \"It'll be much more of a bonding experience that way. And I want the food served on my good Limoges. Naturally the dogs will be seated at the table.\"\n\n\"Naturally,\" Bernie murmured.\n\nAnnabel shot her a look. \"They do it in Paris all the time.\"\n\nBut we're not in Paris, we're in Westchester County, Bernie wanted to say. But didn't.\n\n\"Yes,\" Bernie replied. \"It's wonderful. So humane. When I was in Brussels, I sat next to an extremely well-behaved standard poodle riding on the bus with his owner. There was me, the poodle, and the owner all sitting in a row, all staring straight ahead.\"\n\nFor a moment Annabel looked miffed at having been outdone in the story department, but she rallied. She waved her hand in the air. \"And you don't have to take care of the decorations. I'll do those. I'm thinking of using the whole Puggable family. That will work, don't you think?\"\n\nBernie didn't think it would work at all. She wasn't a fan of huge stuffed animals. On the other hand, she wouldn't have to deal with them. That was a plus. Also, in situations like this, despite what her sister thought, she always went with the client's wishes. Therefore, she lied and told Annabel she thought it would be great.\n\n\"Absolutely,\" Libby added. She'd come up after finishing the chicken and was now standing in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest. She felt that it behooved her to be in on the planning due to Bernie's well-documented tendency to commit them to things without thinking them through. Witness today. \"Do you have any ideas about what you'd like to serve?\"\n\n\"Ideas? Ideas?\" Annabel repeated. She wrinkled her nose, giving the impression that she found the question puzzling. \"That's why I came to you.\"\n\nLibby flicked a tiny piece of ginger off the sleeve of her hoodie. \"Well, what's your price range?\"\n\n\"Price is no object,\" Annabel snapped. \"I already told you that in the kitchen, isn't that right, Trudy?\"\n\nTrudy yawned, curled her tongue, stretched, and licked Annabel's hand in a desultory manner.\n\n\"See. She agrees.\" Annabel said.\n\nBernie and Libby both managed to not roll their eyes.\n\n\"What about the wine?\" Bernie asked, changing the subject.\n\n\"What about it?\" Annabel said.\n\n\"What are your thoughts? California? Long Island? They've gotten a lot better recently. French? Italian? Australian? Do you want us to get it or...\"\n\n\"No,\" Annabel replied before Bernie could finish her sentence. \"Forget about the wine. Richard will take care of that. He orders it from The Grape, that little shop over by Henley Drive.\"\n\n\"I know where it is,\" Bernie said. Not that she ever bought anything there. They only carried high-end stuff.\n\n\"They get my wine for me there. I'm particularly fond of an estate-bottled Spanish Rioja that's quite hard to come by, but somehow they manage. It's my special wine. In fact, it's the only thing I'm drinking now. In any case, we'll just have wine with the meal; otherwise we'll stick to bubbling water and soda. Richard will take care of that as well. After all, it's Trudy's party so I think it would be nice if there's nothing there she can't have.\"\n\n\"Understood,\" Libby said.\n\nAnnabel went back to fingering her diamond earring. \"And needless to say, I want all the ingredients in this meal to be organic. We don't tolerate anything else in our house. My husband won't allow it. Local would be even better. The less of a carbon footprint we leave, the happier all of us will be. Also, I don't want any black pepper in anything because Trudy's allergic to it. Naturally, I want both of you to set up and serve. It'll be more intimate that way. You won't have to worry about my staff getting in your way. In fact, I've given them the time off.\"\n\n\"Is that it?\" Bernie asked.\n\n\"For the moment,\" Annabel replied as she got up. \"If I think of anything else, I'll let you know.\"\n\nBernie stood up as well. \"We'll call you with the menu.\"\n\n\"That won't be necessary,\" Annabel replied. \"You can fax it to my personal assistant, who will show it to me. If I have any quibbles, I will relay them to her and she will fax you back. Unfortunately, I'm terribly busy with my new projects at the moment. I'm trying to get them squared away, so I can announce them at the birthday party, but I'm sure you girls will do a marvelous job. After all, that's why I hired you.\" She glanced at her watch. \"Can I tell my assistant to be looking for your fax in an hour or so?\"\n\nBernie looked at Libby. Libby looked back at Bernie.\n\n\"That'll be fine,\" Libby said as she saw her plans for the day disappearing over the horizon. Now she'd be even further behind.\n\n\"Good.\" Annabel smiled. \"And by the way, Bernie,\" Annabel added as she got to the doorway, \"you should cut down on the carbs. You're getting a little chubby around the derri\u00e8re.\" And she patted her rear end. \"I hope you don't mind my saying something, but if the positions were reversed I'd certainly want to know.\"\n\nBernie managed to get out a strangled thanks as Annabel walked through the door. \"Am I?\" Bernie asked her sister as soon as she was sure Annabel had left the building. She wasn't going to give Annabel the added satisfaction of overhearing her comments if she could help it.\n\n\"Don't be ridiculous,\" Libby replied.\n\n\"Really?\"\n\n\"Really. Of course, in comparison with her rear end, everyone's is big.\" Big was not the word Bernie wanted to hear at the moment. \"Thanks a heap.\"\n\n\"Oh come on. Annabel just can't stand to see anyone looking good. I would kill to have your body,\" Libby told Bernie as she watched her sister study herself in the mirror hanging on the back of the bathroom door. And she wasn't just being nice. She meant it.\n\n\"Maybe I shouldn't wear these pants anymore.\"\n\n\"Bernie!\"\n\n\"You're right.\" Bernie brushed a lock of hair off her face. \"Why am I listening to someone who could be a stand-in for a famine victim?\" The corners of Bernie's mouth worked themselves into a smile. \"And we are charging her a lot of money.\"\n\nLibby smiled. \"Pots of it. And we're getting three-quarters of it up front or we're not doing it.\"\n\n\"Good,\" Bernie said. If there was one thing she'd learned over her years of catering it was that the rich didn't like to settle their bills. \"And now for the menu. I think we should start with a liver pat\u00e9 on toast points, some cheese stuff, maybe some bacon and peanut butter on crackers...\"\n\nLibby wrinkled her nose.\n\n\"Hey, I know they're not haute cuisine, but dogs and kids like them,\" Bernie said a little defensively.\n\nLibby nodded. It was true. They did.\n\n\"And then,\" Bernie continued, \"we move on to steak and potatoes.\"\n\n\"What about the cake?\"\n\n\"Something vanilla. Maybe an old-fashioned layer cake, light on the frosting, in the shape of a dog bone?\"\n\nLibby pursed her lips. That would do. \"Ice cream?\"\n\nBernie thought for a moment. \"Probably not. That might be overkill in the sugar and dairy department.\"\n\n\"This should work,\" Libby observed after they'd faxed over the menu.\n\n\"Of course it's going to work,\" Bernie said indignantly. \"We designed it, didn't we? Although I'm sure Annabel will have some quibbles.\" Bernie bracketed the word quibbles with her fingers.\n\n\"I'm sure she will,\" Bree Nottingham, real estate agent extraordinaire and social arbiter of Longely, said as she swept into the living room with Rudoph, her six-month-old pug puppy, trailing behind her. They were both wearing pink coats and rhinestone collars. \"Annabel always has quibbles. Of course, when you have that kind of money you can afford to.\"\n\n\"It's not the quibbles I'm worried about,\" Libby replied as she pictured six dogs running up and down the table. \"It's everything else.\"\n\n\"It'll be an interesting event,\" Bree commented as she watched Rudolph sniff the sofa leg. \"I just came by to tell you that Rudolph is allergic to chicken, so don't put chicken on the menu. He's a sensitive soul, the poor dear.\"\n\nBernie looked down at Rudolph, who was currently trying to dig a hole in the carpet. He didn't look sensitive to her. He looked like a miniature Sherman tank.\n\n\"Interesting in what way?\" Bernie asked. She decided to sidestep the whole dog food allergy issue. Bad enough she had to deal with people with food allergies, let alone their canines.\n\nBree smiled brightly. \"In the way that married couples frequently are, dear.\"\n\n\"And that is?\" Libby asked. She'd expected the conversation to go in another direction.\n\nBernie leaned forward slightly. \"Yes. Elucidate for us. Inquiring minds want to know.\"\n\nBut instead of answering, Bree gave the Simmons' sister another of her smiles and said, \"I'm sure you two will do an excellent job. You always do.\" After which she left. Just like the Grand Duchess, Bernie thought.\n\n\"Now what do you think she meant by that?\" Libby asked Bernie as soon as she heard the downstairs door closing.\n\n\"I think she means that the Colberts are getting a divorce. Or one of them is having an affair.\"\n\n\"Seriously?\"\n\nBernie gave her a look. Honestly, sometimes her sister was so na\u00efve. \"What else could it be?\"\n\nLibby shook her head. \"I don't have a clue. All I know is that whatever it is, it's none of our business.\"\n\n\"I suppose,\" Bernie said feigning agreement even though she really didn't believe that, and she didn't think that Libby believed it either. After all, they'd been raised in a house with a mother who had elevated minding other people's business into an art form.\n\n\"I think we should concentrate on planning,\" Libby said.\n\n\"I think you're right,\" Bernie agreed.\n\nThis was not debatable. They had lots to do and not much time to do it in.\nLongely is an imaginary community, as are all its inhabitants. Any resemblance to people either living or dead is pure coincidence.\n\nKENSINGTON BOOKS are published by\n\nKensington Publishing Corp.   \n119 West 40th Street   \nNew York, NY 10018\n\nCopyright \u00a9 2008 by Isis Crawford\n\nAll rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.\n\nKensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.\n\nISBN: 0-7582-4816-4\n","meta":{"redpajama_set_name":"RedPajamaBook"}}
+{"text":"\n\nPublished by New Europe Books\n\nWilliamstown, Massachusetts\n\nwww.NewEuropeBooks.com\n\nCopyright \u00a9 2017 by Gazmend Kapllani\n\nEnglish translation \u00a9 2017 by Anne-Marie Stanton-Ife\n\nInterior design by Knowledge Publishing Services\n\nPreviously published in English in 2010 by Portobello Books Ltd,\n\nTwelve Addison Avenue, Holland Park, London.\n\nFirst published in Greece by Livanis Publishers.\n\nThis edition is published by arrangement with Ampi Margini Literary\n\nAgency, London, www.ampimargini.com.\n\nALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles and reviews.\n\nISBN 9780997316988\n\nEbook ISBN 9780997316995\n\nCataloging-in-Publication Data is available from the Library of Congress.\n\nFirst US edition\n\nv4.1\n\na\n_For my mother, Qerime_.\n\n_For my father, Myrteza_.\n\n_For my brother, Artionil_.\n\n# _Contents_\n\nCover\n\nTitle Page\n\nCopyright\n\nDedication\n\nPrologue\n\nChapter 1\n\nChapter 2\n\nChapter 3\n\nChapter 4\n\nChapter 5\n\nChapter 6\n\nChapter 7\n\nChapter 8\n\nChapter 9\n\nChapter 10\n\nChapter 11\n\nChapter 12\n\nChapter 13\n\nChapter 14\n\nChapter 15\n\nChapter 16\n\nChapter 17\n\nChapter 18\n\nChapter 19\n\nChapter 20\n\nChapter 21\n\nChapter 22\n\nChapter 23\n\nChapter 24\n\nChapter 25\n\nChapter 26\n\nChapter 27\n\nChapter 28\n\nChapter 29\n\nChapter 30\n\nEpilogue\n\nAuthor's Note\n\nNotes\n\nA Conversation with Gazmend Kapllani\n\nOther Titles\n\nAbout the Author\n\nAbout the Translator\n\n# **Prologue**\n\nI'm not crazy about borders; I can't honestly say I hate them, either. It's just that they scare me, that's all, and I always feel uncomfortable when I get too close to one. Let's get something straight: I'm talking about visible borders here, geographical borders, the ones that mark off one country from another, one state from another, one nation from another. Even today, as they become increasingly porous, whenever I cross one I get a very strange feeling, a mixture of deliverance and perplexity. Perhaps it's because of my passport. I've got used to that suspicious look they give me. I return it with one of longing, and impatience to get to the other side; but it's no use, it's almost invariably met with hostility and suspicion. I do try to reassure them, try to persuade them that I represent no danger of any kind, but there always seems to be some pretext or other for rebuffing me, some excuse for not treating me as an equal. This is why I say I suffer from Border Syndrome, and have done for a long time. Border Syndrome is a form of illness that's difficult to describe with precision. Unlike agoraphobia or depression, it doesn't feature on the list of recognized mental disorders. But what I can do, perhaps a little later, is outline some of the main symptoms. I do know that there are other sufferers, a great many of them. Those who have never experienced the urge to cross a border, or who have never experienced rejection at a border, will have a hard time understanding us.\n\nMy difficult relationship with borders goes back a very long way, back to my childhood, because whether or not you end up with Border Syndrome is largely a matter of luck: it depends on where you're born.\n\nI was born in Albania.\n\n# **1**\n\n_R eaching, never mind crossing, the borders of a country under a totalitarian regime like Albania was, until 1991, the equivalent of a miracle\u2014or a mortal sin. Exit visas were few and far between; those who got them were the lucky ones. The rest of us, most of us, that is, looked on the ones who got them as a breed apart, something along the lines of extraterrestrials. We were condemned to speculate endlessly about what lay on the other side of the borders. Either that or we would torture ourselves with the simple conclusion that life went on as normal, even on the other side_.\n\n_Dismissing the possibility that there was life beyond the borders proved quite an effective survival strategy, spiritually as well as physically. At some point, in the subconscious of many of us, the world-beyond-the-borders became more than the continuation in time and space of some common world_.\n\n_As the years went by, and Albania's isolation became absolute, the world-beyond-the-borders gradually assumed the status of a separate planet. For some people that planet was paradise, for others it was a place of terror. But for all that, another planet_.\n\n**Why are you telling us all this?**\n\nYou could ask the immigrant, Why are you telling us all this? The truth is, as an immigrant, especially a first-generation immigrant, your first instinct is to stay silent. Fear; caution; the violent escape, that violent first encounter with the unknown country; that feeling of being uninvited; resentment; longing for and rejection of home, and guilt and rage at the same time, all take root in the immigrant. An immigrant is a confused creature, highly insecure, and that is why he fears confession. All it takes is one gesture from the other side, one sign of denial, or indifference, of the \"What's it to me where you come from and what you've been through?\" kind, for the immigrant to feel ridiculous, vulnerable, and freakish. That's why he doesn't take risks. Instead, he digests his experiences in isolation and before long is convinced that they are of absolutely no interest to anyone. In the final analysis, he thinks: I wasn't made for telling stories, but to fight tooth and nail for my survival. It's not that people can't understand; they just don't want to.\n\nThe alternative, baring all and confessing, is risky. Telling his life story, the painful and contradictory journey of an immigrant. But, if he keeps it all bottled up inside, he is in danger of becoming neurotic and resentful. The most he can hope for is that they will understand, first him, and then all those who cannot speak, who don't know how to speak, who don't have the courage to speak and who bury their narratives deep inside themselves instead. You cannot understand an immigrant if you haven't heard his story first.\n\n# **2**\n\n_T he regime did everything in its power to block all images from the other side of the border by means of controls, arrests, and punishments. I can still remember\u2014I was in the second year of primary school at the time\u2014the day the school's Party secretary walked into our classroom and, among other things, asked us in a ponderous voice (which, with monumental exertion, she tried to soften) if our parents watched anything apart from Albanian state television. With the naivet\u00e9 of a child wanting to impress his classmates, I stuck my hand up and duly announced that my parents enjoyed watching a channel called Savra. There was no such thing; Savra was the name of a village near our town, Lushnj\u00eb. But I didn't know that. My father, alert to the dangers involved, dealt with my unfettered childish curiosity by feeding it with certain pseudonyms and code words for the foreign television stations he watched on the quiet. Ultimately, not even that could save him. That evening, he was summoned to the headmaster's office and asked to account for this unknown television station. You could lose your job over something like that\u2014and that was the least of it. He risked being accused of \"reactionary activities\" and of harboring \"petit bourgeois sympathies\" and risked being tried for disseminating antistate propaganda. After that, he could end up in one of those terrifying jails for political prisoners, or else be sent to one of those villages outside Lushnj\u00eb that were full of exiles. Savra was the best known. The truth was that there were options at their disposal for finishing someone off. My father had to explain himself, and explain why, first of all, he did not restrict his viewing to Albanian state television, and why he moved around in wealthy capitalist-imperialist-revisionist-Titoist-monarcho-fascist etc., etc. circles. Secondly, he was required to account for his choice of pseudonym. Why Savra? Did this imply indirect yet unambiguous sympathy for the enemies of the state exiled in that village? He answered flatly that he did not watch foreign television, adding that if they didn't believe him, they were welcome to come and inspect the antenna on his roof_.\n\n_On the subject of antennas, all citizens were required by the regime to purchase special ones, which had to be installed in such a way as if to renounce any desire to receive images from the world-beyond-the-borders. The truth was that my father had two antennas: one on the roof, for appearances' sake, and another, illegal one, the one referred to inside the family as \"the antlers.\" It was an indoor antenna, used mainly for picking up Italian channels. This double antenna was the perfect symbol for the divided individual living in a totalitarian state. One side of you functioned to appease the terrifying gaze of the regime; the other, more congenial side tried to escape its all-powerful watch by cunning_.\n\n_Fortunately the episode with the antenna did not have further repercussions. I was treated to a stinging slap from my father, sealing my hatred for the Party secretary, and although still a child, I began to realize that I had to stop being one, especially when it came to dealing with Party secretaries. I was so furious with her that I secretly prayed that some terrible fate would befall her, as that, and only that, would assuage my wrath, and only then in part. I wished\u2014fantasized even\u2014about her slipping, falling, and breaking her leg\u2014both legs; that she would fall ill and die a slow, painful death; that a brick would land on her head, killing her on the spot. The fantasy that brought me absolute satisfaction, however, was seeing her lying on the ground, squashed under the wheels of a cart (one of those from the farmers' cooperative, on filthy wheels pulled by emaciated horses that you used to see driving around town)_.\n\n_Time passed and with it my sadistic fantasies. I found out, much later, that my prayers had been answered in part, but not quite in the way I'd imagined: the Party secretary developed a peculiar illness, which made her look permanently cheerful. It was unbelievable considering she was one of the most stony-faced people on the planet. At school she was known as \"the statue.\" Now each time there was a Party convention, she would collapse in fits of laughter, shrieking away, and the more she shrieked, the more idiotic she looked. News of her nervous laughter reached the Party Committee, which ruled that in the interests of ideology, the Party, and the revolution she should go into early retirement. As they pointed out, she was not simply unsuitable but was harming the revolution and the dictatorship of the proletariat through her infirmity. That was the last she was heard of_.\n\n**Leaving your country means breaking with it**.\n\nA true emigrant is an incorrigible, egotistical narcissist. He thinks he's too good for his native land, and does not deserve the poverty, the lack of prospects, the violence, the corruption, the filth, the hypocrisy, or the lack of love. For all these reasons, for him, exile is above all a choice.\n\nLeaving is a choice, a choice to break with the country of his birth. This break follows him for the rest of his life. It will be the source of his sense of guilt and of freedom, rejection and denial, daydreaming and nostalgia, forgetting and melancholy, mood swings and schizophrenia. Only if he makes a success of life abroad, only then can he make peace with his own country again. If he doesn't make it, he will be left hanging, at odds with the world and with the universe. He will make a great show of how much he loves his country of origin for one reason alone\u2014to annoy people in his new country, the country he believed would offer him a better future, but which, in his opinion, has denied him one. In the final analysis, he has rejected his own country in favor of this new one; he has had more faith in this new one than in his own. Shouldn't that in itself be enough for them to hold their doors wide open for me? he asks himself.\n\n# **3**\n\n_T hose antennas will always be connected in my mind with two more people who made a lasting impression on me during my childhood: Uncle Jani and comrade Mete. I had known Uncle Jani almost all my life because we lived in the same block. His flat was upstairs from us, on the fourth floor. He was quite well known around town, mainly because he waged an undeclared war on all enemies of the state and the revolution, the enemy without, certainly, but especially the enemy within. From the conversations of the grown-ups at home and at friends' homes, I learned that Uncle Jani had an enormous logbook, which he kept hidden somewhere in his flat, detailing the works and days of all suspect residents of our town. Woe betide anyone whose name appeared on the list; it meant certain ruin for them and their relatives. Rumors about Uncle Jani's list grew until it acquired mythical status within the community. Some said that it was just a simple notebook; others maintained it was a huge tome containing information relating not only to suspect persons in this town but in the neighboring one, too. Uncle Jani was so committed to hunting down the enemy within that it was said that even his daughter-in-law's name appeared on the list. They all lived under the same roof. One night, he overheard her talking in her sleep, murmuring, \"I don't give a shit about the Party conference....\"_\n\n_Irrespective of how long or how short Uncle Jani's list really was, the fact was that nobody in our block suffered at his hands, except Keme's son, that is. Rolling home drunk one night, he had the misfortune of falling across Uncle Jani, who fixed him with a stern gaze. Keme's son, who worked as a porter, returned Uncle Jani's look with these words: \"They say that drunkards lose all sense of smell\u2014even so, I couldn't fail to sniff out a filthy informer like you!\" before collapsing into fits of laughter. He lost his job because of it, but everyone said he'd got off very lightly and that Uncle Jani had proved that he did have a human side, because if he'd really wanted to, he could have had Keme's son exiled or even thrown into prison_.\n\n_Uncle Jani was not the only one targeting the enemy within. There were others in town doing the very same thing. We knew about some of them, but not all. Comrade Mete, for example, we did not know about. We only found out about him much later, under the most tragic circumstances. Comrade Mete's particular skill and passion was tracking down the enemy within through the precise study of the lie of their television antennas. He left no rooftop in the town uninspected at least three or four times, operating under cover of night to make sure the direction of all antennas conformed to Party regulations. In fact he had compiled a long list of names next to which was recorded the direction of the lie of their antennas. If Comrade Mete discovered an aberration anywhere, the authorities were alerted instantly and the guilty party could find himself digging trenches for years on end. Comrade Mete's legendary list was discovered late one night on the roof of our block. Unfortunately the owner of the list was five floors away from it, lying on the ground at the entrance to the building, having executed the most spectacular fall from the roof, all the way down to the ground below, which was still damp from the recent rain. Comrade Mete's fall was accompanied by a terrible scream that sent a jolt through everyone in our building, waking everyone in the surrounding blocks as well. Comrade Mete died on impact. A tragic, premature death, but a hero's death; he was killed in the line of duty, fighting for socialism and in the class struggle. What caused his fall, however, was never established, and speculation concerning the mysterious circumstances surrounding his demise continued to fuel the imaginations of the people of our town_.\n\n**The Immigrant in the Realm of the Imperative**\n\nYou have to get a job. Any job. You have to survive. You have to find somewhere to live\u2014doesn't matter what it's like as long as it looks vaguely like a home. You have to learn the language, even if you can't understand a single word of it and you get your \"good nights\" and your \"good evenings\" all mixed up. You have to learn to speak more softly, and not shout, because it scares people. You're not back home in the village now, you know. You have to keep out of the way of those Black Marias because you turned up in this country without an invitation, making quite an entrance with that woebegone expression of yours and that primitive haircut. People round here haven't seen anything like that for decades, especially not combined with those clothes, so obviously charity clothes\u2014or maybe you stole them? You have to learn how to walk properly because you've got used to walking too fast, like you've got the Devil on your back. You've got to learn the Highway Code, the sections that apply to pedestrians of course, and you've got to stop looking at all those gorgeous local girls like that, the way Quasimodo looks at Esmeralda in Notre Dame de Paris. You have to, have to, have to...without end or expiry date. Day after day, night after night, week after week, month after month, year after year. Not for you the privilege of wanting\u2014you are condemned to live by the mercilessly cruel claims of \"have to.\" Because you have to make it. Above all, make it.\n\nThis is the immigrant's oath.\n\nJust as doctors are supposed to live by the Hippocratic oath, an immigrant lives by \"I have to succeed.\" This oath is his only real country from now on. He has to make it, not simply because people back home expect something from him; that's the least of it. He has to make it because he cannot go back a failure. The thought of failure makes him tremble like a child afraid of the dark. He has to make it, but how? And this is where the common path of immigrants diverges and they split off into successes and failures, the accepted and the rejected, the lucky and the unlucky. Because immigrants, whatever their superficial similarities, differ from each other in exactly the way that everybody in this world differs from everybody else.\n\n# **4**\n\n_T here were two basic versions of how comrade Mete met his death. The first version circulated in hushed tones and low voices from house to house and caf\u00e9 to caf\u00e9. The story went that comrade Mete, in addition to his weakness for television antennas, was victim of another obsession, much, much stranger than the first. A committed voyeur, he lived to watch couples in the throes of lovemaking, longed for glimpses of women hitching up their skirts to reveal their naked backsides when visiting the toilet or getting into the bath. That fateful night, it was rumored, he was spying on the female judge who lived in the top floor flat in our building, while she was having her bath, and he was completely mesmerized by her ample backside. Completely in the thrall of his passion, and in his efforts not to miss a single ounce of the pleasure this sight brought him, he had balanced himself precariously, giving scant attention to his calculation of the angle. Unfortunately for him, it had been raining, that's why he slid off, losing at once both his view of the judge's backside and his life. That at least is what those loyal to the first version claimed_.\n\n_The second version was the one championed by Uncle Jani. According to him, comrade Mete was the victim of a conspiracy of enemies within. He swore that he would find the enemy behind this treacherous murder, the heroic death of comrade Mete, if it was the last thing he did. One day he announced that his investigations had progressed, and the enemy within was in fact within our own building. His news spread panic through the block. Keme, because his son had been in trouble with Uncle Jani, was worried that Uncle Jani had him on his list as a main suspect, and for that reason sold his television to limit the risk of being accused of watching foreign television stations. Another neighbor, Loni, was in the hospital being treated for severe psychological disorders following a nightmare in which Uncle Jani forced him to dig up comrade Mete's body. Uncle Jani, however, died of a sudden heart attack. His death was greeted by several people in the building with sighs of relief. Behind closed doors, of course_.\n\n**A Hero Verging on the Ridiculous**\n\nThere is something heroic about the way an immigrant abandons his native land. Nevertheless, in his everyday life, he is fragile, confused, and at times ridiculous, like a card player who dreams of that one amazing trick but lacks essential knowledge of the rules of the game. He thought that he had arrived in a place where everything would be easy, where help would be at hand, where people would explain the rules to him, and not only that, would praise him if he managed to beat them. Now he discovers that his idols don't give a damn about him; he discovers something worse, that no one asked him to come, that he is there uninvited, and nobody notices him. An invisible creature, which, on the rare occasions it is noticed, inspires either momentary pity or lasting disgust.\n\nIf only he knew the language, he thinks, he would show all those people who are unworthy to so much as look at him. They need to be shown how much he is worth, and that is a great deal. But he doesn't know the language, and he is terrified, because these locals speak so quickly\u2014it's like listening to a sewing machine. No, there's no way he's going to learn it. They can go hang, the lot of them, and take their language with them. But if he doesn't learn it, how is he going to find a job? How will he survive? Just the basics then, the first ten words. And he does manage to learn them even though he's not quite sure how. That's when he discovers that this language isn't as impossible as he'd thought. It starts to grow on him. He speaks it and is no longer just some mute presence. But this enthusiasm is short-lived. In his hands, the language is not spoken but broken. He doesn't just break it, he butchers it. Feminine names become masculine, masculine feminine, and most nouns are neutered. Better mute than annoying.\n\n# **5**\n\n_A ll of this was going on at a time when the regime decreed Albania the rose garden and solitary beacon of hope in the universe. Our teachers at school told us over and over again that we were something like the chosen people. And, if you number among the elect, two things are required of you: first, you have to hate the nonelect; second, you must at all costs be happy. Happiness in a totalitarian regime is not a question of choice or fortune; it is a duty. Public displays of unhappiness were viewed with suspicion_.\n\n_The point was that we were the only happy people, the only genuinely happy people, the only pure, the only victims, while against us were the miserable, the liars, primitive and polluted predators. Sometimes I used to think that we Albanians had hit something like a Universal Jackpot of Fortune: all the happiness, the authenticity, the purity, of the universe was contained within a mere 28,000 square kilometers, the surface area of Albania_.\n\n_In our minds, the world was divided into two\u2014Paradise (us) and Hell (everyone else), and whoever tried to cross the borders of paradise and escape was automatically branded Hell's accomplice. For that reason, passports were abolished as we had no use for them, and attempts to escape from Albania were considered high treason_.\n\n_One fine day, however, in my childhood innocence, the borders invaded the world of my imagination in the bloodiest way conceivable. The death of my neighbor, Artur, brought them to life for me like the most terrifying ghosts_.\n\n**If you were a tourist...**\n\nIf you were a tourist, your broken Greek would endear you to people. When it comes down to it, this is the real difficulty about difference: when an American speaks broken Greek, he is classed as a \"nice American,\" but when an Albanian speaks broken Greek, he is classed as nothing more than a \"bloody Albanian.\" When an American speaks perfect Greek, he is an \"exceptional American,\" but when an Albanian speaks perfect Greek, all he hears is, \"You'll never be Greek! You'll never be Greek!\"\n\nSince he is nothing more than a pitiful illegal immigrant, his broken Greek gets on the nerves of the locals. And he knows it. Because of this, every time he gets on the bus, he speaks in a low voice, avoids conversation, and sweats with embarrassment when people try to speak to him because as soon as the locals catch his accent, they turn away and he feels like he's suddenly been struck by avian flu.\n\n_How did it happen_ , he asks himself, _why do they look at me with such fear?_ He would like to ask them, \"What are you all so afraid of?\u2014I love this country.\" But he doesn't ask, because he already knows the answer. \"Don't you watch the news? You lot have taken over this country, you lot have slaughtered us in our beds: they should round you all up, the lot of you, and take you back to where you came from. Back to your own bloody country.\" _So soon!_ he says to himself. _They can't send me back so soon. I've only just found a job. And I work like a dog, night and day, in wind and rain. Look at my hands, they look like someone's been hacking them with a sword. I work to spare your hands. I want to buy a car too. No, I'll start off with a big stereo, then I'll get a huge color TV, then a big washing machine, and then, I don't know, we'll see_.\n\nAnd at that moment he realizes that he is upset, that the phrase \"your own bloody country\" has got to him. Of course he's familiar with all the shit there, which is why he left in the first place, but it's not a \"bloody country.\" There are small children there, just like here; there are mothers who love their children there, just like here; there are teenagers falling in love back there, just like here; there are those who hope and those who despair just like here\u2014though the truth is that those who despair now outnumber those who hope.\n\nThe bus suddenly stops and two men get on. They are wearing identical uniforms and identical grim expressions. His blood freezes. \"lllegal immigrants\u2014out, out, out!\" Then \"Down, down, down, down!\" And he gets down, down, down, further down all the time until he can't go any lower. Fuck.\n\n# **6**\n\n_T hat was when the Chinese arrived. It was as though they had fallen from the sky, peacefully invading our town. We woke up one morning and there they were. We saw them and they saw us. There were dozens of them, all dressed in identical blue uniforms, walking hurriedly around, Mao's Little Red Book in hand. Albania was in the throes of a passionate love affair with China. We all looked on, at a loss to understand what they were doing here. Rumors and speculation were rife in the caf\u00e9s and in the conversations of the adults. The townspeople, although they admitted that they could not tell one Chinese person from the next, because they looked like identical twins, even started to learn a few Chinese names and words_.\n\n_Some said that the Chinese had come to open a factory producing military aircraft; and others, blessed with even more fertile imaginations, claimed that they had come to transform Albania into the biggest industrialized nation in Europe. In the end it turned out that they had come simply to build a plastics factory just outside town_.\n\n_As for our teachers, they informed us that we no longer had to fear any enemy, as Mao Zedong had given his word to Enver Hoxha that if anyone dared lay a finger on Albania, one billion Chinese would came running to its defense. In other words, this small nation of three million, given its friendship with China, should now be considered to have a population of 1,300,000,000_.\n\n_The most dramatic scene of our encounter with the Chinese played out one morning as they filled the small square in front of the town's only hotel, where they were all staying. They were making strange movements, something like a slow-motion version of ballet. Each was in his own world; some were shaking their heads, others moving their hands, some were kneeling slowly down, others were slowly raising their knees up to their chests. They were all dressed in blue and looked absolutely mad. We hadn't a clue what they were doing; almost the entire town had gathered around the square to gawk at the Chinese, to the point that the police grew worried at the size of the crowd. Then all of a sudden we were told that they were just taking exercise, which prompted such comments from the crowd as, \"Allah, preserve us from these people.\"_\n\n\u2014\n\n_I mention the Chinese simply because Artur left a few weeks after their arrival, in December, round about New Year's Eve, for a village on the way to Kor\u00e7\u00eb, near the borders. He had an aunt living there and wanted to see in the New Year with her. In those days, in order to get to those border villages, you had to have a special permit from the police, as these villages fell in the designated \"forbidden zone.\"_\n\n_It later turned out that Artur had not gone to his aunt's house with the intention of spending the New Year with her at all; he wanted to escape. He had calculated, at least that's what people said after the funeral, that the soldiers on the borders would be more relaxed and less vigilant over the holiday season than at other times. He was wrong. The soldiers spotted him trying to escape and shot him dead. I later found out that a soldier responsible for killing someone trying to escape was rewarded with a few days' paid leave. The thought of those soldiers sitting around arguing over who was entitled to the time off made my skin crawl_.\n\n_Artur's death shocked me deeply. It also fired my imagination, and gradually the borders took on metaphysical proportions for me. They haunted my sleep, and nothing pleased me more during my waking hours than listening to stories that were in some way connected to borders: arrests, killings, attempted escapes which had mostly failed_.\n\n_To me the few who managed to get out were the strongest, most special people in the entire world. Some were even from our town. Everyone knew about them, not just because they'd escaped, but because of the repercussions and the terror that followed. Their families were sent into exile; their relatives lost their jobs, forever stigmatized for having an \"enemy of the people\" in their family. Of course, their relatives automatically came under suspicion themselves, suspected enemies of the people forever, on a par with the lepers of the Middle Ages, and were favorite targets of the stool pigeons who had infested our lives_.\n\n**Crossing Illegally, Again and Again**\n\nHe will cross back again, go back into Greece. Kor\u00e7\u00eb\u2013Kalabaka, eight days on foot, nights spent under the stars, if they are out, that is. The \"guide,\" who knows his way through all those hidden paths, charges $300 a head. A typical group of illegals ranges from eight to eleven heads. Bargaining starts in Kor\u00e7\u00eb, the guarantor holds the money, and if they're caught by soldiers and sent back, everybody gets their money back. That's the deal, at any rate, but you never know, because frequently the guarantor vanishes into thin air and the illegals are left with nothing more than a bitter taste in their mouths. But he will cross the mountains again, back into Greece. They might catch him again in six months' time in almost exactly the same way. The two men wearing identical uniforms and identical grim expressions will get on the bus again. This will be followed by: Black Maria. Holding cell, crowded: five people in a two by two cell. Prisoners arguing, the stench of piss\u2014a completely shit existence. He will wait a few days, until enough people have been rounded up for transportation up to the borders, and the Black Maria will drive them up to Kakavia. At the border he will get on a truck that will take him back to the village. He'll be greeted with a \"Get caught again, did you?\" from his relatives, while the villagers snidely remark, \"Get caught again, did he? Poor bastard. Not surprising. Takes guts to live so far away from home.\"\n\n# **7**\n\n_A large country\u2014Russia, for example\u2014isolated with hermetically sealed borders is like one endless prison, but tiny Albania, also isolated with hermetically sealed borders, is more like a regular straitjacket_.\n\n_When I was in high school, my friends and I (or at least the few people I dared reveal my thoughts to) used to say that if you wanted to see the borders of the motherland, all you had to do was climb up onto the roof of a block of flats_.\n\n_I remember our school trip to Sarand\u00eb, where at night you can see the lights from the world-beyond-the-borders. They might have been the lights from a village, maybe a town, who knows? We stood there, gawking at them, imagining, speculating, in secret: \"What are people like on the other side?\" We each had our own ideas on the subject, usually the product of rumors, or pictures we'd seen on television, transformed into mythical stories, which we'd use to feed our fantasies as much as we could. We talked about beautiful beaches, swimming pools, color TVs, but most of all about gorgeous girls, hampered neither by excess pounds nor sexual restraint_.\n\n_\"Girls there are liberated; they don't expect you to come on to them, they do all the work,\" one of my friends reliably informed us. \"They're free out there, how can I put it? You're constantly ambushed by sex!\" he continued, placing unbearable pressure on our adolescent fantasies_.\n\n_At that moment, one of the girls in our class, a brilliant but hopelessly na\u00efve student, asked our instructor in Marxist-Leninism to explain why capitalist cities were so well-illuminated when the proletariat living there was supposedly dying of starvation in dark slums. The teacher looked down at her over the top of his spectacles, and let his eyes roam across the entire class. As soon as he'd reassured himself that the question was motivated by nothing more than innocent curiosity, he answered with his customary ease, the style he used when he explained that in the capitalist West, the proletariat works a twenty-hour day, sustained only by a diet of boiled greens. \"It looks to me as if some of you have been up till all hours staring at Greek monarcho-fascist lighting instead of getting a good night's sleep to wake refreshed to face the class enemy. Well, let me tell you, the lights you saw come from the villas of_ the _rich. They live in enormous houses while the workers starve, the workers have nothing. They live in darkness, unlike the happy proletariat in our country. Read over the notes you take from my talks, and you'll sleep better at night, untroubled by reactionary doubts. Understood?\" Of course we \"understood.\" I have the impression that even that na\u00efve straight-A girl got it, because she suddenly went pale, sat down and didn't say another word_.\n\n_In addition to our borders (which were really neither visible nor tangible, and could not be physically crossed), there were the so-called forbidden zones, areas within a radius of between about thirty and forty kilometers from the borders, which you needed a special permit from the police to visit. If you happened to be caught without one, you were automatically suspected of trying to escape. So Albania effectively had two borders: the legal boundaries between legitimate states and the forbidden zone borders, the unofficial borders of the official borders. No matter where you went, you were bound to trip up over one border or another_.\n\n_This being so, the only window you got on the world-beyond-the-borders was through television and radio. We adolescents in particular were desperate to decode the messages transmitted from this alien planet, which was impossible if you didn't understand the language the aliens spoke. So, and this was especially true of the towns, a passion for foreign languages was born. Italian was the most popular_.\n\n_Learning a foreign language was neither a hobby nor a luxury, nor had it any practical value; it was essential for the amazing challenge of traveling through the imagination to places that were strictly off limits, to the world-beyond-the-borders. Our imagination idealized the word-beyond-the-borders, and the more unbearably oppressive the regime at home became, the more idyllic this other world seemed to us. The regime divided the population into two strict categories: absolute good and absolute evil. We did too, but with reverse criteria: absolute evil was to be found at home and absolute good beyond our borders. Just as the regime relied on paranoid xenophobia for its continued survival, we depended on our own special brand of xenomania to resist it_.\n\n**Two Years on One Border**\n\nHe'll spend a few days in that shitty village where nothing ever happens, where nothing ever moves, like corpses in a graveyard, where people only know how to gossip, and to kill each other off with spite.\n\nHe'll set off on exactly the same journey\u2014Kor\u00e7\u00eb\u2013Kalabaka, eight days on foot, because he has to make it, and so he'll cross the borders illegally ten, twelve, nineteen, thirty-six times.\n\nThe route is full of dangers. In summer there are usually soldiers guarding the footpaths who arrest anyone trying to get through illegally. There are just as many armed bandits lurking, too, waiting to pounce on and rob the illegal emigrant of what little he owns. Whoever refuses to empty his pockets gets the thrashing of his life. In winter there are fewer soldiers, fewer bandits. Instead it's a toss-up between dying in the snow or being eaten by wolves.\n\nHe still remembers that young man, just eighteen years old, burning up with fever for two days. He collapsed and died in the snow. They had to bury him and leave him. There was nothing else for it up there in the mountains. They risked getting buried in the snow themselves. They'd got caught in the most almighty snowstorm, and it was each man for himself. They trudged through it like sleepwalkers, day after day, using all their energy just to stay upright, because they knew that if they didn't, they'd be buried alive.\n\nThe one who died in the snow was called Eddy. It was his first time. They'd carried him and another lad on their backs, gasping for breath, for an entire day and night, and kept saying to him, \"Be patient. We'll get there.\" The snow was up to their waists and he was praying to God that some military patrol would find them. But they're never there when you need them, are they?\n\nA few hours before he died in their arms, Eddy had asked them to inform his fianc\u00e9e and ask her to forgive him for not making it. They'd got engaged a couple of weeks earlier, and he'd promised that he'd come back and take her to Greece as soon as he was fixed up with a job and somewhere to live. He never got further than halfway between Kor\u00e7\u00eb and Kalabaka, eight hours on foot.\n\nHe suddenly makes another calculation: thirty-four times in seven years, Albania\u2013Greece\u2013Albania\u2013Greece. If you added on the days spent in detention centers each time they deported him, it was unbelievable: of the last seven years of his life, two of them have literally been spent on the borders.\n\n# **8**\n\n_M y town, Lushnj\u00eb, is close to the Adriatic. We used to spend our summer holidays by the sea. At some point the regime started putting up bunkers by the hundred thousand, the length and breadth of the country, concentrating on remote and coastal areas. We were prepared for the enemy to appear from anywhere but it seemed that the biggest menace was the enemy we waited for, and waited, and waited, and waited to invade us from the sea. The beaches we used to visit as children were suddenly filled with symbols of war. The irony was that these forbidding-looking bunkers became hot favorites for trysting lovers: temples of war rededicated to the goddess of love. Life itself was taking revenge on the paranoia of the regime_.\n\n_Bunkers popped up along the beach, lying in wait for the terrible enemy, but the enemy never did us the courtesy of appearing on the horizon. In place of this terrifying enemy, the sea would wash up several humble objects from the world-beyond-the-borders: disintegrating sacks, empty Coca-Cola bottles, empty cartons of laundry detergent bearing various slogans and brand names_.\n\n_People would often take these things home and decorate their houses with them. I remember a cousin of mine who was ecstatically happy when she found an empty green carton in the sea\u2014in good condition, too. God only knows who had thrown it in from the Italian side, ignorant of the fetish status it would acquire the moment it washed up on an Albanian beach. The name of the manufacturer was printed on it, accompanied by a picture of some silky female underwear \"holding hands\" with its male counterpart. Both looked rather worn out after their long, difficult journey through saltwater. But my cousin was not put off; she and her mother decided that they had to take it home, and gave it pride of place in their sitting room. It could just as well have been an original Van Gogh or a Picasso_.\n\n_There was something indescribably comic as well as unbearably tragic about all this. But if anyone looks beyond appearances, they might see something irreducibly human in it, too: the determination of people to cling on to the slightest contact with the world-beyond-the-borders. Just as the prisoner worships even the most trivial object from the outside because it represents freedom to him, so these people in their own tragicomic way collected evidence of the existence of a world-beyond-the-borders. It was also a way of establishing some kind of relationship with that world, a way to break through their absolute isolation and to promise themselves and others that one day all this madness would end_.\n\n_The fact that the days of the regime were numbered became obvious to us when the ubiquitous statues of the Eternal Leader erected in all public squares and buildings across the country started to fall down at night. Each political system has its own sacred cows, and the sacred cows of totalitarianism are the ubiquitous public statues and portraits of Eternal Leaders, small, medium, and large: in public squares, on facades of public buildings and blocks of flats, inside public buildings, and inside people's homes. As a boy, I used to believe that statues were supposed to represent dead people. Just to make sure, I asked my mother one day, \"Why are there so many statues of Uncle Enver if he's not even dead?\" My mother looked at me with panic and sadness in her eyes, and said, \"One day I'll tell you all about it. But don't you ever go asking your teacher questions like that.\" This left me with the suspicion that behind these statues lurked a terrible secret I would never be able to decipher and was not supposed to know about. Growing older, I started to understand a bit more. I realized that there was a direct analogy between the statues and fear: as the regime intensified the fear and terror it spread among the people, the number as well as the size of the statues it put up grew proportionally_.\n\n_The tyrant's statue essentially symbolized the eternal stasis of tyranny, as the purpose of tyranny is to subject everything to a state of stasis: a stasis of thought, desire, and time itself. It aims at the predictability and stasis of the graveyard. Of course they say that when the statue of a tyrant is pulled down and tyrannical rule comes to an end, people are suddenly liberated and blossom, finding the path to truth and wealth. Sadly, this is not the case. Tyrants are merciless beasts, precisely because they leave behind distorted societies worn down by oppression and above all suffering from an orphan complex. Those who give themselves over to indiscriminate looting and destruction the minute the statues come down are like orphaned children robbing the corpse of a false and terrifying father_.\n\n_After the fall of the tyrant's statue, the tortuous journey to self-knowledge begins: pieces of the statue will live on for a long time to come in the mindsets of the people who grew up and lived under tyranny_.\n\n**Quiet August Days**\n\nAugust. The city is virtually empty. The evening newsreader makes this short announcement: \"Five illegal immigrants have lost their lives, drowning at dawn off the coast of Mytilene when their boat capsized. Among them were three small children.\" This was the last news item before sports. The usual tragic procedure: the survivors will be put up in some kind of reception center with wretched living conditions. The usual procedure will be followed: detention, processing, deportation.\n\nIn all probability most of them will try to repeat the journey, paying dearly for it and risking life and limb in the process. Are they out of their minds? Maybe, but that's just the point. This brand of madness, this doggedness of the wanderer to enter the temple of consumerism, gambling with life itself to get there, fearing neither death nor the police, nor the dehumanizing humiliation of it all. In Morocco illegals are known as _harragas_ from the Arabic verb _haraqa_ , meaning \"to burn.\" In order to avoid deportation, African illegals coming to Morocco burn their papers so that the authorities can't establish their identities. They are undocumented and therefore have no identity. They have wiped their countries off the map. Their homeland is now another country, legal or illegal. And besides, there is something that is more powerful than anything else: death has lost its sting.\n\n# **9**\n\n_I crossed the borders into a foreign country, Greece, on January 15, 1991. It was the first time I'd seen the borders of another country. It was the first time I'd seen the borders of my own country; the outer limits of a world that had perhaps thrown us out of time, out of the world. I thought I'd be escaping on my own, but ended up walking with an entire caravan of human beings. A caravan of human beings moving forward with one single demand: to break through that terrifying taboo otherwise known as the borders. Escape as an end in itself. Escape as illness_.\n\n_I had traveled all night in a truck, hidden behind a mountain of packing cases. At one o'clock in the afternoon we reached Sarand\u00eb. We set off for the borders from somewhere round there half an hour later and arrived at around three. When they saw the human caravan making its way to the border, the driver and the codriver decided to abandon their truck and join it. We covered the final kilometers before the border post on foot. There must have been about sixty of us, mostly young men and all strangers. At the border post on the Albanian side, four soldiers holding Kalashnikovs were waiting for us with their officer, who looked at us with an expression revealing something between contempt and anger_.\n\nOfficer: Where are you going?\n\nVoice: We're leaving....\n\nOfficer: Who said that? [Silence]\n\nOfficer: Have you all got passports?\n\nVoice: Have you given us passports?\n\nOfficer: Who said that? [Silence]\n\nOfficer: You know, things could be worse on the other side.\n\nVoice: Let us through, let us go.\n\nOfficer: OK. Whoever wants to can go through.\n\n_We broke into a run, scared that the soldiers might shoot us in the back with their Kalashnikovs. We got through the barbed wire, which was still intact, meaning that we were the first to cross at this point. We started bashing at it with a stick to see if it was electrified and then we opened a hole in it with some sticks that the drivers had brought from their truck until it was big enough for us to get through, one at a time. In my haste, I ripped the sleeve of my coat, but at that moment my coat was the last thing on my mind. The soldiers, fingers on the triggers, looked on as we tried desperately to cut through the wire, while the officer maintained the cynical smile painted across his face_.\n\n_After getting through the barbed wire we had to cross a small stream. We did so with ease, even though the water was freezing. Then we started running up a hill, looking for the first concrete signs that we had actually fled and reached the other side of the border, the other side of the world. We carried on running until someone shouted, \"We've crossed the border!\" I don't know how he could tell. I can only remember hearing hysterical whoops of joy_.\n\n_There were no soldiers and no policemen on the other side. We had reached the free world. We had arrived in the West. A middle-aged man threw himself to the ground, weeping, pummeling the ground rhythmically with his fists, addressing it as though it were a fellow human being. \"I've paid for you with seventeen years in prison. I've paid for you with seventeen years in prison. I've paid for you with seventeen years in prison, damn it.\" Things calmed down after about half an hour until someone asked, \"Where now?\" Nobody could answer him. Everyone shrugged their shoulders in total bewilderment. We all knew where we had escaped from but not one of us knew anything about where we were going_.\n\n_Some of our number spotted a dirt track and the rest of us decided to follow. A few of us could speak Greek, Greek Albanians who were immediately put in charge of our march into the unknown. As we walked, we started to speculate about what was in store for us. Someone had heard that we were going to be put up for a short while in high-rise blocks and afterward would be asked which Western country we wanted to go and work in. At that point, the two drivers of the truck jumped in, saying that they would put in a request for Germany as they were sure that there was plenty of work there, paying astronomical wages for anyone willing to make the journey from Berlin to Baghdad transporting fuel, especially now as war was about to break out in Iraq. The best news of all came from another man, who said he was sure that the road led to some harbor or other where the American fleet would be waiting for us to take us straight to the States. He almost got into a fight with another man who claimed that he had heard on Greek radio that the ships weren't American but belonged to the UN, and Albanian refugees would be taken to Italy. In the end we agreed that the ships were waiting for us, but that their provenance and destination had yet to be verified. After this, the discussion turned back to the borders. Some argued that the borders would be closed in three days' time; others said ten, while the minority opinion was that they would never close again_.\n\n_In the meantime, we had come across the first houses and first residents along the road. Some Greeks had come out onto their doorsteps, and the pity on their faces was diluted only by the total astonishment they felt. The Greek speakers among us stopped to talk with them, explaining who we were and where we had come from, and asked them where we should go. Some of the old ladies offered to give us water, and that was how I learned my first words of Greek. \"Efharisto,\" meaning \"thank you\" and \"nero,\" \"water,\" and it wouldn't be long before I added a third word to my list: \"douleia\"\u2014\"work.\"_\n\n_After walking and walking we eventually arrived at our destination, a coastal village, at about eight that evening. Someone who was passing through signaled to us where we were supposed to wait for the bus that would take us to the refugee center. We all assembled there and waited. After half an hour, a man approached us, introducing himself as an Australian journalist. He wanted to know if any of us could speak English. With what little English I had managed to master I offered to talk to him. He asked us where we had crossed over from, whether the borders were guarded, where we wanted to go, what part of Albania we had come from, and what the current situation in Albania was. After getting the answers to these questions, he explained that a bus was due to arrive that would take us to a refugee center, where we would be given food, new clothes, one room between two, be taught Greek\u2014and after a few days we would be found work. I translated all this for everyone, our future according to the Australian journalist, and they all started cheering. \"This is what the West is all about!\" one of the drivers called out, at the same time as urging me to ask the Australian if we would be allowed to go and work in a country of our choice. I didn't get the chance to ask either about that or about the ships waiting for us at the unspecified harbor to take us to America, Italy, or wherever else our starved imaginations desired. The Australian had vanished, leaving us alone with our fantasies_.\n\n_A few started allocating the bedrooms we were supposed to be sharing. The two drivers unsurprisingly decided in an instant that they would share. For others it was harder to find a roommate, so the drivers, relieved of that particular anxiety, volunteered to sort everyone out. First we counted the number of couples. None of them were married; this was a problem. We had no idea whether the regulations permitted unmarried couples to stay together, and besides, we didn't even know if men and women would be housed together or in separate quarters_.\n\n_We came up with a temporary solution while we waited for the bus that was to take us to what we all had started calling the refugee center. Some of the group, mainly the younger boys, went and pressed their faces up against the window of a nearby caf\u00e9. They were gawking in astonishment at the color television and the images it transmitted. The patrons of the caf\u00e9 gawked back at the Albanians gawking in astonishment at their color television with a corresponding degree of astonishment. Eventually someone got up and came to the door. He was holding a biscuit tin and started throwing biscuits at us, in the way that you would toss grain to pigeons, or corn to chickens or ducks. Some of us tried to catch the biscuits. And that was when I was reminded that I had a stomach attached to my body and realized that I was hungry_.\n\n_Some of our group just stood there, glued to the TV screen through the caf\u00e9 window. One of them, he must have been about twenty, his face badly worn by the sun and exhaustion, suddenly swung round and whispered in an innocent, stunned tone, \"But there's no sex!\" Perhaps he'd imagined that in the world-beyond-the-borders, just as my old high school friend had claimed, there is a constant ambush of sex and as soon as darkness falls, something along the lines of an all-night orgy begins. This was also part of the fantasy that we had carried with us_.\n\n**The Gender of Borders**\n\nWe don't all cross in the same way. The authority of the borders reminds us all of our very different origins, different classes, different castes, different skin color, and, above all, different genders.\n\nMarch 18. She left that day. She was only seventeen. Everybody was getting out. The country was like a poisoned organism that purged itself of people in its effort to survive. But none of the girls had left town, not until then, at least. She was the first.\n\nPeople were rushing to get out of hell while there was still time. They say that hell is one place, but in reality, hell is private and particular to each one of us. She wanted to escape hers: her father. For as long as she could remember she had wanted to leave, to escape. Escape his shouting, his hateful looks, her mother's screeching, which she still heard in her sleep. She stills shivers today when she recalls that threatening knock on the door. As soon as she heard it, she knew exactly what was going to happen. The same routine over and over again, the same methods. Music; he would always turn the volume up on the radio to smother her screams. That was the only time music was heard in their house. He would pummel her head with his fists like a madman until his hands were sore. Then he'd remove his belt, and whip her entire body with it, until the point where her skin split open and her flesh bled, the same words punctuating the thrashings: \"You ought to be ashamed of yourself!\"\n\nHuman beings have an incredibly high pain threshold and can suffer abject humiliation and degradation if they are convinced that there's no way out. I can't say whether they accept it or just get used to it, but they do learn to live with it, thinking there is no alternative. That was true of this girl; she had just about come to terms with the fact that this is what her life was like and always would be like. I say just about because there was something that was helping her to keep it together, and that was her dream of becoming an actress. That's what she wanted more than anything. Perhaps it was because for as long as she could remember, she had wanted to live the lives of other people and not her own.\n\nShe was in the last year of high school. There was a theater group at school she went along to, behind his back. But he found out about it one day and the curtain went up on the same old show: music, punches, belt, screaming, blood, but a different script this time: \"Actress? Over my dead body!\"\n\nA week later she heard that they'd opened the borders. At first not that many people were leaving, but gradually more and more decided to go. All the men left. She wanted to leave, too. She could think about nothing else. She had to leave. But how\u2014and who with?\n\nShe'd never seen him before. The first time she saw him was when her cousin introduced them. It was raining heavily and she found it hard to see his features clearly. But her desire to leave was so overwhelming that it blurred her vision. \"I came back from Greece three days ago, and I'm off again the day after tomorrow,\" he told her. \"I'm told that you want to leave\u2014I can get you to Athens and help you find work.\"\n\n\"Yes. I do want to leave. If you can take me to Athens, I'll pay you back as soon I get a job.\"\n\n\"That's easy enough,\" he answered. \"See you the day after tomorrow.\"\n\nThey arranged to meet a short distance outside town. Lying awake all night, she got up in the morning, took her school bag, replacing her books with a few clothes, some childhood photos, a few slices of bread, and some olives for the journey. She opened the front door slowly. He had left early, as usual, and gone to work. So had her mother. She stepped out onto the street, stopping occasionally to look back because she had the feeling that he was secretly following her, that he'd suddenly jump out in front of her, just like ghosts do in children's nightmares.\n\nShe arrived on time. Her cousin's contact appeared shortly afterward. She had barely greeted him when a truck pulled up in front of her. \"Jump in,\" he told her, \"before they see us.\" She jumped in and recognized the face of her cousin at the back, surprised to see him, as he hadn't told her that he was planning on coming along. He was very cool toward her and the only thing he said was, \"It was a last-minute thing.\" The truck started. That was important to her. She kept saying to herself, \"I'm not dreaming, I'm leaving. I'm actually leaving!\" They slowly left the villages behind them, the towns, and the people of Albania, but, most importantly, him: her father.\n\nAbout halfway there, sometime in the afternoon, they stopped to eat. Everybody got out of the truck. She was the only girl. She counted the men. Seven. She couldn't eat a thing. She was so anxious her stomach tied itself up in knots. When they finished their food, that character pulled her to one side and said, in a menacing voice, \"You're looking a little thoughtful. If you're having second thoughts, forget it. There's no turning back now.\"\n\nEveryone got back into the truck to continue the journey to the borders. Most of the time nobody said a word. He was sitting close to her now, every now and then \"accidentally\" resting his hand on her leg, her breast, her shoulders. She went numb. Only at that moment did she ask herself, \"Who is this man? Who am I with?\"\n\nShe searched out her cousin's face in a desperate plea for help, but he wasn't even looking in her direction any longer. She could cry for help, but to whom? She started shaking with fear. In her desperation to escape her father's authority she had failed to appreciate that her father was just another link in a chain of violence that had been simmering below the surface for so many years and was waiting to erupt like a volcano.\n\nTwo days later they reached the area outside Gjirokast\u00ebr. The truck stopped. It was dark. The driver announced that they'd be spending the night there: The border was only a couple of hours away on foot, but it was best to cross at dawn. \"You have to cross when they're between shifts because there aren't any guards about then.\" She got out of her seat and climbed down out of the truck. \"Where do you think you're going?\" he asked her threateningly. \"I need to stretch my legs,\" she answered. It was pitch black outside and you could hardly see anything at all. But after a while her vision adjusted to the darkness and she could make out a few houses in a small village in the distance. She started walking, carefully moving away from the truck. She got quite far. She turned back to make sure no one had seen her. She stopped and stared at those small village houses. Everyone would be asleep at this time of night, but what if she tried to run there to ask for help? How long would she need? Ten, fifteen minutes? Of course they'd open up, if they saw a young girl alone begging for help.\n\nJust at that moment she was grabbed violently by the hair and pulled to the ground. \"Whore! Doing a runner, were we, scum?\" He grabbed her hair again and pushed her face into the ground. She couldn't breathe. \"Who exactly do you think you are? Coming across all innocent when you're nothing but an old whore. If you weren't, you wouldn't have left with me, would you?\" With a sudden violent jerk, he turned her over and ripped open her sweater. She started screaming at the top of her lungs, crying for help and lashing at him with all her strength. But she was no match for him, using one hand to punch her and the other to cover her mouth. She couldn't breathe, but still tried to hit him wherever she could. His hand was stuck to her face like some phenomenally strong suction cup until very gradually her breath failed her.\n\nThey say that a short while before you die your entire life flashes in front of you. That's what happened to her. She relived all her life, everything she had left behind: her mother's face, old before its time, her eyes (she'd never been able to understand why they weren't permanently full of tears); her father's screams; the threatening knock on the door; the music; the belt; the punches; the screaming; the blood; prison; hell; the words after every beating, \"You ought to be ashamed of yourself.\" \"Actress? Over my dead body.\"\n\nShe stopped hitting him. She could feel his filthy breath on her and she dug her nails deep into the earth. At that moment her soul left her body, leaving him with the empty shell. I don't know how long it took because, for her, time had come to a standstill, but she collected together whatever remnants of her soul she could find and re-entered the hollow shell. Blood was flowing down her legs. She staggered to her feet, walking in a daze. She could hear his voice calling after her in the dark, mocking her. \"Look! She liked it so much, she's drunk on it!\" Other voices joining in. She struggled a few steps further until she could hear her cousin gloating, \"That's what happens to all of them, all the ones who fancy themselves as artists. Still like the theater, do you?\" She looked like a robot. She pulled herself up into the truck, curled up in a corner like a wounded animal, and slept the deepest sleep of her life.\n\nShe was woken at dawn by voices telling her to get up. They were starting off for the border. Trekking through bushes, her clothes kept snagging on thorns and her jacket got ripped. Suddenly they came to a stream and her shoes got soaked, so she had to continue barefoot. After trudging along for quite some time, they were nearing the Albanian border post. It looked abandoned; no one there. Someone gave the order to run because Albanian soldiers often deliberately kept out of sight. They all started running at once. The soles of her feet were bleeding but she still tried to run as fast as she could. Three gunshots were fired and she felt something burning on her. Her hair had caught fire. She threw herself to the ground and somehow managed to beat out the flames with her hands. The bullets had just skimmed the surface of her skull. She was on her feet again, her knees bloodied, her hands burnt and very painful, but she went on. Nothing could stop her. She had already crossed the border. Back there at Gjirokast\u00ebr.\n\n# **10**\n\n_T he bus did eventually turn up and take us to the so-called refugee center, where all the other Albanian fugitives who'd arrived before us were assembled. Only the bus wasn't a bus but a filthy truck. We climbed in. It was already very dark and I can't remember exactly how long the journey took, only that we were all squeezed in tight next to each other and hardly said a word. We'd suddenly run out of enthusiasm and it was only then, after all those hours, that we started to feel anxious about the unknown_.\n\n_The truck came to a standstill and we realized we were supposed to get out. When we did we saw Greek policemen shouting and brandishing their truncheons in an effort to impose order. A single spotlight illuminated the scene: Greek soldiers and an enormous crowd of Albanian fugitives. From the policemen's gestures, we gathered that they wanted us to stand in a line. We formed a huge line, new arrivals, all of whom had to be registered: name, surname, father's name. I saw the two drivers looking rather nervously at the policemen who were pacing up and down, brandishing their truncheons and bellowing at us. They looked as though they were asking themselves why angry policemen had to carry truncheons in the West as well_.\n\n_After waiting for about an hour in the line, it was our turn. We stood in front of a table while a policeman asked us, one after the other, in rhythmic, broken Albanian:_ \"Ermi? Biemri? Ermi babai?\"\u2014 _Name? Surname? Father's name? I smiled at his efforts. He responded with a look that seemed to say, \"That's the last thing you want to be doing now, you poor idiot!\" I handed him my Albanian identity card, he took down my details, and I stepped aside, waiting for Xhemal to finish. I had met Xhemal on the escape journey. When the policeman asked to see his identity card, Xhemal answered with a phrase that does not exist in any language on earth: \"pashaport kaput,\" which was amplified by a hand gesture indicating decapitation, as though it was his identity card that had had its head severed. The policeman stared at him, as though he had just sighted a UFO, until it dawned on him what Xhemal was trying to say. When he did, he returned to the formula:_ \"Ermi? Biemri? Ermi babai?\" _But even in this Xhemal's originality shone through: apparently his name was Dhimitris Dhimas, son of Vasilis Dhimas_.\n\n_When he finished I asked him what that was all in aid of, and he told me that Greeks look on Christian names in a more positive light than Muslim ones: Muslim names scare them. One of the drivers quickly jumped in, reprimanding Xhemal for his lie. \"This is the West, this is a democracy, all men are equal. And since when were we Albanians religious, anyway?\" he added in the tones of a schoolteacher. The truth is that over the next few days it was hard to judge what precise advantage the name Dimitris yielded Xhemal. He was staying with us, in the same place, in what looked like a warehouse, behind the village soccer field. During the registration process, we discovered that the name of the village was Filiates_.\n\n**You Weren't Invited**\n\nIllegal immigrant. That's your nickname. That's your name. That's your label. After all, you turned up here without an invitation. That's how people used to migrate in the days before World War I, uninvited, without visas. But that was a very long time ago and things are different now. And if you think that by reminding the locals of that time, they'll start feeling sorry for you and accept you, you're living in cloud cuckoo land. You won't just be an illegal immigrant if you go around doing that, you'll be an impudent illegal immigrant.\n\nThe fact that you arrived uninvited makes you feel uncomfortable, and deeply guilty, and you may never get over that feeling. Because apart from everything else, they keep reminding you of the fact. This is your original sin. Each time you try to stand up for yourself, you'll hear it: nobody asked you to come. Each time you try to break out of this obscurity, they'll be there to remind you that you're an unwanted guest.\n\nYou tell them that you want to be legalized, that it's unbearable trembling every time you see a Black Maria and, anyway, who wants to feel like a scared mouse all the time because he hasn't got the right papers in his pocket? I may have arrived without an invitation but I work just like the rest of you do, I pay the same taxes as the rest of you do, and most importantly, my boss, or rather, my bosses, need me. Yes, I do realize that you are feeding me, but let me tell you that I more than repay it. Yes, I am dependent on you for my survival, but you depend on me for your wealth. That's life. Give and take. I have started to build a new life here, I have got used to this city, and who knows, this city might eventually get used to me. So why am I illegal and worse than a stray dog? The city is deaf to your defense. The city is deaf. And on the news, the journalists give voice to the vox pop and want to make sure that you never manage to shake off your nickname, your name, your label: illegal immigrant, illegal life, illegal.\n\n# **11**\n\n_A fter registration we were told to go to the churchyard, where we would be given something to eat. We ate in the same way all hungry people the world over eat. Meanwhile, Albanian fugitives continued to pour into the so-called refugee center, seemingly endlessly. It was as though the entire country had made a unanimous decision to take advantage of the open borders and get out as quickly as possible. The policemen and soldiers looked on in astonishment at the unending human caravan and found it hard to comprehend. \"If this goes on much longer, there won't be anything left in Albania apart from the trees,\" said Xhemal_.\n\n_Since we'd managed to satisfy our hunger a bit with a helping of spaghetti, we started discussing how long we thought it would take for Albania to catch up with Greece. One of the drivers reckoned about five years. The other thought more like fifteen, while Xhemal, who'd been temporarily overcome by some sort of melancholy, had the last word: \"It'll never happen; Albania can't move forward as long as Albanians are running it.\" Later, after our hunger had abated, we started to feel the cold. It was freezing and it was then that we understood that before we could work out how many years it would take for Albania to catch up with Greece, we'd have to decide what was going to become of us that night_.\n\n_The big warehouse where they put us up was full. The few foam mattresses they'd laid out had already been taken over by weary bodies, which had been walking for hours if not days. Whoever found an empty corner of unoccupied foam to lay his head on was very lucky. We slowly realized that the high-rise block of flats, with one room for two people, hot running water, and new clothes that the Australian journalist had promised us might be a long time coming_.\n\n**The Strange Habits of Illegal Immigrants**\n\nThose who cross borders illegally develop strange habits. Laughing too much is one of them. They are overcome by a mood for fun and jokes, as though they have just emerged from some side-splitting revue when in fact danger and the threat of death is all around them. Perhaps it's the imminence of death and the fear of it that provoke this laughter. It's as though they want to cajole and seduce death. Human laughter is the perfect cover, it's like telling death, \"There's no way you're getting us. Look at us\u2014we're laughing, we're not even thinking about you. We love life. We want to live. We want to survive. You'll have to look elsewhere for customers. You won't find any here.\"\n\n# **12**\n\n_I spent the night on the legs of one of my compatriots, and when I woke in the morning, I found another compatriot asleep on my own. I was forced to wake him so that I could get up. Xhemal was already awake. So were the two drivers. They beckoned me over to join them. We had already formed a solid friendship, despite meeting only yesterday. The drivers from Tiran\u00eb, Xhemal from Elbasan, and myself, from Lushnj\u00eb. That's the way people make friends and form groups when they're far from home and miserable. Unpredictable alliances, just like teenagers. The police allowed us to move around freely and go wherever we pleased. The young lad from the previous night who had asked why there wasn't any sex on the color TV in the caf\u00e9 joined us, too. He never said a word and had the look of someone who was searching for something he knew was somewhere close by, but still couldn't find. After the episode outside the coffee shop, we all called him Sex Boy_.\n\n_We left the warehouse and went for a short stroll round the village and ended up in a caf\u00e9. The drivers had ten dollar coins with them, which to us seemed like a small fortune. They were going to treat us to coffee or tea. To my good fortune, the owner of the caf\u00e9 could speak Italian, so I was able to help the drivers change some of their dollars into drachmas. The proprietor took the dollars and examined them closely, first in natural and then artificial light. After satisfying himself that there was nothing suspect about the money, he went ahead with the exchange, and we looked on with almost religious piety. The drivers took the drachmas, most of it in notes, and then gave the rest of us permission to look at them. Xhemal made the first comment. \"There you go. Normal stuff. Not like ours, all full of pictures of soldiers and hammer drills.\"_\n\n_At some point the proprietor spoke to us again, telling me that he'd once been an immigrant in Italy and Germany but had come home a few years ago and opened the caf\u00e9. \"What did you come here for?\" he asked me. I felt a bit uncomfortable. What should I say? That we wanted to cross the border to avoid spending the rest of our lives going insane in a despicable prison? Instead I told him that we were hoping for a better life and to live like the rest of the world did. He listened while he dried a glass on a tea towel, and in the end let a cynical smirk cross his face. \"Poor bastards. You've no idea what you've let yourselves in for,\" and the cynical smirk was slowly replaced by an enigmatic expression, as if he'd just delivered the most profound prophecy in history. \"What do you mean?\" I asked him, trying to understand the first messages from this new planet we had just landed on. The two drivers, Xhemal and Sex Boy, were desperately trying to follow this conversation. The owner eventually resumed his normal expression and started saying that the fate of an immigrant is always really shit, and when you arrive somewhere uninvited, then it's a million times more shit. \"Even the worst country in the world is better than a foreign country,\" he concluded, lit a cigarette and took a sharp intake of breath, as though he wanted to expel something that had lodged itself in his throat_.\n\n_Because I couldn't stand the pressure of my companions, who wanted instant translations of everything, I just told them what I had understood. At first they went all quiet, trying to decipher the meaning of the conversation, and then one of the drivers tried to give his interpretation: \"He wants to sell us something. It's all got to do with these Greeks and their Trojan horses.\" The rest said nothing, at a loss as to what the connection between an ex-immigrant Greek caf\u00e9 owner, the shitty fate of immigrants, and the Trojan horse might be_.\n\n**The Supermarket Door**\n\nEach time he makes the journey from Kor\u00e7\u00eb to Kalabaka, eight days on foot, the illegal immigrant tells a lot of jokes. He always tells the story about the supermarket, which never fails to get even the most morose members of the group laughing.\n\nIt was the first time he'd been to a supermarket. Back home there weren't any. At first he'd lived on diet of souvlaki, two solid months of souvlaki, until he was sick of the sight of it. One evening, when he'd just knocked off work and got his first wages, he decided to go to the supermarket. He got to the entrance, and saw that the door kept opening and closing as people went in and out. But when he tried to go inside, it refused to open. He tried once more, and again. Nothing. He took ten paces back and watched to see how other people were managing to get in. Everybody else seemed to be getting in without any difficulty. He tried again, this time moving more quickly. Nothing. He tried a slower approach; nothing. He'd turned red with embarrassment and frustration. Then he spotted a gentleman reversing through the doors. Interesting. He tried that, too, turning his back to the door. Nothing. He was at a loss. How come all these people were entering and leaving the supermarket so effortlessly, while he, no matter what he tried, failed? Perhaps the door had a thing about Albanians. That might be it. So he tried to do the most obvious thing, trail one of the other customers as they went in. Why hadn't he thought of that earlier, idiot? But at that moment nobody seemed to be going in. \"Just my bloody luck,\" he whispered. Then he saw his salvation; an extremely obese woman, waddling along like a wounded duck, who stood no chance of getting into the supermarket unless both doors opened. He started following her, trying to look casual, from behind, in what was perhaps his last hope of getting in; he was determined not to waste this chance, but in his anxiety he got a bit too close to her, with the result that when he saw the door open, he all but pushed her inside. Realizing that he'd finally crossed the threshold of the supermarket, he apologized to the lady. He was sweating as though he had just finished the 200-meter hurdles. The woman shot him a dirty look, borderline homicidal, and he, embarrassed, quickly moved away to the sound of her muttering. He couldn't be sure but he thought he could make out the word \"Albanian.\"\n\nThe others were listening, laughing, laughing again, some louder than others, the ones making the eight-day journey from Kor\u00e7\u00eb to Kalabaka on foot for the first time. But at that moment someone started shouting, in a strained voice, the voice a hunter uses when he finally tracks down the quarry he's been after for days. \"Quiet. Everyone down. Border patrol.\" Everyone fell silent and dropped to the ground, flush with the earth. One with the earth.\n\n# **13**\n\n_A fter a few minutes' silence I found the courage to ask the caf\u00e9 owner if he could find me a book that would help me learn Greek. He pointed outside through the window and told me I could get them from a bookshop, as those sorts of books were very cheap. Of course I didn't continue the conversation, as I wasn't in a position to buy so much as a stone from the street, let alone an entire book. I asked him if he could give me a job, so I could earn some money and buy some books and learn some Greek. He said he'd think about it and let me know. We sipped our coffee, watching images from the war in Iraq on the TV. They had absolutely no effect on us, though. We had our own battle to fight_.\n\n_Just as we were getting up to leave, a scream was heard, a scream so loud that it made my hair stand on end. It was the owner. He looked ready to kill. I was terrified by this transformation and the only reason for this metamorphosis that I could think of was that he'd discovered that the drivers' dollars were counterfeit. He came rushing over to us, grabbed Sex Boy by the arm, and pulled him off in the direction of the toilets. Sex Boy didn't resist at all. I was completely bewildered. So was everyone else. The owner and Sex Boy disappeared behind the whole door marked \"Toilette\" while we sat there exchanging looks in silence. A minute later the white door opened again and the owner and Sex Boy emerged. The owner seemed a little calmer, and made a gesture as if to say, \"OK, you can all go back to where you came from now.\"_\n\n_Once outside we asked Sex Boy what the hell was going on. \"I pissed and missed,\" he answered, with the naturalness of someone who had just been asked their name. To cut a long story short, some of his urine had splashed onto the toilet seat. \"So what happened?\" we asked him. \"Nothing. He told me to clean it and I did,\" he replied in the same matter-of-fact way. \"And that's why he was behaving as though we'd killed his mother?\" asked one of the drivers. \"Bloody Greek,\" added the other driver, the one who'd earlier volunteered the theory about the Trojan horse and who at that moment was vowing to boycott the caf\u00e9 and told the rest of us that we should, too. Then Xhemal spoke: \"We Albanians don't even know how to piss any more. Fucking communism.\" And, with that, he brought the conversation to a close_.\n\n**Work, Work, Work**\n\nBeing an immigrant can mean a lot of things, but most of all it means work. You don't emigrate so you can play the tough guy, but to save up money. You will do anything to succeed in this: you take on two, maybe three jobs a day, without insurance, of course, undercutting the going rate for the locals; you become a strike breaker, and if need be, you try selling sob stories to your employers to get their sympathy until you realize that sympathy is in short supply; you turn up in Omonia Square at dawn on the off-chance that there's some work available, and you stand there waiting like some filthy municipal statue nobody can be bothered to clean; you live in a cave, with another ten, fifteen, maybe twenty people, blurring the distinction between home and pigsty; you eat bread and salt, or just bread; you always doze off on the bus from exhaustion and lack of sleep; your stale sweat can be smelled a mile off, because you don't have time to wash and you need to economize on electricity. You make even the most tight-fisted look generous. You count out your money with the same precision as the anemic monitors drops of blood during a transfusion. You spend nothing, you buy nothing, you live on only the absolute necessities\u2014only counting money satisfies you, that and the thought of more work, even more work. Suddenly, without warning, your strength starts to fail you, arthritis strikes, you get suspect pains in your kidneys, your back, and your heart. You'll be lucky if you make it into the operating theater. Many don't. They die on the job; some wall or other collapses on top of them, because their bosses don't want the expense of making the site safe. Because everyone knows that immigrants die silently, like flies.\n\n# **14**\n\n_W e went to get the bus to the big town. They told us we might find work in Igoumenitsa. While we waited at the bus stop some passers-by had directed us to, we started talking about cars. Xhemal thought that the price of a car was the equivalent of about ten days' work. The drivers thought about a month. Sex Boy and I said nothing. Xhemal and the drivers went on tirelessly and after a while got into the different makes they were going to drive. Xhemal preferred French manufacturers, the drivers German. And that was when we all found out that cars were Xhemal's great love_.\n\n_He used to drive a car himself, and was more familiar with their design than he was with the insides of his own pockets, as he put it. \"I only worked as a driver for one year. I drove a municipal shitmobile, and in the end they took that away from me, too.\"_\n\n_Standing there in the cold, waiting for the bus, Xhemal started to tell us all about his relationship with the shitmobile, or the yellow car, as he sometimes referred to it on account of its color. The shitmobile was a special municipal vehicle that had something to do with the sewage system. When Xhemal finished his military service, driving the shitmobile was the best job he could get. He found it humiliating at the time, because he felt he was destined for higher things, but need prevailed. Oddly enough, it was while driving the shitmobile that he experienced the best and the worst days of his life. Xhemal narrated with great passion and a touch of theatricality, as though he had been waiting for this moment for years, there at the stop, waiting for the bus that would take us to Igoumenitsa, to pour out his heart. It was all about a girl, who just happened to be one of the most beautiful in town_.\n\n**The Kitchen Dogsbody Generation**\n\nThe first generation of immigrants is the kitchen dogsbody generation. These immigrants get the worst of it: the negativity, the contempt, the fear. To them, all jobs are good jobs, as long as they get their stomachs filled with a little leftover. That little leftover is the reward, their therapy, the Promised Land, the big lie, the promise of return. This is the generation that can't get the language right, or doesn't speak at all, the generation that is terrified of the police, who live in fear of their boss's look, who consume loneliness in silence, who bend right down as far as the dust, who store up as much money as resentment. Resentment is their fortress, it is where their fear resides, the negativity of the locals, the contempt, the pressure and the ridicule of employers. This is the kitchen dogsbody generation. This generation does not have furniture at home, not unless it's been chucked onto the trash heap by some local who has replaced it with something new. For the kitchen dogsbody generation there is no such thing as a holiday. There is only one thing: work. The dream of going home embracing the dream of staying on because that's just it; the kitchen dogsbody generation is schizophrenic at heart.\n\n# **15**\n\n_X hemal hadn't even been driving his shitmobile for two weeks when he first met Alba at a cousin's house. It was love at first sight for both of them, something straight out of a romantic novel. She was in the last year of high school and, being the daughter of a high-ranking army officer, was able to avoid school without any difficulty. She would often get excused from lessons on spurious grounds, and the teachers never minded. Xhemal, on the other hand, would take the day off, usually without making excuses. They would meet on the outskirts of town and drive to the fields outside town in the shitmobile. They often made love in it, too_.\n\n_One day, the sewer in the Party Central Committee building got blocked, and unfortunately for Xhemal, they were expecting a very distinguished visitor to arrive from Tirana that day. They quickly tried to alert him and his shitmobile, but neither vehicle nor driver were anywhere to be found. When he later got back to work, he walked into a state of war, and it was a miracle that they didn't take away his car then and there. He got off with a horrible reprimand and a warning_.\n\n_Less than a week later disaster struck the happy lovers. Alba's father committed suicide. One morning, just like any other, he walked out onto his balcony holding a pistol to his temples, screaming, \"I am no traitor. Long live the Party! Long live our glorious army!\" and pulled the trigger. It was a terrible sight, because Alba's house was right in the center of town, and at that hour everyone was on their way to work. Some said that her father's brains landed a whole kilometer away from their block of flats. But perhaps these calculations can be put down to the usual tendency of the townspeople to exaggeration_.\n\n_At first they said that Alba's father had lost his mind. Later it was discovered that he'd been accused of being a traitor. No one could say what or whom he had betrayed. The official line was the last word from Party Central Committee. They said that he was a member of a group of conspirators inside the army preparing the ground for a foreign invasion of Albania. Opinions were divided on the subject of the ring of conspirators. Some said they were Russian agents; others thought they were American. There was a third version, which had them down as Russian-American double agents. The fourth interpretation was one that terrified everybody. People were used to groups of conspirators periodically coming to light, either in the army, from among teachers or agricultural cooperatives, even from within the ranks of the Party, and sometimes completely random individuals, and such revelations were followed with persecution and imprisonment. That was when people started to be afraid of their own shadows, because any one of them was a potential traitor_.\n\n**Drowning Your Sorrows in Adult Cinemas**\n\nHe imagined that this city would resemble one enormous supermarket where he could get anything he wanted: dreams, happiness, prosperity, even love. That's what it looked like from a distance, anyway, but now, standing in the center, he's feeling dizzy and scared. Because everything around him looks so cold, so fast, so soulless, so indifferent.\n\nIn this city he is suffering from appalling loneliness, so much so that he even envies the stray dogs. He's young: nice things excite him a lot, especially nice-looking girls. At night, when he goes to sleep, he runs his hands across his body in a caress, to stem the hunger of his famished flesh, his loneliness.\n\nLate on Saturday night, when he gets off work, despite his exhaustion, he takes the bus downtown and goes into an adult cinema. It's his only entertainment, the only thing that gets his adrenalin going, his only outlet, the only thing he doesn't count the cost of. He later emerges onto the street full of self-loathing and the loneliness comes back in a crueler form. He walks toward the red-light district, to Metaxourgeio, where he remembered seeing a brothel with a sign outside written in Albanian: GREEKS ONLY.\n\nThe following week, on Saturday night, he will go back to the same cinema. He will walk out onto the pavement after the show, once more full of self-loathing, and his loneliness will intensify and become even crueler. He'll go walking around the red-light district again, and read the same sign in Albanian: Greeks only.\n\nOne day he saw a cousin of his in one of the city's brothels. She was very pale; she looked like a naked ghost. He cried a lot that night without really knowing why: his country, his loneliness, his cousin? Perhaps all three.\n\n# **16**\n\n_A fter the Commandant's suicide, Alba and her mother were exiled for a month. She didn't appear at all during that time, didn't go to school, just sat shut up at home all day. Every day Xhemal would wait outside her school in the shitmobile with the hope that at some point she would come walking out. And then he found out that she'd been exiled. One of the laborers working with him told him. He lived across the road from her. He told Xhemal that a Jeep had turned up, one of those military police ones, accompanied by about a dozen policemen, in the middle of the night. Alba's hair-raising screams had pierced the darkness. \"Don't exile us. We're innocent.\" Nobody dared go to their windows, everyone just stood watching from behind their curtains. So did he, his eyes round with fear. He told Xhemal that they weren't even given time to pack, but he did see Alba carrying a suitcase. \"Even though it was dark, I could make out her face. Ashen white, like a corpse.\"_\n\n_That day Xhemal drank a lot. So much that driving the famous shitmobile around the town center, he lost control and went crashing into a shop front. Thankfully by then it was the middle of the night and the shop was closed, otherwise there would have been bloodshed. The window was shattered, and he escaped with nothing more than a broken arm. But that wasn't the worst of it. Unluckily for him, stretched across the fa\u00e7ade of the building was a gigantic poster of our Great Leader, bearing in enormous letters the caption: \"May you live like the high mountains, comrade Enver.\" It had been there since the Great Leader's birthday celebrations. For that reason, even though he was bent double in agony, he was held for questioning at the station. Fortunately he passed out, so they had no choice but to transfer him to hospital. God knows what would have happened to him if they hadn't_.\n\n_His troubles were not quite over, however. When he was discharged from hospital, he was sent for questioning at an emergency Party meeting where he first heard innuendos about relationships with enemies of the Party, obvious references to Alba. He was lucky in this, too: his father, an old communist, knew some people who managed to get him off with a sacking_.\n\n_\"What about Alba? Did you see her again?\" asked Sex Boy. Xhemal looked down. He took a deep breath and said, \"They found her body a month later. She'd slashed her wrists.\" A profound silence engulfed us, one that nobody dared disturb_.\n\n**First Words**\n\nThe immigrant is a creature surrounded by borders. Conventional borders, the ones that divide one country from another, mean little to him, they are just large, visible borders. There are thousands of invisible borders, however, awaiting him every minute of every day, awaiting his every move, almost, his every desire and ambition. The language: behold the first invisible border. What immigrant has not lived through the initial bewilderment\u2014something resembling first love\u2014that you feel when you pronounce your first sentences in a foreign language, which until the previous day had sounded like hammer blows to you, or like a sewing machine running up a hem? You try to import unusual phrases and expressions into your speech, especially the ones you think will bridge the gulf between you and the native speakers: _re paidi mou_ (look, kid); _oxi re gamoto_ (oh, fuck); _einai moufa_ (crap); _mou ti dineis_ (you get on my nerves); _Christos kai Panagia_ (Jesus and mother of God), as well as the ubiquitous _malaka_ (asshole). All of this you try to say in as convincing an accent as you can, hoping to pass for a native, as far as possible, and convince them that you can become one of them.\n\n# **17**\n\n_I had gone numb. Not from hearing the story about the shitmobile and the suicide of beautiful, tragic Alba, as I couldn't be sure how much truth there was in it and how much was a product of Xhemal's imagination. It was strange, but just as the company immigrants keep is unpredictable, the individuals it is made up of are equally unpredictable. Your flight gives you incredible freedom: suddenly you feel the need to spill the innermost secrets of your heart to complete strangers with an ease that might be seen as mad or just base. Maybe all this happens because when you leave, you also leave behind the weight of commitments. For that reason, you're not really telling your story: it's more an exercise in confession. Whatever the case, real or invented, Alba's story was a terrible one, but by the standards of our towns and cities, not that unusual. I was numb mostly because I felt that something significant had taken place in my life. I had crossed the borders. Was that not one of my biggest dreams? Yes, it was. But I could not, how can I put it\u2014take off. From within the madness of totalitarianism, I had imagined that as soon as I crossed the borders, a completely different life would start, a whole new world. And it was. The world I saw around me was completely different. At least very different from the one I'd been living in until yesterday. I was free in the world-beyond-the-borders. A strange feeling had taken over me, one I couldn't describe. I felt like an orphaned child\u2014completely free but at the same time completely lost. I looked at the road signs and tried to make sense of those incomprehensible letters. \"I will never be able to learn this language,\" said one of the drivers. \"Why don't those Greeks write like everybody else?\" added Xhemal, convinced that the rest of the planet was committed to the Latin alphabet. Meanwhile, the drivers had fixed their gaze on a church near the bus stop we'd been standing at for so long. \"Doesn't that look like a mosque?\" commented one of them, with the confidence of a specialist on Byzantine and Ottoman places of worship. Then, for the first time, Sex Boy revealed his knowledge: \"Those are mosques that were converted into churches when they kicked the Turks out of Greece.\"_\n\n_One more source of confusion had thus been cleared up, this time of a divine rather than a secular nature. The bus eventually appeared and we boarded it. The conductor asked to see our tickets. The drivers decided to handle this. \"Albania fukara; Albania refugiat,\" which loosely translates from this improvised language as \"We are poor Albanian refugees.\" The conductor was angry. Who knows how many Albanians had been using the same line on his buses recently. I understood enough to know that he was warning us that if he caught us again without a ticket, he'd kick us off_.\n\n_We were bunched together at the back of the bus, and all the other passengers had turned round to listen to our exchange with the conductor, which probably looked more like a conversation between the deaf than anything else. I went up to one of the drivers and whispered in his ear that he really should buy us some tickets with the money he'd changed back at the caf\u00e9 because we were making a bad impression on the other passengers. He turned, gave me a filthy look, and after a short pause said, \"I didn't realize you were such an asshole.\" The others seemed to agree. The episode was soon forgotten because, in the last analysis, we were happy to be on our way to a big town, a thoroughbred capitalist town, as Xhemal put it_.\n\n**Remember, Foreigner**\n\nThe more competent you become at the language, the more likely you think you are to make it. _That's it_ , you say to yourself, full of excitement. The natives start asking you how you managed to learn so fast, and you feel their eyes on you, maybe for the first time looking at you with admiration. Or did you just imagine it? You start to believe that the road into their world is now open; even your boss speaks to you differently. It's just that at the end of the week, when it's payday, he remembers that you're a foreigner. And the distance asserts itself again.\n\nAnd as the days go by, the weeks, the months, you realize that speaking the language is not enough. They never miss the chance to remind you that you are foreign: on the news; at the Aliens' Bureau; when you try to rent a flat and read that sign on the door saying, \"No foreigners. No pets.\" And if the color of your skin is different then you have another reason to remember that you are a foreigner, mostly from the curses you hear and the looks you get. The look a white man gives a black man is not hard to decipher.\n\nYou're reminded at work when your boss pays you. You're reminded on the street, during the operations sweep and the identity spot checks. You're reminded on the bus, when the natives shout: \"These foreigners take up our seats,\" or when they warn each other, \"Keep an eye on your wallet\u2014bloody light-fingered Albanians.\" You're reminded at the bar, when the local girls find out where you're from and vanish. And so on and so on, over and over again.\n\n# **18**\n\n_W hen we arrived in Igoumenitsa we got the shock of our lives. The caf\u00e9s were full of people, especially young people. The shops were bright, and still decorated with Christmas lights. Advertisements everywhere. Expensive cars and expensive clothes. All five of us looked on in bewilderment. Without giving it much thought, we decided that this was the perfect place to find work and live. \"You see, you idiots, what we've been missing because of communism?\" asked Xhemal in a tone that suggested that he was talking more to himself than to us. We didn't know where to look and then one of the drivers, who had a bent for theoretical discussion, said the words that ignited yet another heated debate in the biting cold: \"The Greeks are lucky. They always have been. Ever since ancient times.\" And he went on, and an entire reservoir of historical knowledge flooded out, explaining to us how Greece had only escaped communism by the skin of its teeth, thanks to the Americans, and that the Greeks were now living off the fat of Europe and that basically they did nothing except go to the beach in the summer and stay out late having fun. \"Why didn't they get Hoxha instead of us? Bastards,\" he wondered, putting a full stop to his historical marathon. It was just that he addressed this last question to the heavens, as though in communion with a superior being or expecting some kind of concrete answer from God Himself. Then Xhemal, who always entered into these discussions with plenty of zeal, answered, \"Because we're a bunch of assholes. That's why.\" Instead of the skies, Xhemal looked at the driver with the look of a gladiator before a fight. He didn't react, neither did the other driver. Neither did I. Only Sex Boy found the courage to speak up. He said something vague about fate, and that history is nothing but a lousy old whore. It seemed that we'd covered everything in our oral interpretation of history, so we went on_.\n\n_Walking around the town we saw a few building sites. We'd all learned the Greek word for work, \"douleia,\" the night before. Sex Boy and I approached some workmen and tried it out: \"Douleia?\" I said. \"No douleia,\" came the answer from one of them, who seemed to me to be smiling with pity. We abandoned the idea and tried another site. \"Douleia?\" Instead of an answer we received an entire cascade of what was to us meaningless language. Judging by the expression on the man's face, we understood that he was angry with us for speaking to him and were to get out of his sight as quickly as possible_.\n\n_That's what we did. While we were walking, Sex Boy stopped outside a busy caf\u00e9 and looked in at the young people sitting inside. \"I've never seen such beautiful girls in all my life,\" he said innocently. \"Where did you expect to see beautiful girls\u2014in your village? You'd be lucky to see a cow where you come from!\" joked Xhemal with the urbanity of someone who has just stepped off the last flight from JFK. Everyone burst out laughing. But they soon sobered up when they saw a black man kissing a blonde girl. \"You see,\" said one of the drivers, \"that nigger's got cash; he's not broke like us.\" The other driver advised him to forget about the \"nigger\" and concentrate on finding some work. But Xhemal again found a chance to continue the discussion by saying that the wives of rich men are always gagging for black men and immigrants because there aren't any real men in the West because they all sleep with each other so the women get neglected. Sex Boy was following this conversation eagerly, and judging by his expression looked as though his head was literally spinning. One of the drivers, the one who had wondered why Enver Hoxha had been visited on the Albanians and not the Greeks, insisted on completing the puzzle by explaining that economic wellbeing destroys men in the end, making them soft, like women, and gave an original interpretation, according to which only Albanian men, however well they may live, could never become effeminate, because first of all they are all so sex-starved, and secondly, and more significantly, their DNA is far too masculine for that to be a possibility_.\n\n_Sex Boy suddenly sprung to life with one of his unexpected contributions, wanting to tell us a joke. \"This Albanian socialist, a proletarian, arrives in the next world and meets Skanderbeg, the national hero. Skanderbeg asks him how his descendants are getting on, and the proletarian answers that they're not doing that great, really, as they work all the time and are paid a pittance\u2014but worse than that, they're sex-starved and aren't getting any action. They're desperate for women. He explains that the nomenklatura has as much sex as it wants but the proletariat is permanently frustrated. Skanderbeg is sad to hear this and asks if they at least manage to get in some quality masturbation? 'No. Not even that,' replies the proletarian. 'You see, the Party slogan is \"Building Socialism with a gun in one hand and a pickaxe in the other, so we always have our hands full.\"'\"_\n\n**You've Got a Weird Name**\n\nYou train yourself to learn people's names quickly, but they never learn yours. They can never remember it. Or, to be frank, they don't like the fact that you've got that strange, difficult, foreign name. Sometimes, without even asking you, they give you a name of their choosing, to make life easier for themselves, to restore order and harmony. \"I'll call you Giannis,\" the tradesman you're working with announces, \"so that you can have a decent name too, at last, like everybody else.\" And you go along with it, just like that, in the same way that people accept their fate. Because you want to be liked by those around you at any cost and have learned that foreign names are appealing only when tourists have them. You are not a tourist, you are a supplicant. In the final analysis, you say to yourself, that's what people are like round here; this is what they do and I have to adapt. Because if you don't, you'll never make it. And you recall your initial oath: I have to make it. From now on, you might have two names, your given name and your immigrant name. One for here and one for there. And the one for here, and maybe forever, is Immigrant.\n\n# **19**\n\n_I t seemed that everything was going Sex Boy's way that day. We hadn't taken five steps when we found ourselves standing outside a video club. We had never seen anything like it, except on TV. The truth is that even though we were amazed by everything we were seeing, what stunned us more than anything else were the kiosks and the hawkers working the town, bellowing down their megaphones. The kiosks struck us as completely surreal, so much so that Xhemal wondered why nobody robbed them. \"If this was Albania, they'd be empty.\" Anyway, we charged into the video club as though we had come to greet the Messiah. Inside there was only the one assistant, a dark-haired, really gorgeous young woman. When she saw the invasion, all of us dressed in what were effectively rags, black with filth and exhaustion, with uncombed hair, she was terrified. She leapt to her feet and took a step back. She didn't even ask what we wanted, she just stared at us, as though she were waiting for us to attack her or make off with all the videos. Sex Boy was in his element. He had discovered the porn section and was inspecting the covers one by one, back and front, the way that an archaeologist might examine the bones of a dinosaur. If we hadn't literally pulled him out, he could happily have spent at least another week in there_.\n\n_Back outside, Xhemal and the drivers walked a short distance ahead and Sex Boy and I followed them. Sex Boy, transformed by his experience inside the video club, had suddenly become very talkative and started telling me the valium story. Apparently he'd managed to buy a special hi-tech device from a man in his town that allowed you to watch foreign channels, many more than a standard antenna can pick up, including a couple of porn channels that you could get late at night. Unfortunately his house was very small and he couldn't turn on the TV at that hour without waking up his parents, who slept in the next room. Once his father did wake up and saw what his son was watching, all hell broke loose. But since Sex Boy could not resist temptation, he had to come up with a solution to the parent problem: he bought some valium, which he sneaked into his parents' food at dinner time every evening. His father got a double dose, just to be sure that Sex Boy could enjoy an uninterrupted night of pleasure with his favorite films. But his father soon got suspicious about the fact that he and his wife were suddenly sleeping so deeply and were finding it so difficult to wake up in the morning for work. One evening, the father proved himself to be a little more cunning than the son. He pretended to have eaten his dinner, but actually flushed it down the toilet. What happened next is something Sex Boy would rather forget: he'd been caught redhanded; the special hi-tech device was history and he got the thrashing of his life_.\n\n_Through listening to the valium story I also found out what Sex Boy's real name was. He was called Marenglen, a portmanteau name made up of three sainted names: Marx, Engels, and Lenin_.\n\n**It's Worse at Night**\n\nYou change your name. You get baptized. You learn the language, unusual words, colloquial expressions, the former to charm your audience, the latter to prove that you are the same as everybody else. But you still feel foreign, very foreign, extremely foreign, a regular outsider.\n\nIt's worse at night. First news item: A gang of Albanians have raped and murdered a seventy-year-old woman. Second item: horrific crime in the suburbs. Police warn Albanians might be responsible, followed by a statement from a police officer: \"Looking for Albanian criminals is like looking for a needle in a haystack.\" Third item: Masked burglars, most probably Albanians, broke into a house in Peristeri, threatened an elderly couple with axes and knives, and robbed them. And you ask yourself, how could they possibly have identified them, since their faces were hidden under balaclavas? Never mind. And then there's a special report on crime among immigrants, mostly Albanians, with the soundtrack of a Dario Argento film playing in the background, followed by a bit of Wagner. The reporter enumerates all the crimes committed by Albanians, or \"most likely\" committed by Albanians, and in a tone reminiscent of frontline war reporting, cries, \"We are nursing a time bomb that has already been detonated, and will go off any minute. Everybody and everything has been looted and plundered. They murder, rob, rape, spreading fear everywhere. These are extremely dangerous people. But enough is enough. Deport them, now. Please. This is the will of the people. Albanian immigrants are a scourge. They must leave now. They burgle people's country houses, they break into people's homes, take the lead role in most robberies; they'd kill you for your loose change.\" Cut\u2014the reporter goes off the air. So does the Dario Argento music.\n\n# **20**\n\n_B efore Sex Boy had time to finish his story, we found ourselves standing in front of a supermarket. The drivers didn't want to go in. They were keeping their eyes peeled for building sites and opportunities for work. Xhemal, Sex Boy, and I all wanted to go in, and in the end all five of us did. It wasn't a very big supermarket, but it was the first supermarket any of us had ever seen. We didn't have any money to buy anything, so we just walked up and down the aisles, admiring not so much the goods on sale but the bounty and the freedom of choice. We wandered around in speechless admiration, each of us lost in his own world. The other shoppers and the staff looked at us, too, sometimes with curiosity, sometimes with pity and sometimes with fear. At one point I noticed Xhemal at the shampoo and perfume section. I don't know how long we stayed there before we eventually decided to leave_.\n\n_Our exit was somewhat eventful, because on the way out the staff told us to come through the checkout. We told them we hadn't bought anything, at which two men appeared, rounded us up into a corner and told us to wait. Xhemal in particular looked impatient and suggested running for it, but the drivers said the supermarket would have the police on us in no time and we'd be in deep shit if they did. We stood there for a few minutes until a couple of men in uniform arrived. We immediately took them to be policemen. They looked at us with suspicion and told us to put our arms in the air. We all realized that we were about to be searched, and one of the drivers started to protest, but checked himself; most likely because he thought he was dealing with the police. The people in the shop were staring at us as though they were watching a short film about some aliens that had suddenly landed in their local supermarket. The \"policemen\" searched us, stuffed their hands into our jackets and pockets in the hope of finding something, and when they didn't, let us leave_.\n\n_The minute we got outside, the drivers reminded us that they had been right not to want to go in: look what happened\u2014those animals in uniforms humiliated us in public for no reason. I was expecting Xhemal to chip in as usual with some kind of anticommunist remark, but he didn't. Instead he was wearing an expression that was somewhere between cynicism and smugness, and said, \"Back in Albania, my friend, this would have had an entire regiment of women eating out of your hand,\" and held up the bottle of perfume he'd stolen from the supermarket. Before we could work out what had happened back there, one of the drivers starting swearing at Xhemal, telling him that he'd come to Greece to find work, not to shoplift. Things became very heated when Xhemal called him an asshole, arguing that one stolen bottle of perfume wasn't going to put the supermarket owner out of business. One insult followed another until the two of them came to blows. Xhemal started it, kicking the driver when he insulted Xhemal's mother. We tried to separate them, forming a jumble of bodies, but were quickly brought to our senses when Sex Boy shouted, \"Police! Police!\"_\n\n_At a distance of less than 100 meters we could see a patrol car, which had probably seen the fighting, and was coming our way. I don't know who set us off, Xhemal probably, since he had stolen the perfume in the first place and had more to be frightened of than the rest of us\u2014but we all started running for our lives. I can't even be sure that the police car was coming for us. What I do remember is that we ran into a building site and hid, panting from the exercise, terrified that we'd be caught. Then Sex Boy, more impatient than out of breath, turned to Xhemal and asked, \"OK, so how come they didn't find it? Where did you hide it?\"_\n\n**Commercial Break**\n\nTime for a commercial break: beautiful beaches, expensive cars, sexy women in stilettos, toothpaste, toilet paper, fizzy drinks, life insurance, aftershave, women's underwear unfurling in the sky in time to Chopin's Waltz opus 64, No 1. An angelic world, gentle and perfectly proportioned, fast-paced at bargain prices with expensive cars, all easily accessible with amazing mobile phones and perfect English, with multiple personas you change as often as you would your shirt, with late nights, sex and alcohol. In this wonderland, which consumes at a dizzying rate and with dizzying ease, you feel that you and your origins are the only things out of place.\n\nSomething's not quite right, you think, somewhere down the line something has gone wrong, things get tricky, tough and merciless. Why should I have to answer for every last criminal who happens to have been born in the same country as me? I can only answer for myself, maybe for those closest to me, at a pinch: my brother, my parents who haven't got a bad bone in their bodies, who've never harmed anyone. Everybody should be answerable for their own actions, and that's why the cards seem fixed and stacked against you from the start. They want me to feel guilty, a victim at any cost, even though I haven't done anything.\n\nIf you are guilty, you have no rights, only duties and your first duty is to feel inferior, always\u2014and different, grateful that you're allowed to exist at all. You sit there frozen, the remote control in your hand. You turn off the television. You don't know whether to weep or wail. You get the urge to bite, something, anything, the TV screen, the remote, yourself. Then you recall those lyrics you read somewhere, but you can't remember who wrote them: \"I wonder if you remember \/ the broken teeth of love \/ which from sadness and hunger \/ bit the stars?\"\n\n# **21**\n\n_I can't say how long we were hiding out in the building site. The atmosphere was tense, not so much because of the police car\u2014we weren't even sure it was following us\u2014but because of the fight between Xhemal and one of the drivers. We eventually emerged from the site, and our original plan, to return to Igoumenitsa for the night and resume our search for work the following morning, was no longer practical. We were scared of getting into trouble with the police. We were starving, and the drivers, the only ones who had any money, offered to buy everyone something to eat. Even though one of them had been fighting with Xhemal, he was still included in the offer. We got to a shop. The drivers went in and came out carrying sandwiches, which, hungry as we were, seemed to us an irresistible feast, and Xhemal found another opportunity for cursing the mothers of communism and Enver Hoxha, respectively_.\n\n_The cold was getting unbearable, more so after the sandwiches. Because of this, we all agreed to return to the refugee center; it wasn't as if we had any other options. With much difficulty, we found the bus stop and were in for another long wait, as we had no idea when the bus was due. It arrived eventually and we got on\u2014different conductor this time. He asked us to pay for our tickets, and we came back with the same answer, \"Albania fukara, Albania refugiat.\" This conductor also got annoyed, but didn't threaten to kick us off like the previous one had. This time I didn't suggest that the drivers consider paying for our tickets. Now and again I exchanged the odd word with Sex Boy, while the two drivers sat there looking pensive and said nothing. Even Xhemal looked thoughtful. We had set off for Igoumenitsa convinced we'd find work, and were returning with nothing more than a body search in a supermarket, with two of us having got into a fight over a stolen bottle of perfume, which, according to Xhemal, would have had an entire regiment of women eating out of your hand back in Albania_.\n\n_We eventually got back to the warehouse. An almost identical scene to the one we'd left: soldiers, policemen, and Albanian fugitives standing in a line. While we had been wandering around Igoumenitsa in the freezing cold, there were more arrivals, quite a lot of new arrivals, with the result that the population in the warehouse had swollen and it was very difficult to get through. The new ones told us stories, stories that made your hair stand on end. Some were saying that the Albanian soldiers were opening and closing the borders at will and would take pot shots at the fugitives for the fun of it, and at other times would let people through unchallenged. Some were talking about mass murder, while others were saying that the soldiers were no longer taking orders from their superiors, and to avoid murdering people, had started to desert en masse. Some of the new ones had crossed very hazardous terrain, full of snow, wolves, and chasms. They pointed to a group of very young men who had lost one of their friends during the crossing. He was only eighteen. The rest of them had survived by a miracle. There were five or six of them, sitting together, tired and worn out, in silence. Other people were telling stories about wolves attacking exhausted fugitives, tearing them to pieces. The latest piece of information was that a few fugitives had left the refugee center and made their way to Athens, to a big square, where you could find work immediately. We discussed the idea ourselves: Xhemal, Sex Boy, and I were all for it, but the drivers insisted that we should stay put, because we would definitely find work if we did_.\n\n_We relaxed a little when Sex Boy, who had a talent for finding out the latest and most accurate news from the warehouse, told us that one of the new arrivals was someone who was a bit soft in the head, and had become the only light entertainment for the fugitives. The madman was 100 percent sure, and he told everybody this in confidence, that he was George Bush's nephew, and that President Bush was in fact an Albanian, and came from the village of Dardh\u00eb e Vog\u00ebl, or Small Pear, somewhere close to the Greek border. Bush's nephew was promising everyone that he would have a word with his uncle and ask him to send a big airplane that would take everyone to America right away. This was the last piece of information I got that night. I was so shattered I fell asleep without realizing it and still cannot work out how I found any room to lie down amid the rabble_.\n\n**The Small Screen: From Fan to Hostage**\n\nYou learned the language so that you wouldn't stick out any more, but you were only shooting yourself in the foot in the end. Because it is now that you really feel utterly and completely foreign. If you didn't know the language, at least you'd be spared everything they say on the news. Now you understand everything. Watching television has turned into an exercise in masochism, and you watch a lot of television because you're on your own and don't go out much. Lonely people who don't go out much watch a lot of television.\n\nTelevision used to be the pre-eminent source of your fantasies, the only window through which you could escape and travel in your imagination, dreaming of magical, forbidden worlds: the West, freedom, equality, prosperity. You created in your mind a world of harmony and beauty, and with this construct in your head, you crossed the borders.\n\nTelevision is now the source of all your nightmares. It projects a magnified view of your dissonant, repellent, terrifying face. Your great passion is suddenly your most menacing enemy. \"I am not like that,\" you shout, but your voice does not affect the image. The image, of your repulsive face, is all-powerful, it's everywhere, it multiplies with dizzying speed, meeting minimal resistance along the way because it puts it to people in the most simplistic of terms: absolute good versus absolute evil; native versus foreigner. And it sticks, because it does not challenge the human mind, it panders to the most primitive narcissism and speaks to the most primitive fears. And there's nothing you can do about it because in this relentless theater the part allotted to you is that of absolute evil, blackness, the foreigner. There is nothing you can do about it. You have no voice. You are not even a consumer. All those amazing products and goods that are paraded before you after the news are out of your reach: you can't buy them, and that makes you absolutely n-o-t-h-i-n-g. And then the world starts to assume, perhaps for the first time, its real dimensions. Demythologizing begins. Then you start to miss the fresh air, and the tears well up in your eyes, while your brain is banging out that phrase nobody has ever said and nobody is ever likely to come out and say in public: \"You are n-o-t-h-i-n-g, n-o-t-h-i-n-g, n-o-t-h-i-n-g.\"\n\n# **22**\n\n_I woke up the next morning with my head on a stranger's thigh while the head of another stranger was resting on my leg. My entire body was stiff. I was freezing cold and shaking all over. Someone had lit a fire inside the warehouse to get warm. The cold pierced right through your bones. They were taking a risk because if the Greek police spotted it, they would go berserk. I started to move cautiously, trying not to wake either the man above me or the man underneath me. I was partially successful, and moved across to the fire. The men around it seemed to have just arrived and were sleeping in a sitting position. I looked around for a familiar face and eventually spotted Sex Boy. He was awake and told me that he hadn't been able to get any sleep. He had found somewhere to lie down but was complaining bitterly about two men who stank and who weren't just snoring but were braying, so much so, according to Sex Boy, that they could have raised the dead, who would have instantly fled to escape the noise. We both agreed that the warehouse resembled a pigsty more than anything else, and if things went on like this, we'd soon be ridden with fleas and disease_.\n\n_While all of this was going on, I'd woken up with a rather strange idea: I wanted to see what a bookshop in the West looked like. Books were my great passion. I hadn't managed to see a bookshop when we were in Igoumenitsa because the rest of the group had other priorities. I confided this ambition in Sex Boy. \"Why didn't you mention it yesterday? We were walking around the town for hours!\" He finally gave in because he was just as keen as I was to escape the hellish atmosphere of the warehouse and would be hard-pressed to find better company than mine_.\n\n_\"The cold outside has to be better than this\u2014at least there won't be any germs,\" he concluded, so off we went into the village in search of a Western bookshop. As I hadn't the faintest idea where it could be, I asked two young boys in a mixture of Italian and English. They struggled to tell me which general direction we should go in_.\n\n_Before we started our search, we decided to go into a caf\u00e9 to get warm. There were only a few people inside and a waiter who didn't even take the trouble to ask us what we wanted. It looked like he was used to people coming in just to warm up and not order anything. Sex Boy and I talked a bit, in hushed voices, in Albanian, until the waiter came over to us, carrying a tray with two cups of tea on it. He spoke to us in Greek, and pointed across to the other side of the caf\u00e9 at an old gentleman. We worked out that the tea was his treat. We thanked him with the traditional gesture, placing the right hand close to the heart. He responded with a sweet smile and returned the gesture. \"We and the Greeks belong to the same tribe,\" said Sex Boy, sipping his tea. Since we had the privilege of drinking tea we fancied ourselves regular customers, and therefore had the right to stay there a little longer, get a little bit warmer, and to give the sun a chance to warm up a bit as well. And that's what we did. We left with a proud \"efharisto,\" which seemed to please the waiter a great deal, and resumed our search, this time in the best of spirits, for the Western bookshop. Eventually Sex Boy and I did come across something like a bookshop, which to me at that moment was something quite sublime_.\n\n**A Tough Life**\n\nImmigrant, alien, supplicant: your profession is all these things. Your life is a tough one, because you don't want to go back to where you came from, but you're not wanted here, either. It is tough because if you want to find work, you'll have to change your name. It is tough because you'll always be persona non grata. It is tough because when you got sick that day, and were running a fever of 102, and couldn't go to work, your boss sacked you just like that. It is tough because when you ask for a bit more, it's called hubris, but when your employer pays you just one tenth of the basic wage for twelve, thirteen, fourteen hours of working like a dog, he's being kind, he's doing you a favor. It is tough because for you there are three things that are sacrosanct: work, sex, and a residence permit\u2014and you'd happily trade sexual passion for a residence permit. It is tough because the police can catch you whenever they want to, swear at you as much as they want to, and hold you at the station for as long as they want to. Your bitter moniker for the police, the _astynomia_ (civil guard) is _astronomia_ (guards of the stars) because your fate on this earth so often depends on them. A tough life because some of your fellow countrymen commit crimes, and when they do you have to keep out of the way of the Black Marias on Operation Sweep-up, and out of the way of the TV cameras that just love Operation Hatred and Misinformation. One newspaper shouts, \"Albanians out!\" while another declares, \"Albanians are the most disgusting race on earth.\" It is tough because stealing one watermelon is enough for someone to kill you and get away with murder.\n\nIt's a tough life because in many cases the police fire warning shots to scare you and somehow manage to get you in the back of your head with uncanny mathematical precision. Afterward the policeman gets off and nobody loses any sleep over it. It's a tough life because if you want to rent a flat you have to sweat for it much more than the average Olympic gold medalist weightlifter does. You change your name, you watch your accent, give your best linguistic self, and if you still don't make it, you change your nationality and your religion, too. You become a Romanian, a Serb, a Russian, because deep down you are all those nationalities and they are all you. It's a tough life because you are young and full of love, and when the local girls find out you are Albanian they instantly evaporate and you risk (don't laugh) spending your life without a lover. It's a tough life because they have declared you a modern-day cannibal. The zealous cameras zoom in on the crimes you commit (when they aren't fabricating them, that is), but never catch the blatant exploitation that pushed you to crime in the first place, and never notice the benefits you bring to the local economy, and always miss the enormous profits you bring your boss. That's why we hear people talking about you so much but never saying anything nice about you. It's a tough life because there are so many opportunities for becoming neurotic and miserable, and for being consumed by loneliness every single day. Loneliness, as a poet once said, is not missing other people but finding yourself in a big crowd, talking, and not being understood. There are so many opportunities for becoming suspicious and aggressive toward those you have become convinced don't want you. In this way you slide into the underbelly of society, where there is more than enough darkness, and where the greatest danger of all lurks: that you will give in to this darkness.\n\nI'll stop here because you're tired and need your sleep. Another tough day awaits you. But if I've made you smile at any stage at your own sufferings, you know better than anyone that scapegoat humor is only a temporary gift, on loan from heaven to hell.\n\n# **23**\n\n_F ortunately for me there was someone in the bookshop wanting to buy a paper or a book, I couldn't really work out which, who spoke French. We got talking and he showed me where to find the books by Garc\u00eda M\u00e1rquez, there were two or three, as well as one by Borges, which I'd managed to read on the sly in Italian. I was entranced by my conversation with him, and began to feel that I had landed somewhere between the Library of Alexandria and the Sistine Chapel until a hand grabbed me by the collar from behind and demanded, in broken Albanian, \"Ermi babai?\" Everything happened in a matter of seconds. I saw the terrified look on the face of the person I'd been talking to, and the body of a police officer pulling me with tremendous force out of the shop. I was panic-stricken. I started screaming and shouting, begging the man I'd been talking to for help, insisting I was innocent. Quite what I was innocent of he didn't know either, but when a policeman grabs you by the collar, shouting, it's obvious you're about to be accused of something. The officer dragged me outside, still screaming. That's when I saw Sex Boy down on the ground, another policeman bending over him and thrashing him with his truncheon. I also saw the Black Maria they were taking us to. While my Francophone friend tried to talk to the policeman, I carried on screaming and by now the second policeman had ditched his truncheon and was pulling and kicking Sex Boy to his feet. At some point, they threw us into the Black Maria. Sex Boy was sitting next to me, terrified out of his wits, and said to me in a shaky voice, \"I think they're going to kill us.\" I didn't have the slightest idea what was going on. It seemed that Sex Boy was destined to get into trouble: wherever he went he made people angry: the caf\u00e9 owner, the police, supermarket security guards, everyone. I was reassured slightly by the sight of the sports stadium and our warehouse. Policemen and soldiers were screaming. Something very serious must have happened. I looked for Xhemal and the drivers, but it was difficult to walk through that huge crowd of people packed together like sardines. Sex Boy's face was screwed up in pain, from all the truncheon blows he'd received back at the Western bookshop_.\n\n**Resurrecting Memories**\n\nOne of your crimes is that you remind the natives of what life used to be like for them. They had just started to put all that behind them, bury it in the depths of Lethe, all the pain and humiliation of being an immigrant, the worn-out faces, the peasant gait, the heavy stench of sweat and garlic, the fear of hunger and penury, of being the unbearable \"dirty foreigner,\" _dreckiger Ausl\u00e4nder_ in Germany, the sale race in France, dirty Greeks in America, _svartskallar_ in Sweden, and so on. Then you come along looking like something out of a photograph taken over fifty years ago.\n\nOn the subject of photographs, Leon Pantoti is someone I'm sure you've never heard of. He's an immigrant too. Or was. Leon Pantoti is the name he was issued with at Ellis Island, where all new arrivals in America were naturalized. Unlike most Greeks who arrived in America, Pantoti was not illiterate. He also had a trade: he was a photographer. He quickly learned English and opened a studio in San Francisco, photographing Greeks and Americans between 1914 and 1922. Portraits of children, mothers, laborers, rich and poor, bachelors and newlyweds, mail-order brides shipped out from Greece, because the local women were out of reach to the average immigrant. He photographed beautiful foreign girls who married elderly locals, usually for their money or a residence permit, or both. In one such picture taken by Pantoti the bride is showing off her right leg, trying to look flirtatious and give an impression of the comfortable existence she had just embarked on. The photograph has everything in it: dreams, pretense, harsh reality, comedy\u2014because being an immigrant is all those things.\n\nThis pose must seem faintly absurd to the descendants of the bride, American citizens today. Isn't the same thing going to happen when your descendants see a picture of you, when you tell your own child, who will grow up in Greece, all about how you originally furnished your home with the broken chairs and armchairs people chucked out onto the pavement and how gratefully you collected them from the \"immigrants\" supermarket, otherwise known as the trash heap? Your son will say, \"Daddy! You were a beggar\u2014how embarrassing!\"\n\nImmigrant existence goes in cycles. So does the look on its face. It doesn't just have one look, it has several. For the first generation there's that neurotic look of the orphan: \"Which country do I really belong to?\" Then there's the look of the immigrant who makes it: pride and vanity. And then there's the look of the immigrant who doesn't make it, the look of failure and plenty of resentment. The look of the locals looking at immigrants is usually out of range. At first it's full of sympathy, then it becomes puzzled before it turns suspicious and worried when it sees that yesterday's barefooted man wants to become like him, resemble him, and perhaps even do better than him.\n\n# **24**\n\n_T hey eventually let us out of the Black Maria and herded us with the help of their truncheons into the warehouse. We started looking for our friends, and after much difficulty we located the two drivers. We asked them what was going on but even they weren't sure, because some people were saying that some of us had raped a Greek girl in the village while others claimed that a priest had groped an Albanian man who responded by beating him up and shaving him. Another version was that a well-known lout from Tirana had punched a policeman; others insisted that the truth was actually much simpler. It was market day in Filiates and some of our number were strolling through the stalls, demonstrating to the traders there what it means to acquire goods without paying for them. A group stormed into a small shop and literally emptied it of all its Cokes and beers while the shop owner looked on in frozen disbelief. It was said that this event spread fear and panic among local traders and shopkeepers and that the villagers demanded that the police round up the Albanians and establish order_.\n\n_It was impossible to work out what had really happened; the police had turned truly savage. They were swearing, pounding the wire in front of our warehouse, and refusing to let anyone leave. By way of punishment they didn't give us anything to eat that day or the next. Cold, lack of sleep, and now starvation. Some of the villagers would try to throw us a crust or two over the railings but were rewarded with the fury of the police for their pains. The warehouse had been converted into a prison: we were only allowed to relieve ourselves right next to the warehouse, not a step further. Somewhere close to all the shit was the tap we were supposed to drink water out of. Some of us started saying that they were going back to Albania, because at least there was a bed waiting for them at home, but most people insisted that there was no turning back. \"After forty-five years waiting to cross the border it would be a shame to stay for such a short time, wouldn't it?\"_\n\n_Through all this chaos, Sex Boy brought us the main story of the day: in addition to the mad Albanian who was threatening the police that he was going to report them to his uncle, George Bush, there was another guest star, a mute. But he was no ordinary mute. He was not an Albanian mute. He was a Greek mute, unlucky enough to get caught up in the police round-up. Because he couldn't speak, they took him for another Albanian and threw him into the warehouse along with the rest of us. The Albanian crowd had spotted the mistake and took special care of him. I don't how they managed it in this horrendous chaos, but they got hold of a pen and a piece of paper, and somebody who knew Greek was able to communicate with the mute. Before long almost everyone had learned his name. He was called Dimitris. Dimitris was a farmer. He had left home that morning without his ID, which is how he ended up in our warehouse as he had not been able to speak and his face left the police with the unshakeable impression that he was Albanian. Some attempts were made to persuade them that there had been a mistake, but the police were not in a mood to listen that day, and the negotiators were in danger of getting beaten up if they pushed it too much. They eventually gave up, and Dimitris had to spend the night in the warehouse with the rest of us, though his anxiety probably kept him awake most of the night_.\n\n**Even Albanians are Getting Expensive**\n\nThursday. The evening news. The cameras fall on farmland and farm workers, Greeks as well as migrants, somewhere in Larissa, then somewhere in Crete. The news item is brief: \"Albanian immigrant workers demand wage increase.\" The caption flashing across the bottom of the screen reads: \"Even Albanians are getting expensive!\" Just imagine the journalist responsible for that one, sitting in front to his computer screen, trying to squeeze a catchy caption out of his brain. That is truly inspired. Worth its weight in gold, and with it he's finished another tiring day at the network. The truth is, copywriters are just another sector of the workforce struggling to make ends meet, and in all likelihood this one isn't paid or rewarded much for his work. He might even be the Albanian of the media industry. \"Even Albanians are getting expensive,\" much as you'd say, \"Even potatoes have gone up.\" It's that microscopic, seemingly innocuous little \"even\" that does all the work. It establishes the distance between natives and immigrants, between those who have the right to try to improve their lot and those who don't, between yesterday's immigrants and today's immigrants.\n\nThe copywriter probably hadn't given it that much thought. He'd probably never heard of, let alone read the story of his compatriot, the Ludlow martyr, Louis Tikas.\n\nTikas lead the Greek miners' strike in Colorado at the beginning of the twentieth century. Louis Tikas wasn't his real name; he was called Ilias Anastassiou Spantoudakis, but changed it to Tikas to get American citizenship. He was murdered by hired killers put onto him by the bosses because he refused to let Greek immigrants back down from their demands for higher wages and better working conditions.\n\nMuch of the local press back then poured scorn on the Greeks, because up to this point they had been the cheapest labor around, and were sometimes used by their bosses as strikebreakers, and then suddenly, there they were, also wanting to be expensive. They were doused in various epithets such as _\"arrivistes,\"_ \"coffee drinkers,\" \"bloodthirsty,\" and _\"den katalavenees\"_ (he doesn't understand). These young men, most of them from agricultural backgrounds, lived in fear of the landslides inside the mines and lived in fear of amputations, but their greatest fear of all was the fear of failure. They had left home and their country for money, not security. The only education they had received consisted of a few popular sayings, a couple of dozen songs about vendettas and wars with the Turks, the poem \"Erotokritos,\" and the odd folk ballad.\n\nMost of them\u2014the ones that didn't die in the mines, that is\u2014stayed on in America. A few, a tiny minority, returned to Greece. The descendants of these rough, illiterate Greek immigrants did make it: they became American citizens, businessmen, politicians, renowned university professors, and some of them today even spend a lot of time digging up the stories of their ancestors.\n\nWho knows whether after eighty years some descendant of the peasant immigrants of today, from Albania or India, won't be doing the same thing? And perhaps, while looking into his forefathers' experience, he'll stumble across that \"even,\" which might give him an idea for the title of the book he's planning: _Even Albanians Are Getting Expensive_. The irony is that thanks to those immigrants, their faces worn with exhaustion and too much exposure to the sun, the copywriter who penned this catchy legend might just have earned a footnote in the history books.\n\n# **25**\n\n_W e all woke up the next morning hoping that the fury of the policemen had subsided. It hadn't. The police had surrounded the warehouse with even more wire fencing to stop people getting out. The focus of the entire morning was Dimitris, the Greek mute who had been mistaken for an Albanian. He had written down something in Greek on a piece of paper, which we were desperately trying to pass on to the police so that they would know that there was a Greek in our midst. From what I could gather, he'd written his name, surname, and the name of his village, and the words I AM GREEK in larger letters underneath. The police gradually got wind of what had happened, although it took some convincing for them to accept that it wasn't just another Albanian scam. About ten policemen came into the warehouse late in the afternoon looking for Dimitris, the Albanian-looking Greek farmer. They found him easily because the rest of us immediately realized why they'd come. They seized him by the arms and marched him out as though they had just made an arrest. Dimitris was never heard of again. I suspect that the only thing that came of all this was the two-fold satisfaction felt by the residents of the warehouse: first of all from the police blunder and secondly, this episode had proved that a Greek could easily pass for an Albanian, so by extension an Albanian must be able to pass for a Greek_.\n\n_But our biggest concern at that point was our hunger, and the fact that the authorities appeared to have absolutely no intention of feeding us. In a united show of protest, we all started stamping our feet and shouting rhythmically_ , \"duam buk\u00eb, duam buk\u00eb, duam buk\u00eb\"\u2014 _\"we want bread, we want bread, we want bread.\" The chorus of voices was quite impressive, and the warehouse started vibrating from all the sad music. We must have repeated this chant more than ten times, and in addition to expressing our feeling of extreme hunger, this was a civilized way for us to spend our time, as one of the drivers pointed out. Eventually we were heard. After nightfall, ten policemen clutching their truncheons in one hand and large sacks in the other strode into the warehouse. They screamed out orders for us to get down on our knees, which we did. They opened the sacks and started pulling out loaves of bread, and throwing them randomly around while the starving recipients fought like maniacs over them. I saw the two drivers fighting with all their strength over the same loaf, the same two men who only three days earlier had been convinced that they were en route to Germany to work the Berlin\u2013Baghdad route for an astronomical wage. When the policemen left war broke out, a real bread war. In among the fray, a very big, bulky character had, for reasons best known to himself, grabbed George Bush's nephew by the throat, and would have surely killed him had not a few slightly calmer men pulled him off. Fortunately, at some point order restored itself. It was then that I felt someone touching my back. It was the two drivers, ecstatically happy, giving me a flash of their booty, which they'd hidden under a jacket: three whole loaves of bread. This gave me a chance to appease my hunger, as I'd stayed out of the bread war. Naturally the mood of the crowd was as uneven as a rudderless ship travelling through an almighty storm, sometimes disappearing beneath the furious waves, only to reappear later on the crest_.\n\n_Half an hour later, once people had eaten, we heard singing: a love song. A small group at the other end of the warehouse had started it and gradually everybody joined in singing what resembled a compulsory protest song. We'd gone from singing \"We want bread\" to \"Oh! Nightingale in Spring:\"_ Ore bilbil \u00e7'ta kam b\u00ebr\u00eb ben\u00eb \/ vet\u00ebm mos t\u00eb gje\u00e7a mor I pabes\u00eb folen\u00eb \/ do t\u00eb marr\u00eb dhe do t\u00eb hedh n\u00eblum\u00eb \/ se na I le \u00e7upat more \u00e7apk\u00ebn pa gjum\u00eb \/ hidhesh e p\u00ebrdridhesh porsi gjarpri \/ si t'ja b\u00ebj un\u00eb I varf\u00ebri. _Everybody was singing, and those who didn't know the words sang along with a \"na, na, na.\" The fact that such a sweet love song was being sung at that moment by a huge crowd of people in a very aggressive mood made it sound like a war song. I asked myself whether hungry people were capable of singing love songs any other way. The police outside must have thought the Albanians had gone mad. I wanted to share my thoughts with one of the drivers, but he had given himself completely to the mood of the song and there, in the half-light, I could make out the tears running down his cheeks_.\n\n**The Scapegoat of the Poor**\n\nThe rich don't usually mind you. Those who fear you the most are those who read few books but watch plenty of television. Those who send their children to the same school as yours, who live in the same neighborhood, who wait in the same lines as you at the health insurance offices at dawn. Those who worry about sinking to your level, becoming like the Albanians. They latch onto national stereotypes with zeal, any stereotypes for that matter, because they don't want to lose that divine distance between superior and inferior. It's the only thing that makes them feel that they are not at the bottom of the heap. There is nothing worse than the disgust one poor devil shows another. It provides fertile waters for politicians to go fishing for votes as they scream for a country free of immigrants, selling fear and resentment, and spreading the false impression that immigrants are the root of the nation's problems. They will convince voters that if only you had the decency to go back to where you came from, they would be eating from golden spoons. That if you hadn't come in the first place, they would be at work and prosperous, their children wouldn't be at drugs, and they would be able to go to sleep with the windows open at night. And thus, with the promise of open windows, the poor retreat into this simplistic logic, the logic of resentment and xenophobia. It's an age-old game: the rich are responsible for coming up with racist theories, and it's the job of the poor to apply them by pursuing other poor people, and thus the poor get poorer and the rich get richer.\n\n# **26**\n\n_B ecause we felt that the conditions in the warehouse were intolerable and were an insult, some of us took the initiative to organize a kind of general meeting. A self-appointed committee started to summarize the situation of the last few days. \"We are treated like animals even though the European Union has given the Greeks billions for us,\" announced one impassioned member. Everyone around him burst into applause. One of the drivers, who was sitting close to me whispered, \"Look at us now. What big boys\u2014who could guess we've been applauding the Party for the last fifty years?\" I said nothing, just smiled. I followed the scene, feeling like I was watching something straight out of the theater of the absurd. After the first speech, which had whipped everyone into a frenzied fighting spirit, the decision was made to send a letter of protest to the UN. Everyone was convinced that the UN had nothing to occupy itself with other than the terrible fate of Albanian refugees in Greece. They were equally convinced that as soon as our letter reached them, they'd send out economic aid and our troubles would be over once and for all. Initial joy turned to enthusiasm; enthusiasm, to delirium. Everyone agreed, and decided that the protest letter should be written right away and sent with no time to lose. The difficulty was that there was only one pen and no more paper; all the paper had been used for Dimitris. But the most serious obstacle was that nobody had a postal address for the UN, or indeed knew where there was a mailbox in Filiates, and even if we did, the police would never let us go to it. There was no discussion about the language the letter should be written in. And that's how we spent our third night in the warehouse, writing a fantasy protest letter addressed to the UN_.\n\n**The Neurosis of Staying On**\n\nYou used to say: \"As soon as I've saved up enough money, I'll go home.\" Many years later, you're still saying the same thing. You used to say: \"I'll move on to another country, where I'll earn better money and live better.\" You stayed here. The truth is that the idea of leaving has become second nature. You are always somewhere between eternal flight and eternal return. You are, as always, full of contradictions, and you want to compromise where there can be no compromise. That's the way the game goes when you're away from home. It's relentless and only for those with nerves of steel. Anyone who's tried walking along the shifting sands the immigrant walks on knows that. It's the neurosis that comes with staying on. One day you're saying, \"I'm going back, I can't stand being away any more; it's unbearable here,\" and the next day it's, \"I'll stay a bit longer, get a bit more money together,\" and the day after that you're all, \"I have to make it here.\"\n\nEven though people generally do stay in the first country they migrate to, you'll always be a permanent fugitive. So much so that I wonder if it isn't some kind of unconscious strategy, a lifestyle choice made by those who suffer from Border Syndrome; perhaps it's all nothing more than a form of self-defense, because you never know whether you'll make it or not, or whether you'll put down roots here in the country you chose to come to. That's why you keep those two contradictory scenarios in reserve: to remain or to return? Like an emergency exit from insecurity and your fear that perhaps they won't let you put down roots here.\n\nMost likely you'll stay put. You have very few chances of going back, and deep down you know that, because you're beginning to realize that you are more of a foreigner back home than you are here. An immigrant is like a tree: his branches face his homeland, the one he left behind, while his roots grow deeper and deeper into the soil of the country he chose to come to. If you end up being one of a handful that does go back, you'll resemble the ancient immigrant in Ignazio Silone's novel _Bread and Wine_ , the peasant everyone in the village called Sciatap, an Italian corruption of \"shut up\"\u2014apparently the only phrase he'd learned in that country. Shut up. Shut up.\n\n# **27**\n\n_I t had become impossible to sleep at night. There was no room. The burliest men occupied the foam mats, which functioned as beds and had turned black with filth. The weaker ones waited till morning when some space was vacated by the stronger ones. By now hunger had kicked in and I was extremely weak. I looked at the drivers: they had both lost all their initial enthusiasm and optimism for good. I went over to join them and found them in the middle of a tense discussion, the one blaming the other for the decision to cross the border. \"Have you any idea how much the truck we abandoned costs? I was responsible for it, so if they decide to charge me for it, I'll be working it off for the rest of my life,\" the driver shouted at the codriver_.\n\n_They were no longer the two drivers but driver and codriver. The codriver said nothing for a while before retorting, \"I asked you three times if you really had the bottle for it.\" Now it was the driver's turn to go quiet_.\n\n_I asked them if they'd seen Xhemal anywhere. \"Xhemal has escaped from the camp,\" they told me. The refugee center had been referred to as \"the camp\" for the last two days. How, with whom, or where Xhemal had escaped to they couldn't tell me. All they knew was that he was gone, maybe to Athens, maybe he'd found work in Igoumenitsa at some garage, but they really couldn't say. Sex Boy insisted that he had left with some strange characters and headed for Athens. Xhemal hadn't said anything to us. The truth is that after the fight with the driver, he had become a bit distant and had started keeping company with other people in the warehouse. Sex Boy, our very own 007, told us that some of them had knives and one had a pistol. We were all shocked because we hadn't noticed anything of the kind. Apparently these men had taken charge of things inside the warehouse and were offering to help people who wanted to escape, for a fee, which could be paid back at a later date, in dollars, drachmas or lek. Sex Boy also told us that the previous night someone who had challenged them and sworn at them got a bad beating for his pains. That was the kind of company Xhemal had chosen to escape with. \"That man would have sold his own sister if the price was right, mark my words,\" said the driver who had fought with him_.\n\n_Toward the end of the day we had an unexpected visitor, an elderly priest who arrived with an interpreter in tow. Everyone gathered round to listen: buses were arriving the following morning to take us, in alphabetical order, to various destinations around Greece, where we would be housed and given work. The euphoria this news spread through the warehouse is difficult to describe; some were so excited that they grabbed hold of the priest and threw him up in the air repeatedly, the way soccer players do with their coaches after winning the cup. As they tossed him up and caught him, they chanted, \"Papou, papou, papou,\" forgetting that the priest was an old man, and that in the midst of all the chaos and the shouting, things could go horribly wrong. Five or six policeman entered the fray in order to liberate the priest by opening a corridor down the middle of the room with their truncheons. The released him from the grip of his dangerous fans and escorted him outside. He looked like Christ on Golgotha, but in reality bore a closer resemblance to Judas as he had lied to us over one small detail: the buses were scheduled to arrive; we were expected to wait until our names were called and then get on them, but we were not going to \"various destinations around Greece to be housed and given work.\" The buses were taking us straight back to Albania. This we were only to discover much later_.\n\n**Your son doesn't speak broken Greek**.\n\nLife as an immigrant is a net that you get caught up in without realizing it. It is Cyclops and Ithaca, Circe and Penelope, Scylla and Charybdes, all in one. You learn the language and the customs of the locals without quite understanding how. You change, without wanting to. You learn how to drink your coffee in a different way. Your father's view of the world is full of holes. Unfamiliar streets become part of your day-to-day geography. The locals sometimes praise your knowledge of the language, and of course there are times when you're dying to say, \"I didn't learn Greek to please you, I did it for myself.\" But you don't say it.\n\nThis country is slowly beginning to grow on you. There are times when you even love it, without understanding why, and there are other times when you resent it deeply each time you're reminded that you're foreign and each time you're reminded that you're unequal. Each time they refuse to rent out their house to you. But you live here; you work here; your friends are all here and, more to the point, your child is growing up here, growing up thinking himself a native.\n\nHe doesn't worry about being let down by his accent; he doesn't have that kind of problem, because he doesn't speak broken Greek like his father does. When people compliment him on his Greek, he just laughs. He doesn't keep out of sight like you used to\u2014he screams and shouts and asserts his presence. He does not take insults with the same resentment you used to. He is not like you. When you suffered rejection, you would slink away to lick your wounds like an injured dog, because you were a foreigner and felt like a foreigner, but he doesn't feel like that. When he's rejected, he doesn't limp off like an injured dog but like an injured wild animal. You would try to treat your neurosis by saying, \"One day, I'll go back.\" For your child this is home. He has no other. He has no choice but to love it or hate it. Whatever it is he has to win or lose he will win or lose here, in the place where you decided he should be brought into the world.\n\n# **28**\n\n_T he next day the police finally allowed us to go outside onto the soccer field, which had been enclosed by barbed wire all around. Swaggering around, swinging their truncheons, they ordered us to sit down on the steps and wait for our names to be called. We were then to get on the bus that would take us to our destination, where housing and work would be provided. The first fugitives to be called strode up to the bus giving the sign of victory, while the rest of us looked on, green with envy, waiting for our own names to be announced through the megaphone. Two or three busloads left that day; those who weren't called returned to the warehouse disheartened, heads bent and feeling their exhaustion even more keenly. The mysterious glow that had rested on their sullen, tired faces for a few hours had vanished_.\n\n_That evening ten policemen distributed loaves again, sticking to the tried and tested method: random chucking. This time, however, there were fewer of us and the scramble for food displayed some rudimentary aspects of fair play. Now and again the odd \"sorry\" and \"I didn't mean to hit you\" was heard. The drivers had meanwhile become incandescent when they realized their names were not going to be called. Their fury intensified because Sex Boy had made it onto one of the buses, which meant that, according to our collective fantasy, he'd be sleeping in some nicely heated room with an en suite shower. \"Bloody hell, that puppy gets to go, while we two, who grew up in the capital, have to stay here!\" protested one of the drivers, obviously forgetting that I was from the provinces, too. I said nothing. They fell silent, realizing a little belatedly how tactless they'd been. I then remembered how Sex Boy had come up to us, hugged us, and told us that as soon as he was sorted he'd do something for us. He was on the verge of tears and for the first time ever I saw in his eyes something resembling joy, something resembling hope_.\n\n_After a while, with the three of us deep in thought, one of the drivers told us what was at once the funniest and the most tragic story I've ever heard in my life. It was about his cousin, who had been exiled together with her family on account of a fart. Unbelievable but true. It was just after Comrade Enver's death, and the entire nation was obliged to pass by and pay their respects at the tomb of the Eternal Leader. She duly went along with the rest of her collective from the factory where she worked, one of the ones built by the Chinese, in fact. Even though she had a cold that day, she simply had to go, because she couldn't just say she wasn't going at a time when almost all of Albania was making its way to Tirana, even if it meant hanging off those Chinese trains to get there. Compared to the profound sentiment and duty to pay her respects at the tomb of the Eternal Leader, what was a cold if not a sign of bourgeois weakness? The driver's cousin understood only too well that now was not the time to display such infirmities. So she went and waited in the long line, goodness only knows how long for, hours rather than minutes, and when it was eventually her turn, she kneeled down like everyone else, preparing to weep, to sigh and kiss the marble covering the tomb of the Great Leader. However, during the part when she was supposed to emit the customary loud sigh, she instead produced an extremely voluble fart, so distinct and so unmistakable that the person behind her in line heard it and so did the person behind him, both members of the same collective. That was the end of her. They went straight to the Party secretary to report the incident, and the secretary, in view of the solemnity of the occasion, didn't hesitate to call a general meeting to which the cousin was summoned and required to prove that the fart had not been motivated by subversive, hostile aims. The secretary went after her hammer and tongs, bent on proving her guilt. He argued that the enemy would not hesitate to make use of all means available to him in order to insult the memory of the Eternal Leader and so on and so forth_.\n\n_It didn't end there; when they started to sniff around in her past, they discovered that her husband's grandfather had been convicted and executed by the Party in 1948 as a sworn enemy of the Albanian state and of the Party. That was it. How could she possibly hope to convince anyone that her flatulence at the tomb of the Eternal Leader was not somehow connected with the execution of her husband's grandfather? It was a lost cause. Besides, the Party had said it over and over again: water can sleep, enemies never do. Consequently she lost her job and was exiled to a strange village in order to learn how to love the Eternal Leader fittingly in the fields. And thus we passed our fifth night in our warehouse; with the story of the fart. Or was it the sixth? I'd lost track, but at least now we had a bit more room to sleep. I ate a small piece of my loaf and slept like the dead that night_.\n\n**When They Stop Feeling Sorry for You**\n\nThere are times when you don't understand your child. He doesn't understand you, either. He doesn't understand your homesickness, and your homeland is nothing but a tourist destination to him. He doesn't feel guilty like you do for having abandoned it. His homeland is here, where he lives. If he feels stigmatized by his origins, he'll probably become neurotic and incapable of loving himself or of loving any country for that matter.\n\nSometimes your broken Greek embarrasses him; the way you walk embarrasses him; the way you dress embarrasses him; lots of things about you embarrass him. He's not like you, though; he's not an inveterate scrooge desperately saving money in the hope of going back. He wants to dress like the Greek kids, live like them, get on in life like they do, have nice hands like they do, have a career like they do. Heavy manual labor, the kind the Greeks won't touch, is meant for other aliens, the ones who've just arrived. He feels completely at home, which is why he doesn't ask anyone to love him. He knows very well that love is in short supply. He wants his due, that's all: to be treated like an equal, to be judged on his own merits and not on his ethnic background. He wants to make this country his own, because he has no other country to love. If this country rejects him, he'll reject it, too, and he'll be left dangling, much worse off than you because he'll have nowhere to call his own. He'll be a rootless creature ready to embrace an alternative identity\u2014not nostalgia but the ghetto.\n\nYour child doesn't ask to be loved and, above all, he does not ask to be pitied. The pity card that you used to play just to survive is one he despises. Of course he has many more friends than you ever had, and they are gradually accepting him as one of them. But they are slightly more nervous of him than they are of you, mainly because he doesn't inspire pity.\n\nThis is when the trouble really starts, when people are no longer able to read any signs of misery and misfortune in his face, when his is no longer pitiful and different, when he starts acting all familiar and making himself at home.\n\nThat's when the trouble starts, when the immigrant starts demanding equality. Your child is regularly criticized, not for behaving like a foreigner but for behaving like a Greek. Not because he's different but because he isn't. Because that's when it's clear he's here to stay. The immigrant, dear reader, is tolerated as a temporary extra, but feared and reviled when he looks like he's about to move in for good.\n\n# **29**\n\n_I t must have been around midday by the time I woke up. The driver woke me. For some reason the police had not brought us outside to sit on the steps and nobody was reading out any lists of names. \"Something must have happened,\" said the codriver. \"They're not screaming at us, either.\" We went outside and saw that he was right. Something had happened, but we couldn't work out what it was. The policemen had abandoned their grim, truncheon-swinging swagger. Not only that, they had actually cleaned up the filth outside the warehouse, and were now calmly asking us to get in line in readiness for a proper midday meal: half a loaf of bread each and some cheese_.\n\n_Speculation was rife. At first people were claiming that the police had sharpened up after the letter to the UN. Not very likely, considering that the letter, for want of paper, an address and a post office, had never actually been sent. Then it was said that the US ambassador was on his way. Others said it was the British ambassador. By about 2 p.m. it had been agreed that they were both en route but a couple of hours later, there'd apparently been a change of plan: it was a big NATO general, who was recruiting for soldiers to fight in Iraq. George Bush's nephew got into the spirit of things by shrieking every now and then, \"Company march!\" He'd probably got it from some film he'd seen on Italian TV. The news that we were about to be called up for active service in Iraq caused enormous unrest, and the driver and the codriver were equally incensed, insisting that they hadn't come to the West to be packed off to fight but to work. By 5 p.m. people had split off into various groups of roughly the same size, according to which of the above scenarios they found most convincing_.\n\n_The previous day, out there on the field, I'd struck up a conversation with one of the policemen, in English. I wasn't very good\u2014I'd only got as far as \"Essential 2,\" the most common English language learning method followed in Albania, but the policeman knew even less. His name was Pavlos. He seemed different, not like the other policemen. He didn't shout, he didn't go around wielding his truncheon, and was one of few, or rather the only one, who ever smiled. We'd talked about various things, where I'd come from, what I'd studied back in Albania, while he explained to me that he was originally from Sparta, and I told him I'd read all about the ancient Spartans, the war with Athens, Pericles, and the Acropolis. That day they allowed us to go out for a second time to enjoy what little was left of the winter sun, and I saw him again. To be precise, he saw me first and motioned to me to come over. We got talking again. This time he questioned me more closely about why I'd come, and if I wanted to find work in Greece. I told him that I did, and that I intended to go to university eventually, to study history and philosophy. I also told him that I knew French and Italian. Pavlos was impressed and beckoned me to follow him. We walked along for a while until we got to a group of policemen who were gathered around a man who appeared to be their superior, judging by the way they spoke to him_.\n\n_Pavlos started talking to him and pointing in my direction. The others listened in silence. Of course I couldn't understand a word of what he was saying, but I could feel the weight of two or three sardonic pairs of eyes on me. Pavlos's little speech was met with a few moments' silence and then his superior responded. He didn't say much, but the single, short phrase he used, coupled with the look on his face, a mixture of boredom and cynicism, was enough to get the rest of them laughing. The cynical stares falling on me multiplied, and Pavlos fell into an embarrassed silence\u2014I saw him turn red. I hadn't been able to follow anything but it was obvious that he'd been completely humiliated. I realized he must have said something about me, something nice, and had been repaid with the sarcasm of his superior and the ridicule of his fellow police officers. I felt myself blushing, too, as though I'd caught the embarrassment from Pavlos. He signaled to me that we should go back, so I followed him. He explained to me that he wasn't like the rest of them and was waiting to start his new job at the airport, as though the policemen at airports were a breed apart. I had to get back inside with the others. Pavlos shook my hand and wished me luck_.\n\n**The Immigrant's Memory**\n\nThe immigrant is locked in perpetual dialogue with his memory and with his past. More precisely, he is condemned to be in perpetual opposition to them. Some, several, a great many in fact, faced with this, choose Lethe instead, as a survival strategy or as an inevitable rejection of the state of uprootedness and distance. Once he's rid himself of the past, the immigrant feels much lighter about facing the difficult journey ahead, during which he carries both metaphorical and literal burdens. Being in another country can frequently lead to disengagement with your former self. Now you have the chance to disappear, to settle your scores with your origins, to reinvent yourself, to start a new life from scratch. Some manage, some don't. When this strategy fails, memory comes back with a vengeance, more cynical this time; it breaks down all barriers and fills your spirit with screams that replace words, or with words that make you stutter, with ghosts and shadows that haunt your nightmares by night and feed your neurosis by day. Because when you cut loose from your memory, there are only two choices left: either permanently consign it to the deepest depths of Lethe or, if that doesn't work, surrender yourself to this distorted effigy.\n\nAt the other extreme are those who choose to anchor themselves in memory, and turn it into something resembling an old treasure chest, where they keep the clock of their former existence, which stopped ticking long ago, safe. In this case, memory resembles a precious embalmed body: it becomes representative of the golden age, a golden age that never even existed, and never will exist. Those who preserve the past in this way are often regarded as heroes, because they resist change. The truth is that devotees of this brand of memory are nothing more than failed heroes, because they were too frightened or because they simply withdrew from a present that was too painful for them, to seek comfort in an idealized version of the past.\n\nThen there are those immigrants who choose to preserve a paradigmatic relationship with memory. They are not its prisoners but they don't try to eradicate it either. They do not experience their origins as either a stigma or as a protective shield. Memory in their case is not one smooth continual tradition full of nostalgia for roots and scents, a clock stopped and incompatible with the present. This is no marmoreal memory but a part of yourself which is constantly changing. It's the vaulting pole that helps the immigrant live through change with greater honesty and decency and, if possible, with greater wisdom. \"I met pain along the way, pushing me further and further along\"\u2014the lines of a song the Marseilles immigrants sing. This encounter with pain, pushing us forward all the time, is the human condition par excellence. And the way this encounter is narrated is memory itself.\n\n# **30**\n\n_I heard shouting in Albanian, \"The ambassador's here! The ambassador's here!\" People came rushing out of the warehouse. A van drew up close by us. A white-haired, white-bearded, white-mustached man in his fifties with an aristocratic air got out. He was followed by a woman, and then two young men. One was holding a television camera, the other was carrying something else, possibly a microphone. Our speculations were not entirely unfounded, it seemed; some people had arrived, granted, none of them the candidates we had shortlisted earlier. The white-haired man with the aristocratic demeanor was neither the American nor the British ambassador, nor a big NATO general but a Greek filmmaker called Christos_.\n\n_Christos had come to document the tragic influx of Albanian immigrants into Greece. He asked if any of us could speak English, and the driver and codriver immediately grabbed me by the arms and carried me across to him, almost airborne. \"Tell him what we've been through here,\" shouted the Albanians around me. \"Tell him that the police treat us like animals, they don't give us any food, and don't let us do anything, not even take a piss.\" A lot more than that was said but those were some of the few phrases I could pick out from all the noise in this tragic place. I don't know what I told Christos. Even today I can't say for sure what the hell it was I told him. All I can remember is that he took me to one side while his two assistants were filming inside the warehouse. The police, observing the zeal with which they were working, reverted to their former grim expressions_.\n\n_Christos and I started talking about Albania. He was very familiar with Ismail Kadare's work and told me that almost all of Kadare's books had been translated into Greek. Then he looked around at everyone and appeared shocked at the utter misery he saw before him. \"You know, I actually believe in communism,\" he said. I said nothing. There was a pause, and then he said, \"What were you doing for fifty long years? Nothing?\" I looked him in the eye and then motioned at the crowd with a tilt of my head. \"You can see for yourself what we were doing.\"_\n\n_The truth is that if someone had seen us Albanians there in Filiates, they would have thought that we'd just been liberated from a concentration camp: the dull colors of our clothes, the shades of gray and black favored by the regime; the undernourished faces that had something wild about them, exacerbated by the cold; the hunger and exhaustion of the past few days; that vacant stare, the same vacant stare of the orphan or of someone who has failed utterly, been defeated utterly_.\n\n_\"Do you want to come with me to Athens?\" Christos asked me suddenly. \"What would I do in Athens?\" I asked him. \"Find a job\u2014you know so many languages, you're bound to find something, maybe with a paper. You can stay with me till you've learned some Greek.\"_\n\n_I thought I was dreaming. A stranger, someone we'd imagined to be the American ambassador, the British ambassador, and a big NATO general, was offering to put me up in his home. I was desperate to escape the chaos, the misery and the discomfort of the warehouse, and every atom of my being was yearning for a lifeline, some means of moving on now that I had crossed over into the world-beyond-the-borders, a helping hand, just enough to get me on my feet. I said yes at once_.\n\n_Christos told me to wait, and I saw him walk up to the policemen. It was already dark and the big floodlight had already come on. About ten minutes later he was back telling me that they wouldn't allow him to take me to Athens without getting the go-ahead from the mayor. \"I'll be back tomorrow and I'll talk to the mayor,\" he promised. My instinct told me that if I didn't get away that night, he might not find me there the next day. \"Tomorrow will be too late,\" I answered. He took me by the arm and this time we both went over to the policemen to try to persuade them. I could tell that Christos was trying to butter them up, but from what I could make out, he wasn't getting very far. One of them started prodding me in the back of the neck with his truncheon, repeating the question, \"Musulman? Musulman?\" My terrified answer, \"Not Muslim. Atheist,\" which I'd hoped would soften him a little, apparently went over his head because he kept on repeating the word, but this time without a question mark: \"Musulman. Musulman.\"_\n\n_At some point, taking advantage of the relative disturbance being caused, Christos led me off again and took me to one of his assistants, Grigoris. They spoke briefly and Grigoris nodded, as though in response to some secret code, took hold of my arm, and dragged me off. We passed two or three policemen, who at first went for me, but Grigoris managed to get them off by repeating certain words, the same words all the time. He put me in the van and told me to sit at the back and keep out of sight, handed me a blanket (I wasn't sure if this was intended to keep the cold out or to keep me hidden). The rest of the crew soon appeared and hurried into the van and started the engine. We stopped after only a few seconds. More policemen, talking to Christos, but they eventually let us on our way_.\n\n_I soon digested the fact that this was my second escape. I'd escaped from the warehouse at Filiates. Grigoris told me it was OK and I could sit up. We drove through the darkness, far away from the policemen. From the window, I caught sight of a human caravan walking through the night\u2014my fellow countrymen, having crossed the border into Greece. There, surrounded in darkness, they looked like weary shadows walking without direction, like ghosts roaming around in the night, briefly illuminated by the headlights of the van. It was then when I felt a river of tears rushing down my throat and I broke into sobs_.\n\n_It was January 22, 1991, I think. That's more or less how my life in Greece began_.\n\n# **Epilogue**\n\nThis tale is not typical of border stories: it comes to an abrupt halt where most of them just keep going without ever reaching the end. Tales of monstrous, visible borders such as the borders of totalitarianism and tales of the invisible, psychological borders experienced in a foreign country rarely reach a conclusion. It was never my intention to tell you the story of my life; what I wanted to tell you about was my illness, Border Syndrome, a condition you won't find documented in any manual of recognized psychological disorders. It's not like agoraphobia, vertigo, depression. And it's not like any physical disease spread by a virus, but that doesn't make me any less of a carrier\u2014maybe just a carrier with low levels, as the doctors are fond of describing carriers of hepatitis whose organs have developed enough antibodies to keep the deadly march of the virus in check. Nevertheless, Border Syndrome is just as pernicious as the hepatitis virus because you can never truly get rid of it. It just sits there, in a latent state, wedged between time and space, wedged between your body and the gaze of others, ready to strike at any moment and take possession of your memories, your silence, the expression in your eyes, your spleen, your smile, your passion and your life. It's then that you start to experience your body and your face and your origins as a burden. You long to be free of it all, if only for just a second, for as long as it takes to cross the borders\u2014if only for that long. Unlike all those self-satisfied people who scream and shout, asserting \"the right to be different,\" what you crave more than anything is the right to be exactly the same as everyone else. You long to go unnoticed, to be invisible. But you know that can never be more than a fantasy\u2014Border Syndrome is hardly the stuff of fairytales. It tends to affect daydreamers, daydreamers who fight tooth and nail to maintain a grip on reality, who fight tooth and nail to overcome both kinds of borders: the visible and the invisible. To work out how much you are at risk of contracting the Border Syndrome virus, all you need to do is remember which side of the border you were born on.\n\nAs a carrier of Border Syndrome, I have to confess to having a dream: a dream of a world without immigrants. Don't get me wrong\u2014I love traveling; most sufferers of Border Syndrome do. If you never get out from inside yourself, from your body, your ennui, then you can be pretty confident of lifelong immunity from Border Syndrome. I'd simply prefer people to travel in the real sense of the word, to go traveling, like tourists do, like students do, like bohemians do. To travel like people who have lost their way looking for paradise or like those who have found their own Ithaca through some absurd twist of fate\u2014to travel with dignity. I do not want people to travel in the way that so many Germans, Irish, Italians, and Greeks once traveled, and the way so many Albanians, Afghans, Iranians, Somalis, Mexicans, and so many others are forced to travel today. Because being a migrant by definition puts you in a position of weakness. And in this world, the weak are never treated with respect. They might be pitied, but they are never respected. I remember how in the early days in Athens just after I had crossed the borders, I was walking down the road quietly whistling the lyrics of a song I'd just learned: _I walked through the night \/ not knowing a soul \/ and not a soul \/ not a soul \/ knew me_. It's one of Mikis Theodorakis's songs. It wasn't written about immigrants, but it does capture the feelings of all those who have at some point experienced true loneliness and have tasted the fear of defeat\u2014sufferers of Border Syndrome, in other words.\n\nI have a dream\u2014I have a dream of a world in which there are no immigrants. But such a world is not feasible, because a world without immigrants would have to be a world free of tyranny; a world free of poverty; above all a world free of the desire that people have to take control of their own destiny. A world free of immigrants and free of migration would be a much duller world than the world we know today. At the same moment that I yearn for a world devoid of immigrants, I count my blessings that I am an immigrant. In the final analysis, it takes guts; it takes guts to go head to head with borders and start your life again from scratch: with language; street names; people's names\u2014to make this foreign city your own. Being a thoroughbred immigrant means acknowledging the power of the will, and coming to terms with the outrageous tricks of fate and to understand that the greatest human virtue is the ability to adapt and change and has nothing to do with who you are descended from, and to realize that the secret of success is at once simple and complicated: never to tire of life.\n\nThat I am sitting in Berlin writing these lines is due to a simple twist of fate, one that occurred several years after the events that I narrate in this book took place. I'm on Bernauer Strasse, looking across at what's left of the Berlin Wall. A couple of tourists are sitting next to me, experiencing the whole thing on the level of a tourist attraction, as an interesting historical fact. To me it's as though I am looking at a small piece of the skeleton of the monster that once shut me away in his cell, forbidding any contact with the world beyond the borders; I will always carry the ghost of this monster inside me, wherever I go, however widely I travel, however many borders I cross. A mere few meters away from the skeleton of the monster I can see an advertisement for a mobile phone company, urging passersby to enjoy each and every moment of this short life in a world that is getting smaller and smaller every day\u2014a world in which there are no more borders and no more walls. I absentmindedly flick the pages of my passport inside my jacket pocket. The impenetrable borders and the murderous walls of the Cold War are a thing of the past. Borders and walls live on for the most part inside our pockets. They are the passports we carry. I become aware of this each time I stand at a passport control, because at these checks, there are two categories of people: bearers of \"cool passports\" and everybody else\u2014people holding \"bad passports.\" If you've got a \"cool passport,\" you've got nothing to worry about. Borders are nothing more than invisible lines, a trick of the imagination, geographical lines as translucent as the light of the Mediterranean. Having a \"bad passport,\" on the other hand, changes everything. It means you have Border Syndrome, and every crossing you make becomes an unforgettable incident, an event on your existential calendar. And the more borders you encounter, the more determined you become to cross them. I still belong to the \"bad passport\" group. Greek passports once belonged to the \"bad\" group but are now part of the \"cool\" group. I haven't got one. I don't know if I'll ever be given one, so for the time being I'm traveling on my bad one, crossing borders with it. Who knows, it might become \"cool\" one day. I hope so. The face of the immigration officer checking a \"cool\" passport usually looks very relaxed and very human. But the expression of the officer checking a \"bad passport\" is usually very suspicious. He looks at you. He looks at you again. He asks you questions. He asks you outrageous questions. And you give very plausible answers. He asks you the most outrageous questions once again. And you give him very plausible answers once again, waiting for the stamp to fall so that you can get across to the other side of the border, to the other side of the world. When you carry a \"bad\" passport, borders revert to type; they become what they used to be and what they always will be\u2014miserable places. There are some border posts and customs checkpoints in which the immigration officer is himself the son of immigrants. His parents too had crossed on a \"bad passport,\" or had perhaps stowed away on a train or in the darkness of a boat. Perhaps they tore up their passports so that they wouldn't be deported. And he, born here to parents who at some point arrived from somewhere else, is now checking other people's \"bad passports,\" people who perhaps have the same passion to get to the other side of the border, to emigrate, to put down roots here so that someday their own children might be able to carry a \"cool passport\" in their pockets. Carriers of Border Syndrome are constantly changing their place of birth, name, and country. However, the way they keep their gaze fixed on the borders, and the way the borders return their gaze, remain unchanged through the ages. And that's because the world keeps turning and then comes full circle. Sometimes it makes progress, breaking down old borders and establishing new ones, irrespective of which side of the borders you find yourself on. In the final analysis, we are all immigrants, armed with a temporary residence permit for this earth, each and every one of us incurably transient.\n\n# **Author's Note**\n\n_A Short Border Handbook_ is part autobiography, part fiction, its heroes both real and invented. It could not have been written without the help of several people, most of them anonymous, who related their own border experiences to me, especially the women immigrants who were generous enough to share their often tragic stories. During the writing of this book, other writers and their works proved inspirational, particularly Zeese Papanikolas and his _Buried Unsung: Louis Tikas and the Ludlow Massacre;_ Tsvetan Todorov's _Les abus de la memoire_ , as well as newspaper articles by Tahar Ben Jelloun on the subject of immigration. Special thanks go to my mother and brother, to Ilira, to the Internet\u2014and to fortuity.\n\nGazmend Kapllani\n\nAthens, January 2009\n\n# **Notes**\n\n Kor\u00e7\u00eb is a town in southern Albania, close to the Greek border. Kalabaka is a town in the north of Greece, close to Thessaloniki.\n\n Kakavia is the main checkpoint on the Greek-Albanian border.\n\n Gjirokast\u00ebr is a city in the south of Albania.\n\n Zeese Papanikolas, _Buried Unsung: Louis Tikas and the Ludlow Massacre_ , University of Nebraska Press, 1991.\n\n \"Oh! Nightingale, I have vowed \/ To find out your nest, double-crosser \/ Grab you and throw you in the river \/ Drown you there because our girls lie awake at night because of you, you flirt \/ You twist, be\"\n\n# **A Conversation with Gazmend Kapllani**\n\n**You begin (and end) _A Short Border Handbook_ by drawing attention to what you call \"Border Syndrome\"\u2014a hard-to-explain condition not included in any \"list of recognized mental disorders.\" Is this generally understood (especially by immigrants themselves) to be something that many immigrants suffer from, whether named in some manner or not? Did you coin the term or did you encounter it somewhere? Is the condition static or does it change with the times?**\n\nThere are writers who \"owe,\" so to say, their literary obsessions to their imagination. There are others who owe them to their personal experiences. I belong to the second category. Coining the literary metaphor \"Border Syndrome\" was, for me, like giving a name to an obsession that has shaped my entire life. I have lived half of my life under totalitarianism and the other half as an immigrant. I was born during the Cold War, when the Iron Curtain divided Europe in two. By the way, I believe that the tragedies of the twentieth century in Europe cannot be fully understood without knowing the history of its borders, fences, and walls.\n\nI was born in Stalinist Albania, a tiny country that was isolated from the rest of the world for half a century by means of terrifying borders and walls. For me and my generation borders and walls mean madness, xenophobia, and terror. And they also mean a longing to cross them.\n\nWhen communism collapsed I crossed the borders to Greece as a refugee. There I had to deal\u2014this time around\u2014with invisible borders: the foreign language I wanted to conquer, having my papers in order to be recognized as a human being. I was seen as an undesirable when I was a penniless foreigner and I faced hostility and envy when I became a successful immigrant.\n\nNo wonder, then, that borders constitute one of my main literary obsessions.\n\n**You write, \"Those who have never experienced the urge to cross a border, or who have never experienced rejection at a border, will have a hard time understanding us.\" In writing this book, were you motivated more, at least initially, by a desire to broaden public understanding of Border Syndrome or to chronicle your own experience and those of people you knew?**\n\nThe voice of the storyteller in my book is rather timid. He belongs to the so-called \"first generation\" of immigrants. He has experienced borders under totalitarianism and he has faced a lack of understanding and rejection as an immigrant. He is not simply telling a story: he is making a public confession. And he's afraid that many out there, in the imaginary audience, won't be able to understand what he is talking about.\n\nAs a writer, though, I wrote this book mostly for those who have never experienced a rejection at the border or have never felt that strange state of mind called the \"Border Syndrome.\"\n\n**_A Short Border Handbook_ is both the story of one immigrant's personal journey and a handbook of sorts to describe the general experience shared by all immigrants. You balance these two elements deftly\u2014devoting a portion of each chapter to the story of the protagonist (you, with fictional elements woven in) and another to the immigrant experience as a whole. Why did you opt for this narrative approach?**\n\nLet me tell you the story behind this book\u2014which is also my first novel, even if its dual nature leads publishers to categorize it as nonfiction. I started writing it as a long essay that would be strictly based on my personal memories of crossing the border after the collapse of communism. In the course of writing, though, fictional characters popped up in my mind and they drove me to places and meditations that I could have never predicted. They set me free, in the sense that I could travel beyond the narrow horizon of my personal experiences. My personal memoirs were vital to the writing of this book, but at the same time, thanks to my fictional characters\u2014\"Sex Boy,\" for example\u2014I went way beyond my personal story. That's the moment that the book evolved into these two parallel voices. The first voice tells the story of border-crossing, of the journey itself. The second voice is a meditation upon the immigrant journey.\n\n**In the second half of many of the chapters, you use the second person perspective\u2014addressing the reader as \"you\"\u2014to identify the \"immigrant.\" Was the purpose of this choice to allow the reader to some extent imagine him or herself in the place of the immigrant?**\n\nAs I said before, the parallel narrative is a meditation upon the immigrant journey. I feel that the second voice, far more than triggering empathy for the immigrant, gives the book its integrity. It is, above all, an honest effort to make sense of what the story means\u2014that messy, confused, exciting, painful, and comical experience of crossing borders, of encountering a foreign sky, a foreign language, a foreign culture, as a refugee and an immigrant. It was like putting a mirror in front of myself and my readers at the same time.\n\n**Borders play both a literal and metaphorical role in this story. It seems that once immigrants pass into the \"world-beyond-the-borders,\" there are many more metaphorical borders to cross in order to be truly accepted into society\u2014including such difficulties as language and economic barriers. Would you say that there truly isn't a \"world-beyond-the-borders\" for the immigrant?**\n\nWe humans live surrounded by borders and boundaries, both visible and invisible. We are engaged in an eternal game of creating borders and boundaries and, at the same time, of inventing the means to subvert them. That's human nature, I guess. But in the case of my storyteller there's an overwhelming, tragicomic presence of borders in his life. He carries within him these two kinds of experiences, which are apparently very different from each other: those of living under a totalitarian regime and of crossing borders as an immigrant. He starts his immigrant journey while the slogan \"Tear down that wall!\"\u2014from Ronald Reagan's legendary speech in Berlin\u2014is still echoing in his ears; and once he does cross that scary wall, he finds himself surrounded by a crowd that's shouting \"Build that wall!\"\n\n**You also briefly reflect on the history of Greek migration to America\u2014how those immigrants often had to change their names, how they faced challenges in learning a new language, how they experienced xenophobia, and so on. The parallels between that history and the more contemporary history of the Albanian migration to Greece is shocking. Do you think that if more citizens in various countries were aware of their own particular cultural, national, and family histories regarding migration, this might lead to more acceptance regarding immigrants today? It has been noted, after all, that the vast majority of those in America, at any rate, who have called most stridently for curbs on immigration come from families that, not too many generations ago, arrived on that country's shores as refugees or immigrants, in many cases undocumented and unwelcome**.\n\nA Frenchman who knew America well, Alexis de Toqueville, said that history is a gallery of pictures in which there are few originals and many copies. That quote has returned to my mind pretty often while reading a lot about the history of immigration and interviewing immigrants from all over the world. A Greek immigrant at the beginning of the twentieth century in America and an Albanian immigrant at the end of the twentieth century in Greece have many more things in common that they have differences.\n\nWhen I became a well-known journalist in Greece I sometimes highlighted these similarities in my articles. What I saw surprised me: many of my readers were troubled by the comparison. Greece had (and still has) some of the most drastic levels of emigration of any European country. Why, then, did people get so troubled when they were reminded about their past as immigrants, especially by an immigrant like me? I tried to offer some answers. First of all, when Greece became a rich country and people stopped immigrating massively to other countries, there was a cultural tendency to bury into oblivion the painful history of their own immigration. It didn't match the image of the nouveau-riche self.\n\nAs you asked though about parallels with America today, I would add something else. Time after time I received messages from some Greeks who had read my articles and who had been themselves immigrants, telling me that comparing Greek immigrants with Albanian immigrants or other refugees was totally wrong. According to them, \"the Greek immigrants were different.\" What they meant was that they were \"good immigrants and refugees\" as opposed to Albanians and other immigrants in Greece who were considered \"bad, violent, lazy immigrants.\" When I replied to those readers by talking about the historical facts of racism against Greek immigrants in America or elsewhere, where Greek immigrants were seen as violent and lazy, some of these readers would become irrational in their reactions.\n\nIt might sound very simple, but at the root of this division\u2014\"we, good immigrants\" versus \"them, bad immigrants\"\u2014lies the refusal to recognize the same humanity in the newcomers. New immigrants are considered to be less human or in the worst case, dehumanized.\n\nLast, let me say that the history of immigration, both in Europe and America, is full of examples of old immigrants who turn against the new immigrants, because they feel or fancy that their privileged place in the society or the economy is under threat. This situation becomes explosive, though, if a demagogue tries to turn that hostility into a political movement. It might lead to a sort of \"civil war\" between different groups of immigrants, between old and new immigrants.\n\n**In the epilogue, you refer to a dream the protagonist has in which there would be a world without immigrants. Is a world without immigrants the same thing as a world without borders? If not, what would a world without borders look like?**\n\nIn my work I see migration as an essential part of the human adventure on this planet, as old as traveling, religion, and poetry. At the same time, I'm not trying to embellish or turn the immigrant's experience into folklore. Being an immigrant often means having an inferior status to natives; it means exposing yourself to the extreme games of fate. As an immigrant you might lose the best of a country and you often have to rely on the kindness of strangers. On the other hand, it takes guts to be an immigrant, to go head to head with borders and start your life from scratch\u2014with language, street names, people's names\u2014to make a foreign city your own. \"I met pain along the way, pushing me further and further along\"\u2014these are the lines of a song immigrants in Marseilles sing.\n\nI'm not sure how a world without borders would look. What I can say is that my life-long experience with borders has taught me that every time we talk about building strong borders and walls and fences it means that we are angry or frustrated or have badly lost our self-confidence. Before being built on the ground, borders and walls are erected in our minds and souls.\n**ALSO AVAILABLE FROM NEW EUROPE BOOKS**\n\nIn this piercing and resonant debut novel, a young Bosnian Muslim refugee finds a new home in America\u2014until the aftermath of 9\/11 tests him as never before.\n\n978-0-9973169-0-2\n\n\"Powerful, eye-opening reading for everyone.\" \u2014 ** _Library Journal_**\n\n\"Madrygin's harrowing, compelling debut will live long in the reader's memory....Deeply informative and moving, it will spark debates regarding American foreign policy.\"\n\n**_\u2014Booklist_**\n\n\"In Madrygin's gripping debut, the horrors of war give way to the challenges of carving out a life in a hostile country.\"\n\n**_\u2014Publishers Weekly_**\n**ALSO AVAILABLE FROM NEW EUROPE BOOKS**\n\nThe critically acclaimed history of Eastern Europe\u2014now in a second edition\n\n978-0-9850623-2-3\n\n**Praise for the first edition**\n\n\"Displays an ease and familiarity with cultural minutiae while briskly covering intense topics of genocide, religion, and Communist implosion.\"\n\n**_\u2014Publishers Weekly_**\n\n\"A commendable feat.\"\n\n**_\u2014Library Journal_**\n\n\"A brief, concise, and informative introduction to the less-known part of the old continent. No country is left out. Accessible and stimulating reading.\"\n\n**_\u2014CHOICE_**\n**ALSO AVAILABLE FROM NEW EUROPE BOOKS**\n\n\"Heady, dizzying writing....\n\nA master class in how to tell a war story.\"\n\n**_\u2014Kirkus Reviews_ (starred review)**\n\n978-0-9900043-2-5\n\n\"These extraordinary stories are searingly truthful.\"\n\n**_\u2014Independent_ (UK)**\n\n\"Each tale is a rich, poetic slice of life from places you might never go....The stories all describe experiences alien to Westerners and skillfully explore material about which readers are curious....J\u00e1szber\u00e9nyi is a gifted writer, this book is to be savored and relished.\"\n\n**_\u2014Library Journal_**\n**OTHER TITLES**\n\n_Ballpoint: A Tale of Genius and Grit, Perilous Times, and the Invention that Changed the Way We Write_. 978-0-9825781-1-7\n\n_The Essential Guide to Being Hungarian: 50 Facts & Facets of Nationhood_. 978-0-9825781-0-0\n\n_The Essential Guide to Being Polish: 50 Facts & Facets of Nationhood_. 978-0-9850623-0-9\n\n_Illegal Liaisons_. 978-0-9850623-6-1\n\n_Keeping Bedlam at Bay in the Prague Caf\u00e9_. 978-0-9825781-8-6\n\n_Once Upon a Yugoslavia_. 978-0-9000043-4-9\n\n_Petra K and the Blackhearts_. 978-0-9850623-8-5\n\n_The Wild Cats of Piran_. 978-09900043-0-1\n\n_The Upright Heart_. 978-0-990043-8-7\n\n_Voyage to Kazohinia_. 978-0-9825781-2-4\n\n**Williamstown, Massachusetts**\n\nFind our titles wherever books are sold, or visit www.NewEuropeBooks.com for order information.\n**ABOUT THE AUTHOR**\n\n**Gazmend Kapllani** , the author of three books, teaches creative writing and European history at Emerson College and was previously a fellow at Harvard University's Radcliffe Institute and a writer-in-residence at Wellesley College. He has held presentations at numerous colleges and universities including the University of Michigan, Columbia University, Brown University, Harvard University, Wellesley College, and Bennington College. Born in 1967 in Albania, he crossed the mountainous border into Greece on foot in 1991. In Greece he worked as a builder, a cook, and a kiosk attendant while earning a doctorate in political science and history at Athens University. For more than ten years he was a columnist for the leading Greek daily _Ta Nea. A Short Border Handbook_ , inspired by his own experience as an immigrant and written in Greek, was a bestseller in Greece and translated into several languages. Kapllani's other books include the novels _My Name is Europe_ (2010, Greece; 2013, France) and _The Last Page_ (2012, Greece; 2015, France).\n**ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR**\n\n**Anne-Marie Stanton-Ife** is a translator of Modern Greek and Norwegian fiction and theater. Notable translations include Henrik Ibsen's _John Gabriel Borkman_ and _When We Dead Awaken_ (Penguin Classics, 2014) and a biography of Vidkun Quisling (CUP, 1999). Among the Greek authors she has translated are Sergios Gakas, Andreas Staikos, and Vangelis Hatziyannidis. Her translation of Hatziyannidis's _Four Walls_ (Marion Boyars, 2006) was shortlisted for the Independent Foreign Fiction Prize, 2007, while her translation of Gazmend Kapllani's _A Short Border Handbook_ (Portobello, UK, 2009) was runner-up in the Society of Authors 2012 translation prize for Greek.\n\n## Contents\n\n  1. Cover\n  2. Title Page\n  3. Copyright\n  4. Dedication\n  5. Contents\n  6. Prologue\n  7. Chapter 1\n  8. Chapter 2\n  9. Chapter 3\n  10. Chapter 4\n  11. Chapter 5\n  12. Chapter 6\n  13. Chapter 7\n  14. Chapter 8\n  15. Chapter 9\n  16. Chapter 10\n  17. Chapter 11\n  18. Chapter 12\n  19. Chapter 13\n  20. Chapter 14\n  21. Chapter 15\n  22. Chapter 16\n  23. Chapter 17\n  24. Chapter 18\n  25. Chapter 19\n  26. Chapter 20\n  27. Chapter 21\n  28. Chapter 22\n  29. Chapter 23\n  30. Chapter 24\n  31. Chapter 25\n  32. Chapter 26\n  33. Chapter 27\n  34. Chapter 28\n  35. Chapter 29\n  36. Chapter 30\n  37. Epilogue\n  38. Author's Note\n  39. Notes\n  40. A Conversation with Gazmend Kapllani\n  41. Other Titles\n  42. About the Author\n  43. About the Translator\n\n  1. i\n  2. ii\n  3. iii\n  4. iv\n  5. v\n  6. vi\n  7. vii\n  8. viii\n  9. \n  10. \n  11. \n  12. \n  13. \n  14. \n  15. \n  16. \n  17. \n  18. \n  19. \n  20. \n  21. \n  22. \n  23. \n  24. \n  25. \n  26. \n  27. \n  28. \n  29. \n  30. \n  31. \n  32. \n  33. \n  34. \n  35. \n  36. \n  37. \n  38. \n  39. \n  40. \n  41. \n  42. \n  43. \n  44. \n  45. \n  46. \n  47. \n  48. \n  49. \n  50. \n  51. \n  52. \n  53. \n  54. \n  55. \n  56. \n  57. \n  58. \n  59. \n  60. \n  61. \n  62. \n  63. \n  64. \n  65. \n  66. \n  67. \n  68. \n  69. \n  70. \n  71. \n  72. \n  73. \n  74. \n  75. \n  76. \n  77. \n  78. \n  79. \n  80. \n  81. \n  82. \n  83. \n  84. \n  85. \n  86. \n  87. \n  88. \n  89. \n  90. \n  91. \n  92. \n  93. \n  94. \n  95. \n  96. \n  97. \n  98. \n  99. \n  100. \n  101. \n  102. \n  103. \n  104. \n  105. \n  106. \n  107. \n  108. \n  109. \n  110. \n  111. \n  112. \n  113. \n  114. \n  115. \n  116. \n  117. \n  118. \n  119. \n  120. \n  121. \n  122. \n  123. \n  124. \n  125. \n  126. \n  127. \n  128. \n  129. \n  130. \n  131. \n  132. \n  133. \n  134. \n  135. \n  136. \n  137.\n\n  1. Cover\n  2. Cover\n  3. Title Page\n  4. Table of Contents\n  5. Start\n\n","meta":{"redpajama_set_name":"RedPajamaBook"}}
+{"text":"\n\n\n\nProduced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttp:\/\/www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images\ngenerously made available by The Internet Archive)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                           Transcriber Notes\n\n Obvious typos and missing punctuation fixed. Archaic spelling and\n   inconsistencies in hyphenation retained.\n Unclear text in the ads in the original has been clarified by review of\n   the same ads printed more clearly in other issues.\n The table of contents has been created and added by the transcriber.\n Italics are represented by underscores surrounding the _italic text_.\n Small capitals have been converted to ALL CAPS.\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n                   Life of Stephen H. Branch.       1\n\n                   Supervisor Blunt, and Paul       2\n                     Julien\u2014My Last Interview\n                     with Madame Sontag.\n\n                   James Gordon Bennett's           3\n                     Editorial Career.\n\n                   _For the Alligator._             3\n\n                   NEW YORK, June 15, 1858.         4\n\n                   Advertisements.                  4\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: STEPHEN H. BRANCH'S ALLIGATOR.]\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n   Volume I.\u2014No. 10.]    SATURDAY, JUNE 26, 1858.    [Price 2 Cents.\n\n\n       Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857, by\n                           STEPHEN H. BRANCH.\n\n       In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United\n             States for the Southern District of New York.\n\n\n\n\n                       Life of Stephen H. Branch.\n\n\nWestport, Connecticut,\u2014that he boarded at No. 24 Bleecker street, with\nMrs. Mallory, and that he was a clerk for Perkins, Hopkins, and White,\nin Pearl street, near Hanover Square. I carried some beautiful books to\nhis place of business, and requested him to accept them. He sweetly\nsmiled, and opened the books, and warmly thanked me, and said he would\nbe pleased to receive them, but that as I was a stranger, he would\nrather I would see his guardian, Morris Ketchum, a Banker in Wall\nstreet, and give him my name and address, and if he were satisfied with\nmy references, and approved of his acceptance of the generous gift, he\nwould be most happy to receive the books. I was fascinated with his\nmodesty, and caution, and I took the books, and repaired to the Banking\nHouse of Mr. Ketchum, to whom I briefly imparted what had transpired,\nand left my references and departed, and called again, when Mr. Ketchum\nsaid that he had inquired respecting my character, and that young Jesup\nwas prepared to receive my books, which I soon placed in his hands, and\nour acquaintance began under the most favorable auspices. I soon invited\nhim to dine with me at Mrs. Tripler's, when all the boarders were\nenchanted with his beautiful person, and pleasing manners, and highly\ncultivated mind; and I shall never forget how proud I was, as he sat\nbeside me. After dinner, I invited him to my room, where I gave him cake\nand lemonade, and filled his pockets with delicious oranges. I then\nplayed \"Washington's March,\" \"Yankee Doodle,\" and \"Hail Columbia,\" for\nhim on the piano, and he departed for his place of business. He went\nwith me to Niblo's Garden, then in its glory, and as we strolled\narm-in-arm in the meandering paths, and inhaled the exhilarating perfume\nof the flowers, I was charmed with his chaste society, and enraptured\nand inspired, and I breathed the music of language in his ears, and we\nboth were invested with the purest and loftiest and happiest emotions.\nIn a week from that joyous evening, he was seized with bleeding of the\nlungs, caused by excited feelings, during his enthusiastic efforts to\nplease his employers, in the sleepless business season of early autumn.\nHe was borne to his mother's abode in the country, where he soon calmly\nresigned his soul to the Saviour, whose sacred virtues he had always\nstrove to imitate. Although I had briefly enjoyed the pleasure of his\nsociety, yet his premature demise created a void in my bosom that made\nthe world a desolation. His mother soon removed to New York, and\noccupied No. 39 Bond street, where I gratuitously taught her children in\nEnglish and the classics. But the invisible germ of consumption has\nborne to the grave her pure, intelligent, and lovely Caroline, Charles,\nRichard, and Frederick, and Morris, Arthur, Samuel, and Sarah anticipate\nthe same remorseless destiny. And may God cheer and bless their mother\nin her loneliness and tears. The father of this interesting and\nunfortunate family, was prostrated in the commercial crash of 1837, and\nhis depressed and spotless soul fled for refuge to the bosom of his God.\nMorris Ketchum was his early business associate and friend, and has\neducated his children, procured them lucrative clerkships, afforded them\nfacilities to visit nearly every nation, for health and general culture,\nestablished them in houses of commerce, and has clung to them, in sun\nand storm, like Pythias to Damon, and like Washington to his country. At\nthis period of my eventful career, I taught colored and Irish servants,\nand those of all countries, in their kitchens in the evening, and\nsometimes by daylight. Some paid me one shilling a lesson, and some two,\naccording to their wages and generosity. I taught the servants of the\nReverend Doctor Wainright, the Reverend Doctor Orville Dewey, Daniel\nLord, James T. Brady, Mr. Bowen, of Brooklyn, (of the firm of Bowen &\nMcNamee, of New York,) and the servants of other distinguished citizens.\nI obtained scholars by going from door to door, in the basement, and\nasking the servants if they would like to learn to spell, read, write,\nand cipher. My health had been miserable since I left Columbian College,\nand I often expected to fall dead in the street, or suddenly expire in\nthe presence of my pupils. For a long period after young Jesup died, I\nwas very gloomy, and became utterly helpless and bed-ridden, and called\noftener on my father for money than I desired, to pay for board and\nmedical attendance. I got better, and crawled out into the open air, and\nwent in pursuit of scholars in a snow storm. I began at the Battery, and\napplied at every door, until I came to No. 70 Greenwich street, when I\nwas asked to come in and warm myself, by a daughter of the lady of the\nhouse, who kept boarders. After a long conversation, by a cheerful fire,\nI was engaged to teach the daughter in the English branches, for my\nbreakfast and tea, and a very small dark room as a place of lodging,\nwhich I could not conveniently occupy without a candle in the day time.\nHumble as were to be my accommodations, my feelings were extremely\nbuoyant, and my ghastly form trembled with delight at my unexpected\nresurrection from the depths of indigence and despair. Mr. Ditchett,\n(subsequently a very efficient Captain of the Fourth Ward Police, and a\nbrave fireman, and an honest man,) had just married the eldest daughter,\nwhose sister was to be my pupil. I was kindly treated, and remained\nuntil the first of May, when I went to Dey street, and afterwards to the\nGraham House, at No. 63 Barclay street, where I saw the lean Horace\nGreeley, one of the founders of the Graham System. The boarders were\nmostly skeletons, and several were limping about the house, like frogs\nor lizzards or grasshoppers, and among the limpers, was Horace Greeley,\nwho had what the Grahamites called a boiling crisis, or crisis of boils,\nwhich was the result of youthful indiscretion, shower bathing, and\neating heartily of bran bread, mush and molasses, squashes, turnips,\nbeets, carrots, parsneps, and onions, for a long term of years. Although\nI had been a miserable invalid a large portion of my days, yet I fancied\na speedy restoration to health, by eating unbolted wheat bread and\nvegetables, and frequent bathing. I entered into a spirited conversation\nwith Greeley, who was reclining on the sofa, and in a loquacious mood,\nwho told me that he expected to be quite smart after the disappearance\nof a large number of boils then all over his person, which he attributed\nto salt rheum, that he inherited from his father, and which was recently\ndriven to the surface of his skin by a rigid adherence to the Graham\nSystem, and three shower baths a day; and he advised me to begin to\nbathe immediately, and to eat nothing but Graham bread for one month,\nwith warm water, milk, and sugar. I asked Greeley if he was sure it was\nthe secondary or inherited salt rheum that had come to the surface of\nhis snowy flesh in the form of boils, and he said he was quite sure it\nwas, as his father had it from his boyhood. I asked him if his secondary\nor inherited salt rheum ever itched, and he said yes, sometimes, but he\nwas sure it was not the secondary itch, as he never had the first itch.\nI then looked him dead in the eye, and asked him if he was positively\nsure his boils were not the result of itch, and he asked me what I meant\nby such severity of scrutiny. I replied, that I once had the itch, and\nread many books on the subject, and knew all about it, and that his\nboils (he had two on his pale nose) looked very much like secondary itch\nblossoms. He cast searching glances, and sat in paralytic silence, save\nwhen he scratched his boils, and the bell summoned me to my first Graham\ndinner, and Greeley hopped to the table on one leg, and sat near Mrs.\nGoss at the head of the Graham festive board. About forty skeletons were\npresent, and among them were Sylvester Graham (Bread,) himself, on a\nlecturing tour from his country seat at Northampton; John McCracken, of\nNew Haven; Ralph Waldo Emerson; Abby Kelly; Fred Douglas and lady;\nFrancis Copcutt, mahogany dealer, who used to eat raw oats, and ride 30\nmiles a day on a hard trotting horse for dyspepsia; Jeremiah O.\nLanphear, tailor, and now first deacon and missionary of the Fulton\nstreet Dutch Presbyterian Church, who had a gravel nearly as large as\nGeneral Winfield Scott's, which was the largest that ever emanated from\na human bladder; Mrs. Farnham, the accomplished lady and genuine\nphilanthropist, and wife of the noble and famous California traveler,\nwho was the rival of Fremont as a mountaineer; Mrs. Anna Stephens, the\nfertile and genial authoress; the celebrated Doctor Shew and lady; Mrs.\nStorms, of Troy, and long a writer and foreign correspondent of the _New\nYork Sun_, and now of Texas; poor MacDonald Clark, the poet; Galutia B.\nSmith; Matthew B. Brady, the daguerreotypist, who married his sweetheart\nat the Graham House, and the room being crowded, I saw the exercises\nthrough the key hole; Mrs. Travis; Albert Brisbane, a moonlight dreamer;\nMrs. Andrews, a strong Unitarian, (ninety-eight years old,) and her\ngrandson, Albert L. Smith, a nervous and catarrhal gentleman, who now\nkeeps a Graham House and Water Cure Establishment in West Washington\nPlace; Dr. John Burdell, brother of Dr. Harvey Burdell, who was\nassasinated at No. 31 Bond Street; Leroy Sunderland, a Mesmeriser and\nPathetic lecturer; John M. King; George Foss; Dr. Henry W. Brown; E.\nGould Buffum, and his brother, William Buffum, now Consul at _Trieste_;\nMrs. Horace Greeley; Mr. Clutz; Mrs. Van Vleet; Messrs. Tyler, Bennett,\n(a tailor), Otis, and Ward; Mrs. Gove; C. Edwards Lester; Mr. Danforth,\na spurious reformer; the brothers Fowler, phrenologists; father Miller,\nthe Millenium impostor; Mr. Seymour, a journeyman hatter at Beebe's, who\ngot among the noisy methodists, who frightened him into a dangerous\nnervous affection, and in bed one night, poor Seymour felt cold and\nstrange and numb, and pinched himself in the arms and legs, and it\ndidn't hurt him, and he thought he was dead, and he got up, and kindled\na match, and lit a candle, and looked in the glass to see whether he was\ndead or alive, and when he saw his eyes roll, and his jaws open and\nclose, he got into bed, and went to sleep. This was the gang at table,\nand for dinner, we had bran bread and crackers, bean soup, roast apples\nand potatoes, and boiled squash and carrots, but not a particle of meat,\ngrease, nor spices. All grabbed violently at the Graham viands, and\nbrought their teeth together like swine, and with similar grunts and\nsqueals. I calmly surveyed the motley and hungry group, and saw many\nsmall piercing gray eyes, hollow cheeks, and sharp chins and noses, and\nthe voices of nearly all were husky and fearfully sepulchral. The themes\ndiscussed were Anti-Slavery and Grahamism, and I soon perceived it\nextremely perilous to breathe a word against the ultra views of the\nsusceptible and long-haired Graham spectres, who seemed united to a\nghost on these prolific themes. So, I listened and breathed not a\nsyllable in opposition to the crazy views advanced. I took a stroll\nafter dinner, and returned at sunset, and seated myself for my evening\nmeal, when we had Graham-bread-coffee, milk porridge, apple sauce,\nGraham mush, and boiled rice, sparingly saturated with molasses and\nliquid ginger. I ate and drank freely of this light food, and arose from\nthe table in excellent spirits, though I belched frequently. My belly\nsoon began to swell, and I got alarmed, and I asked Mr. Goss, the Graham\nhost, what it meant. He seemed perfectly cool, and said that his\nboarders were often affected in that way, in passing suddenly from\ngreasy meats to the pure food of Grahamites, which was chiefly of a\nvegetable and somewhat of a gassy and flatulent character. Goss then\nleft me. I thrice paced the parlor hurriedly, and began to feel choleric\nand crampy, and went down stairs into the kitchen, and asked Goss to\nsend for a physician immediately, which he declined to do, as he thought\nI was only a little spleeny, which would soon pass away, and advised me\nto go to bed. He got me a Graham candle, and up we went, and did not\nstop until we reached the roof, where he put me in a little room, with\ntwo cots, on which there was a straw mattress, and a straw bolster, and\nscanty covering. He said good night, and shut the door, and I got into\nbed, and strove to sleep. I squirmed like an eel for about two hours,\nand could endure my pains no longer, and arose and awoke my room-mate,\nand asked him to escort me to the sleeping apartment of Mr. Goss. He did\nso, and I knocked at his door, and out he came in his nightcap and white\napparel. I told him that I had cramps, and had an awful quantity of\nfrantic wind in my stomach, and felt as though my belly would burst\nbefore morning, and that I was deathly sick, and asked him what on earth\nI had eaten at his table to give me such violent cramps and flatulence\nand diarrh\u0153a, and nauseous and strange emotions. He told me that I was\nnervous, and not accustomed to Graham food, but that I soon would be,\nand urged me to again retire, and strive to sleep. He spoke these words\nwith kindness, and they soothed me, and I shook his hand, and off I went\nup stairs to bed again. But in about ten minutes, I had a severe spasm,\nwith choking sensations, and I leaped from my nest like a man in his\nlast gasp, and unconsciously cast myself on the cot of my room-mate, who\ninstantly emerged from a profound sleep, and sprang like a tiger from\nhis bed, and threw me severely to the floor, and cried murder to the\npinnacle of his voice, and began to pelt me in the most brutal manner,\nleveling the most savage random blows at my head and stomach. Goss and\nthe spectral boarders rushed into the room, and Greeley soon came\nlimping in, and they searched in vain for knives, revolvers, and human\nblood. And they soon learned the cause of the cry of murder, and raised\nme from the floor, and put me into bed, with a bloody nose and dark eye,\nthat my room-mate gave me, who apologised for his blows on the ground\nthat he always slept soundly, and was only partially awake when he beat\nme. I accepted his apology, and Goss and Greeley, and half-a-dozen\nattenuated Grahamites left me, for their beds again, and my chum took a\nseat by my cot, and strove to soothe me. But the cramps returned, and I\nbecame faint and giddy, and began to vomit profusely. I soon filled\nbasins, pitchers, spit boxes, hats, and boots, and deluged every thing\nwe had in the room, and my chum got a pitcher and basin in the next\nroom, and I soon flooded them, and I vomited until I thought I felt my\nentire bowels struggling at my throat to get out, which nearly strangled\nme. At last an enormous chunk came out, which proved to be the core of a\nstewed apple, and the crust of Graham bread combined into a sort of\npetrified substance, and I began to breathe again, and slowly improved\ntill daylight,\n\n                When I embraced a sweet repose,\n                And snored like thunder through my nose.\n\n                  (To be continued to my last scream.)\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                     Stephen H. Branch's Alligator.\n\n         ------------------------------------------------------\n\n                   NEW YORK, SATURDAY, JUNE 26, 1858.\n\n         ------------------------------------------------------\n\nSTEPHEN H. BRANCH'S \"ALLIGATOR\" CAN BE obtained at all hours, (day or\nnight,) at wholesale and retail, at No. 128 Nassau Street, Near Beekman\nStreet, and opposite Ross & Tousey's News Depot, New York.\n\n                  ------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\nSupervisor Blunt, and Paul Julien\u2014My Last Interview with Madame Sontag.\n\n\nWhen I taught Alderman Orison Blunt the English branches at his elegant\nresidence in Murray street, I gave instruction to Paul Julien, the\njuvenile Paganini, and to Rocco, and also to Madame Sontag in elocution,\nin anticipation of her appearance in English Opera at Niblo's, on her\nreturn from Mexico. At the close of a long and interesting lesson,\nSontag opened her great heart to me, and disclosed her career from her\nearliest recollection. Her narrative was eloquent and exciting, and as\nshe sat before me at the parlor lattice, in alternate tears and smiles,\nwith the moon rolling like a ball of silver through the air, she seemed\ntoo pure and beautiful for earth. Her tears were the very soul of\nsorrow, and none could resist their overwhelming influence,\u2014her smiles\nwere irresistibly enchanting,\u2014her voice in conversation was full of\nentrancing melody,\u2014her cavern dimples were the emblems of purity and\ncharity, and her entire expression was divine. And as her blood warmed,\nand her bosom rose and fell, and her voice trembled and darted from the\nfaintest whisper to its highest intonation, her glorious eyes reflected\ngorgeous temples in her soul, filled with sinless angels, breathing\nsweet music to millions of her species. And the beauteous Sontag told\nme, as we sat together in our last communion as human pilgrims, that her\nchildhood, and girlhood, and early womanhood were all devoted to the\ncultivation of music for the enjoyment of the world more than herself,\nwhich rendered her early years an utter sacrifice, and had deprived her\nof the pastimes enjoyed by all her sex in the morning of life; that from\nthe hour she was called \"_The little Daughter of the Danube_,\" there was\nno happiness for her; that she was early beset by lovers from nearly\nevery nation of Europe; that kings and queens lavished their choicest\ntreasures upon her; that princes besought her affections in tearful\nsupplications; that all France prostrated herself at her feet; that amid\nthe flattery and adulations of all classes and kingdoms, she was\ninduced, in a thoughtless hour, to cast herself into the eternal\nembraces of a being who proved a jealous and savage tyrant, and a\nheartless gamester; that ere her emergence from the brief hours of bliss\nthat should follow the marriage vow, he became odious in her eyes, and\nshe beheld a life of misery in all her future; that after years of\ntorture in his demon fangs, and after he had squandered her splendid\nfortune of four millions of dollars, he dragged her from the sacred\nprecincts of private life, and from the pleasing society of her\nchildren, into the public arena, to toil for his subsistence; that he\nforced her to exchange hemispheres, and leave her tender offspring, when\nthey most required a mother's protection; that he often brandished a\ndagger in her eyes, when she refused to fill his purse for bibbling and\ngaming purposes; that she was in fear of his poignard throughout her\nlong confinement in his hideous clutches; that for his traduction and\npersecution of Alboni in her early years, she resolved to pursue her to\nAmerica to annoy, and, if possible, ruin her, for his sake, by singing\nagainst her in the leading cities; that on the very day she publicly\nannounced her intention to visit America, Alboni went to the Cathedral,\nand knelt at the altar, and swore that she would pursue her through all\nlatitudes, and cut the grass beneath her feet, to avenge herself on\nCount Rossi, who strove to blight the buds and blossoms of her youth and\nindigence; that she kept her oath, and followed her through city, town,\nand village, and allured her choristers, through extravagant salaries\nand donations, and sang on the evenings of her Concert and Opera\nentertainments, and greatly reduced her receipts; that Rossi seized her\nfunds, as they accrued, and deposited them in banks unknown to her; that\nher children often wrote in vain for means to defray their domestic\nexpenses; that Rossi, and Maretzek, and Ullman received all the benefit\nof her arduous labors; that her lovely daughters were in the care of\nstrangers in Europe, and exposed to all the snares of life; that their\neducation was fatally neglected in her absence; that she was a slave to\nRossi, Maretzek, and Ullman, all of whom she thoroughly despised, and\nthat she had very seriously contemplated suicide. And thus did this\ncelestial being breathe her pensive music in my soul, and bathe my\nvision with nature's hallowed waters. And amid our mutual tears, and\nsmiles, and cheerful tones, and lingering glances, she enters the dismal\ncars, and the bell proclaims the parting signal, and she penetrates the\ndeep perspective, until she is forever buried from my melancholy view.\nShe gives concerts on the borders of the northern lakes, and visits\nCincinnati, and quarrels and separates from Ullman, and goes to New\nOrleans, and performs in Opera, and enters Mexico, amid the revengeful\nmaledictions of Ullman, who, as Rocco told me, dug her early grave, by\narousing the fearful jealousy of Rossi, to whom Ullman wrote from New\nYork, that he would find letters in her trunk from Pozzolini, the young\nand fascinating tenor; that Rossi did find letters in her trunk from\nPozzolini, (filled with the most enthusiastic love,) which Rocco said\nwere doubtless placed there by Ullman, prior to her departure for\nMexico, to revenge himself on Sontag, for her refusal at Cincinnati to\ngive more Concerts under his direction; that Rossi belched words of\nfire, and threatened her with instant death; that herself and Pozzolini\nwere seized with violent pains, on their return from the Mexican\nfestivals; that during her confinement, Rocco daily called, but was not\npermitted to see her; that Rossi paced the balcony as a sentinel for\ndays and nights, and would let no one visit her; that he permitted Rocco\nto enter her apartment only one hour before she died, when he found her\nin the wildest delirium. And Rocco told me that Sontag and Pozzolini\nwere doubtless poisoned by Count Rossi, and that Ullman was the\ninstigator. Rossi artfully attributed their sudden death to cholera, but\nthe rumor flew on the wings of lightning, that Rossi was their murderer,\nand he fled for his life to New York, with all her jewels, and went to\nEurope. And Rocco sorely grieved to see her borne to her sepulchre\nwithout kindred mourners in a far distant land; and when he saw her form\nexhumed, and borne through mud and stones, and deposited as luggage in\nthe filthy suburbs of Vera Cruz, and exposed for weeks to the heat and\nrain of those withering latitudes,\u2014when he gazed at the remains of a\nbeing who had been the pride and glory and adoration of all civilised\nnations, and who had long been his own dear friend, poor Rocco\nprostrated himself beside her coffin, and wept for hours in loneliness\nand utter desolation. And now, dear Sontag, I can see thy pure and\ngenial spirit in its happy home, beyond the pretty stars. And while I\nindite these melancholy words, thy sweet face smiles upon me from my\nparlor wall, as you appeared in the immortal _Somnambulist_. It is the\nlikeness you gave me at our final interview, and represents _Amina_, in\nthe joyous bridal scene with _Elvino_, among her native cottagers in the\nmountains. All! Sontag! I often think of thee, and my highest solace is\nin gazing at thy bewitching smile, and laughing eyes, and lovely\ndimples, and even teeth, and classic temples, as depicted in thy\nlikeness, which I shall keep while I linger in the dreary paths of\nearth. And I will part with fame and fortune and with life itself, ere I\nwill separate from the precious picture of my adored Sontag. And my last\nprayer to God shall be, that I may join my Parents and Kindred and\nSontag in the realms of eternal bliss.\n\n                  ------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                James Gordon Bennett's Editorial Career.\n\n\n                       BENNETT'S OFFICE IN 1835.\n\n                          _Enter John Kelly._\n\n_Bennett_\u2014Well, my lad, I have borrowed a pair of old shoes for you from\nmy bed-fellow in Cross street. They may be rather large, but you must\ncontrive to wear them until Saturday, when I will get you a new pair, if\nI have the money to spare. Sit down, Johnny, and try on the shoes.\n\n_John_ (puts them on)\u2014They are much too large, aint they?\n\n_Bennett_\u2014Well, yes, but if you put some pieces of newspaper in them,\nyou can lessen their size.\n\n_John_ (stuffs them in the heels and toes and sides with fragments of\nthe _Herald_ of the preceding day)\u2014There, sir, I guess I can wear them\nnow, and I am truly obliged to you for borrowing them for me.\n\n_Bennett_\u2014Not at all, John, for you did more than that for me yesterday,\nin obtaining my papers from Mr. Anderson.\n\n_John_ (in hurriedly walking across the office, steps out of one of the\naged shoes, but steps in again before Bennett's keen eyes perceived that\none foot had stepped out)\u2014That was a great pleasure, sir, and I hope you\nwill have the same good luck to-day.\n\n_Bennett_\u2014I sold very few papers yesterday, and I have very little\nmoney, and Anderson has my watch, and I fear he will not let me have the\npapers until I redeem it, and pay him for the _Heralds_ of to-day.\n\n_John_\u2014I will do all in my power to obtain them for you.\n\n_Bennett_\u2014I know you will, my dear little friend. But come\u2014we will go\nand try to get the papers. (They arrive at Anderson & Ward's, in Ann\nstreet. Anderson is absent, and Ward is partially drunk and asleep on\nthe counter, and Bennett arouses him.)\n\n_Ward_\u2014What are you about? (rubbing his eyes and garrping.) What do you\nwant (hic) so early in the morning, you vagabonds? hic, hec, hoc.\n\n_Bennett_\u2014I want my papers.\n\n_Ward_\u2014You can't (hic) have them without the money, (hoc.)\n\n_Bennett_\u2014Please let me have them.\n\n_Ward_\u2014Where's your (hic) watch?\n\n_Bennett_\u2014I let Mr. Anderson have it yesterday.\n\n_Ward_\u2014Don't you (hic-a-che-a-che-Horatio-darn it, how I sneeze) sell\nany _Heralds_ now-a-days? a-che-a-che-a-che-Horatio\u2014O, Jerusalem! will I\nnever stop sneezing?\n\n_Bennett_\u2014It stormed yesterday, and I did not sell many, but it is\npleasant this morning, and I think I shall sell a large number.\n\n_Ward_\u2014Well, I'll not be (hic, hic, hic,) too hard with you, old fellow.\nThere, take your papers, and try hard (hic) to sell (hic) them to-day,\nand (hic-a-che) bring a whole lot of money to (hic) morrow.\n\n_Bennett_\u2014I will, Mr. Ward, and I'll always remember you with gratitude\nfor your generosity to-day. Good day, sir.\n\n_Ward_\u2014Farewell, old boy. And just shut the door alter you. I have been\n(hic) on a spree all night, (hec,) and I don't want anybody else to come\nin and bother (hic) me, until I finish my nap.\n\n_Bennett_\u2014I'll lock the door outside, and put the key in the window.\n\n_Ward_\u2014Do so, old (hic) boy, do so. (And he goes to sleep, and Bennett\nand John wend their way to Wall street.)\n\n_Bennett_\u2014Now, John, this is the last chance I shall have. If I fail to\nsell my papers to-day, I am ruined for ever.\n\n_John_\u2014Had I not better go into the stores, and try to sell the papers.\n\n_Bennett_ (kisses him in Nassau street)\u2014My dear boy, if you will do\nthat, I will love you next to my God. My great trouble has been to get\nhonest boys to sell my paper, and return the money to me, instead of\ngoing to the Theatre and eating peanuts with my funds. Now, you take\nsome, and I'll take some, and you take one side of the street and I the\nother, and let us toil for our lives (until the sun goes down) to sell\nthese papers, and, if we fail, my fate is sealed for time, and perhaps\nfor eternity!\n\n_John_\u2014What! You won't commit suicide?\n\n_Bennett_\u2014God only knows what I shall do.\n\n_John_\u2014Well, I see there's no time to be lost. So, give me some papers,\nand I'll go into the first store on this side, and you take the other\nside of the street. (They separate, John going into every store on his\nside, and Bennett into every store on the other side, until they arrive\nat Wall street, when they go into Bennett's office, in the old rat hole\nat No. 20 Wall street, where they count their pennies, and find that\nthey have sold quite a large number of _Heralds_. They then drink some\nwater and eat some ginger nuts, for their breakfasts, and go down Broad\nstreet, and enter every store on either side, and meet with great\nsuccess. John then takes South street, and Bennett Front street, from\nthe Battery to Fulton street, and afterwards take Water and Pearl\nstreets, and then they canvass either side of Wall street, and sell all\ntheir _Heralds_, and go to a Restaurant and get something to eat, and\nseparate in the afternoon in high spirits. John then got some boys in\nthe Fourteenth Ward to sell the _Herald_, and in ten days Bennett had\nabout $40 surplus, and begins to put on aristocratic airs, and domineer\nover Johnny Kelly.)\n\n                           (To be continued.)\n\n                  ------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                          _For the Alligator._\n\n\n                Wide-mouth shocking Alligator!\n                I wish you were a Boa Constrictor!\n                And crush within your awful fold,\n                The villains with our pilfered gold,\n                Who, with sanctimonious face,\n                Steal with such a pious grace:\n                They dance and dress and call it good,\n                Because it gives the hungry food.\n                But hold your mirror to their face,\n                And show them their sad black disgrace:\n                One robs the City's golden coffers,\n                And then a mighty Fabric offers,\n                And tries to court a worldly fame,\n                Out of such an impious shame.\n                The temple thus to science rears,\n                That he may surely soothe his fears,\n                Lest his ignorance should be known,\n                And lack of knowledge shown,\n                And so the starving, suffering poor,\n                He drives them fainting from his door;\n                And tells them: (Oh! how very strange!)\n                The Mansion's taken all his change!\n                And in his high, majestic wrath,\n                He kicks a female down to earth!\n                The mansion he will never give,\n                While one heir of his shall live.\n                See how this modern Simon Magus,\n                Blinds our eyes, and then deceives us.\n                Soon we shall see how very funny,\n                He'll make his \"Union\" yield him money:\n                He finds it is so very pretty,\n                To have a Mayor made of putty,\n                That he can mould him at his will,\n                To make his son an office fill.\n                But lest Columbia prove too new,\n                He lays a wire the ocean through,\n                That he all Europe may invite,\n                To bask in his resplendent sight.\n                Oh! most happy England Queen,\n                When she can say: \"I've Peter seen!\"\n                Now see him cringe, and jump for fame,\n                To reach the scroll, to write his name:\n                But as he lives alone for fame,\n                My verse will sure preserve his name.\n\n                                                       PETER PIPER PICT.\n\n\n\n\n                                                NEW YORK, June 15, 1858.\n\n\nSTEPHEN H. BRANCH:\n\nSIR:\u2014Permit me the privilege of making a few brief passing remarks,\nasking a few questions, and respectfully suggesting a few hints as to\nyour weekly publication, the ALLIGATOR. Please to attribute any\nintrusive errors in this communication as emanating from an inefficient\nmethod of expressing my sentiments, as my heart is with you whole and\nentire in spirit, and, with a few exceptions, to the very letter, in\nyour laudable endeavor to bring to light before the open day the hidden\nvillainies of the many detestable tyrants that have risen from the very\nscum of poverty and criminal degradation, and who now so unaccountably\nhold despotic sway _under the garb of honorable industry_ in every\nbranch of society, to the unjust injury and oppression of the poor,\nhumble, but honest man.\n\nI am rejoiced to find the ALLIGATOR creeping its way to the literary\ntables of almost every respectable News Depot in this and the adjacent\ncities, piercing its deadly fangs into the very vitals of every\ninfluential thief and scoundrel, and that the business public are now\navailing themselves of the opportunity in patronising it as an\nadvertising medium, and I sincerely wish you every success.\n\nWherever I have an opportunity, I endeavor, indirectly, to pave the way,\nto introduce the merits of the ALLIGATOR, and, as a matter of course,\nhave to give and take in the various opinions expressed as to the\ncarniverous propensities of that astonishing animal, and the choice\nobjects it pitches into for its daily food. The opinions and ideas\nexpressed on the subject are as varied as the colors in the rainbow. Any\nman whose past misdeeds trouble his conscience, dreads the animal, as he\nwould a drawn sword, lest its brutal tusks should tear open to public\ngaze what he had secretly hoped was unknown to mortal being.\n\nIf the crawling reptiles you select to satisfy the craving appetite of\nthat amphibious animal (with such extended jaws continually gaping) are\nreally of such an abhorrent and loathsome nature as represented by you\nin such bold relief, I should never cease lashing their diseased and\nulcerated carcases with whips of poisoned scorpions, till I purged and\npurified their polluted system with wholesome antidotes. It strikes me\nthat your gormandising hydra-headed monster can never be satisfied with\ncommon carrion: it seeks for something more nutritious for its\nsustenance. It appears he is like Pharoah's lean kine\u2014the more he\ndevours, the thinner he gets, and his rapacity increases, and what seems\nso singular is, that he has abundance of choice prey for ever at his\nside, which he selects indiscriminately, and an untold amount laid up in\nhis store houses for ages to come.\n\nNothing do I admire more than the free use of strong and emphatic\nlanguage to express our approbation or disapprobation of men's actions\npublic or private, and from the general tenor of your style, and the\npeculiar advantages you possess as a scholar, and the unlimited\ninformation you have treasured up as a man of experience, with regard to\npublic characters and measures, I feel confident that you can convert\nevery tooth of the Alligator into a poisoned arrow that will deal death\nand destruction into every particle of air whereever it wings its\nflight, and you can more effectively hit your mark with surer certainty\nby avoiding the use of such terms and phrases as would be looked upon by\nthe general class of readers, as rather coarse or vulgar; although I\nmyself consider your style as purely hieroglyphic, and that your\nsarcastic way merely emanates from a proud, manly, straightforward, bold\nand independent above board kind of a spirit than that of malice, with\nthe view to convey the sentiments of your mind, in order to express your\nstrong feeling of detestation and abhorrence of every unprincipled\nscoundrel, against whom your fiery shafts of indignation may happen to\nbe turned, cutting to the very heart's core like a two edged sword.\n\nThe body of the ALLIGATOR is too small by a long shot. It would greatly\nenhance its usefulness by being more liberal. Increase its pages, extend\nits columns, devote a space to correspondents, and, if need be, stretch\nits stomach so as to afford an opportunity to others to open their\nstore-houses, and contribute their quota of similar wholesome food to\nthe hungry cannibal, in order the better to assist in the process of\ndigestion.\n\n                                                  Yours Respectfuly,\n\n                                                          ANTI-TYRANT.\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                    Advertisements\u201425 Cents a line.\n\n\nCredit\u2014From two to four seconds, or as long as the Advertiser can hold\nhis breath! Letters and Advertisements to be left at No. 128 Nassau\nstreet, third floor, back room.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nHERRING'S PATENT CHAMPION FIRE AND BURGLAR Proof Safe, with Hall's\nPatent Powder Proof Locks, afford the greatest security of any Safe in\nthe world. Also, Sideboard and Parlor Safes, of elegant workmanship and\nfinish, for plate, &c. S. C. HERRING & CO.,\n\n                                                         251 Broadway.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nJAMES MELENEY, (SUCCESSOR TO SAMUEL Hopper,) Grocer, and Wholesale and\nRetail Dealer in Pure Country Milk. Teas, Coffee, Sugars & Spices.\nFlour, Butter, Lard, Cheese, Eggs &c. No. 158, Eighth Avenue, Near 18th\nStreet, New York. Families supplied by leaving their address at the\nStore.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nBOOT & SHOE EMPORIUMS. EDWIN A. BROOKS, Importer and Manufacturer of\nBoots, Shoes & Gaiters, Wholesale and Retail, No. 575 Broadway, and 150\nFulton Street, New York.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nDR. SMITH'S ELECTRIC OIL, CURES PAIN IN A few moments. Dr. Smith's\nElectric Oil gives almost instant relief in all nervous diseases. Acute\nrheumatic pains need only a few applications. Dr. Smith may be consulted\nat the Smithsonian House, and at 91 Hudson Street. Try it.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nMCSPEDON AND BAKER'S STATIONERY WAREHOUSE and Envelope Manufactory, Nos.\n29, 31, and 33, Beekman Street, New York.\n\nENVELOPES of all patterns, styles and quality, on hand, and made to\norder for the trade and others, by Steam Machinery. Patented April 8th,\n1856.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nCOZZENS' HOTEL COACHES,\u2014STABLE, Nos. 34 and 36 Canal Street, New York.\n\nI will strive hard to please all those generous citizens who will kindly\nfavor me with their patronage.\n\n                                                     EDWARD VAN RANST.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nJ. W. MASON, MANUFACTURER, WHOLESALE and Retail dealers in all kinds of\nChairs, Wash Stands, Settees, &c. 377 & 379 Pearl Street, New York.\n\nCane and Wood Seat Chairs, in Boxes, for Shipping.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nBENJAMIN JONES, COMMISSION DEALER, IN Real Estate. Houses and stores and\nlots for sale in all parts of the city. Office at the junction of\nBroadway, Seventh Avenue, and Forty-Sixth Street.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nFULLMER AND WOOD CARRIAGE Manufacturers, 239 West 19th Street, New York.\n\nHorse-shoeing done with despatch and in the most scientific manner, and\non reasonable terms.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nW. E. KNAPP'S NEWS DEPOT, 279 BLEEKER ST., near Barrow street.\nSubscriptions for Dailies, Weeklies, and Monthlies, which will be served\nas soon as issued.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nCHEAP PERIODICAL AND PAMPHLET BINDERY, No. 50 Ann street, N. Y. F. S.\nPittman, successor to H. H. Randall. Mr. Gouverneur Carr and N. S.\nPutnam have purchased an interest in the concern.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nAUG. BRENTANO, SMITHSONIAN NEWS DEPOT, Books and Stationery, 608\nBROADWAY, corner of Houston street.\n\nSubscriptions for American or Foreign Papers or Books, from the City or\nCountry, will be promptly attended to.\n\nForeign Papers received by every steamer. Store open from 6 A. M. to 11\nP. M. throughout the week.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nP. C. GODFREY, STATIONER, BOOKSELLER, AND General News dealer, 831\nBroadway, New York, near 13th street.\n\n       At Godfrey's\u2014Novels, Books, &c., all the new ones cheap.\n       At Godfrey's\u2014Magazines, Fancy Articles, &c., cheap.\n       At Godfrey's\u2014Stationery of all kinds cheap.\n       At Godfrey's\u2014All the Daily and Weekly Papers.\n       At Godfrey's\u2014Visiting Cards Printed at 75 cents per pack.\n       At Godfrey's\u2014Ladies Fashion Books of latest date.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nC. TYSON, CORNER OF NINTH STREET & SIXTH AVE. Has for sale all the late\nPublications of the day, including all the Daily and Weekly Newspapers.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nSEE \"JOBSON'S RED FLAG,\" OF THIS DAY, FOR interesting news. Published at\nNo. 102 Nassau Street.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nJOHN B. WEBB, BOAT BUILDER, 718 WATER STREET. My Boats are of models and\nmaterials unsurpassed by those of any Boat Builder in the World. Give me\na call, and if I don't please you, I will disdain to charge you for what\ndoes not entirely satisfy you.\n\n                                                         JOHN B. WEBB.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nSAMUEL SNEDEN, SHIP & STEAMBOAT BUILDER.\u2014My Office is at No. 31 Corlears\nstreet, New York; and my yards and residence are at Greenpoint. I have\nbuilt Ships and Steamers for every portion of the Globe, for a long term\nof years, and continue to do so on reasonable terms.\n\n                                                        SAMUEL SNEDEN.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nALANSON T. BRIGGS\u2014DEALER IN FLOUR BARRELS, Molasses Casks, Water, and\nall other kinds of Casks. Also, new flour barrels and half-barrels; a\nlarge supply constantly on hand. My Stores are at Nos. 62, 63, 64, 69,\n73, 75, 77 and 79 Rutger's Slip; at 235, 237, and 239 Cherry street;\nalso, in South and Water streets, between Pike and Rutger's Slip,\nextending from street to street. My yards in Williamsburgh are at Furman\n& Co.'s Dock. My yards in New York are at the corner of Water and\nGouverneur streets; and in Washington street, near Canal; and at Leroy\nPlace. My general Office is at 64 Rutger's Slip.\n\n                                                    ALANSON T. BRIGGS.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nFULTON IRON WORKS.\u2014JAMES MURPHY & CO., manufacturers of Marine and Land\nEngines, Boilers, &c. Iron and Brass Castings. Foot of Cherry street,\nEast River.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nBRADDICK & HOGAN, SAILMAKERS, No. 272 South Street, New York.\n\nAwnings, Tents, and Bags made to order.\n\n                                                    JESSE A. BRADDICK,\n                                                        RICHARD HOGAN.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nWILLIAM M. SOMERVILLE, WHOLESALE AND Retail Druggist and Apothecary, 205\nBleeker-st., corner Minetta, opposite Cottage Place, New York. All the\npopular Patent Medicines, fresh Swedish Leeches, Cupping, &c.\nPhysicians' Prescriptions accurately prepared.\n\n                                                    WM. M. SOMERVILLE.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nA. W. & T. HUME, MERCHANT TAILORS. No. 82 Sixth Avenue, New York. We\nkeep a large and elegant assortment of every article that a gentleman\nrequires. We make Coats, Vests and Pants, after the latest Parisian\nfashions, and on reasonable terms.\n\n                                                      A. W. & T. HUME.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nTHE WASHINGTON, BY BARTLETT & GATES, No. 1 Broadway, New York. Come and\nsee us, good friends, and eat and drink and be merry, in the same\ncapacious and patriotic halls where the immortal Washington's voice and\nlaugh once reverberated.\n\n                      O come to our Hotel,\n                      And you'll be treated well.\n\n                                                     BARTLETT & GATES.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nJ. N. GENIN, FASHIONABLE HATTER, 214 Broadway, New York.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nGENIN'S LADIES' & CHILDREN'S OUTFITTING Bazaar, 513 Broadway, (St.\nNicholas Hotel, N. Y.)\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nEDWARD PHALON & SON, 497 and 517 Broadway, New York\u2014Depots for the sale\nof Perfumery, and every article connected with the Toilet.\n\nWe now introduce the \"BOUQUET D'OGARITA, or Wild Flower of Mexico,\"\nwhich is superior to anything of the kind in the civilized world.\n\n                                                  EDWARD PHALON & SON.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nEXCELSIOR PRINTING HOUSE, 211 CENTRE ST., IS furnished with every\nfacility, latest improved presses, and the newest styles of type\u2014for the\nexecution of Book, Job and Ornamental Printing. Call and see specimens.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nCHARLES FRANCIS, SADDLER, (ESTABLISHED IN 1808,) Sign of the Golden\nHorse, 39 Bowery, New York, opposite the Theatre. Mr. F. will sell his\narticles as low as any other Saddler in America, and warrant them to be\nequal to any in the World.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nH. N. WILD, STEAM CANDY MANUFACTURER, No. 451 Broadway, bet. Grand and\nHoward streets, New York. My Iceland Moss and Flaxseed Candy will cure\nCoughs and Sneezes in a very short time.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nJAMES GRIFFITHS, (Late CHATFIELD & GRIFFITHS,) No. 273 Grand st., New\nYork. A large stock of well-selected Cloths, Cassimeres, Vestings, &c.,\non hand. Gent's, Youths' and Children's Clothing, Cut and Made in the\nmost approved style. All cheap for Cash.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nJ. AGATE & CO., MEN'S FURNISHING GOODS and Shirt Manufacturers, 256\nBroadway, New York.\n\nShirts made to order and guaranteed to fit.\n\nJ. AGATE.    F. W. TALKINGTON.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nBILLIARD TABLES.\u2014PHELAN'S IMPROVED BILLIARD Tables and Combination\nCushions\u2014Protected by letters patent, dated Feb. 19, 1856; Oct. 28,\n1856; Dec. 8, 1857; Jan. 12, 1858. The recent improvements in these\nTables make them unsurpassed in the world. They are now offered to the\nscientific Billiard players as combining speed with truth, never before\nobtained in any Billiard Table. Sales-rooms Nos. 786 and 788 Broadway,\nNew York. Manufactory No. 53 Ann Street.\n\n                             O'CONNOR & COLLENDOR, Sole Manufacturers.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nS. L. OLMSTEAD, IMPORTER, MANUFACTURER and Jobber of Men's Furnishing\nGoods, No. 24 Barclay Street, corner of Church, New York.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nC. B. HATCH, HILLER & MERSEREAU, Importers and Jobbers of Men's\nFurnishing Goods and Manufacturers of the Golden Hill Shirts. 99\nChambers Street, N. E. corner Church Street, New York.\n\n    ----------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nL. A. ROSENMILLER, DRUGGIST, NO. 172 EIGHTH Avenue, New York. Cupping &\nLeeching. Medicines at all hours.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Stephen H. Branch's Alligator Vol. 1\nno. 10, June 26, 1858, by Stephen H. Branch\n\n*** ","meta":{"redpajama_set_name":"RedPajamaBook"}}
+{"text":"\n# **Grow a Hummingbird Garden**\n\n**Dale Evva Gelfand**\n\n## **CONTENTS**\n\n**About Hummingbirds**\n\n**Food**\n\n**Water**\n\n**Perches**\n\n**Shade and Shelter**\n\n**Nesting Sites**\n\n**A Hummingbird Gallery**\n\n**Identifying Hummingbirds**\n\n**Designing a Hummingbird Garden**\n\n**Choosing Plants**\n\n**Laying out Your Garden**\n\n**Cultivating Wildflowers**\n\n**Flowers for Hummingbirds**\n\n**Vines, shrubs, and trees**\n\n**Vines**\n\n**Shrubs**\n\n**Trees**\n\n## **About Hummingbirds**\n\nIf asked to name the most ethereal and captivating creature to be found on our planet, most of us would be hard pressed to top the hummingbird. Their minute size (some species weigh only a fraction of an ounce), their beauty (iridescent plumage courtesy of special structures in their feathers), their incredible aerobatic ability (hummingbirds can fly in any direction, including backward), their extraordinary appetites (hummingbirds eat half of their weight in sugar every day), even their aggression (hummingbirds are fierce protectors of their territory and nests) add up to a singularly fascinating family. A little planning of the design of and the plants in your garden is all it takes to make your yard the kind of environment that will readily attract these flying jewels.\n\nA perfect hummingbird habitat is also a relatively simple one: food sources, water for bathing (liquid intake is generally provided by nectar), lookout perches, shade and shelter, and nesting sites and materials. You should be able to provide these requirements in even the smallest of gardens.\n\n### **_Food_**\n\nHummingbirds are extremely active creatures with an astonishing metabolic rate that requires high caloric intake of both nectar and insects \u2014 which means hundreds of food forays during their waking hours, primarily to flowers. Obviously those flowers that produce lots of nectar and also attract tiny insects are more beneficial, and therefore more appealing, to hummingbirds.\n\nThis attraction forms part of one of Nature's many interdependent relationships: Hummingbirds, while stopping for a meal, act as inadvertent pollinators for the plants they rely upon. Depending on their particular shape, the deep-tubed blossoms that are most suitable to a hummingbird's long tongue deliver pollen from the anthers \u2014 the male organs \u2014 onto hummingbirds' heads or bills or chins, and when the nectar-sipping visitors go on to probe neighboring blossoms of the same variety, that pollen is delivered to the stigmas \u2014 the female organs \u2014 for fertilization. In fact, hummingbirds are some of the most essential bird pollinators for flora in North America.\n\nEqually as important as the nectar that the flowers provide are the tiny insects living within them. Insects are an indispensable source of protein in the hummingbird diet and, like the hummingbirds that prey upon them, insects are attracted to the nectar. When hummingbirds aren't catching them on the wing (or, in the case of small spiders, snaring them in their own webs), they find them inside flowers. Happily for gardeners and other outdoors lovers, these insects include many garden pests such as aphids and gnats.\n\n### **_Water_**\n\nLike all birds, hummingbirds need to bathe, and they are resourceful in employing water sources that match their tiny size \u2014 such as beads of water left on leaves after a rain or the fine spray from a waterfall. Hummingbirds prefer moving water, and are fond of flying through the spray of lawn sprinklers. If you want to set up a sprinkler for a hummingbird bath, use a nozzle that gives off a continuous fine spray. In a pinch, hummingbirds will also use birdbaths, provided they're shallow enough for hummingbirds to stand in. Adding various-size rocks to a birdbath creates different depths for different-size bird species. Hummingbirds prefer not to come to ground for their water, so if you can help them avoid this, they may well use your accommodations.\n\n### **_Perches_**\n\nHaving a place from where they can survey their territory is essential to hummingbirds. (For creatures so tiny to be so protective of their domain may seem peculiar, but considering how important ample food sources are to hummingbirds' survival, the ability to oversee their territory and quickly defend it from intruders is crucial.) Hummingbirds prefer a perch that directly overlooks the flowers on which they feed. The male partner of one ruby-throated hummingbird couple that takes up residence in my garden every summer prefers the slender bottom branch of an enormous hemlock tree that anchors the shady end of my garden. From there it's but a short flight to all of the flowers and to the nearer of the two hummingbird feeders, as well. It's likely that his mate also perches on the hemlock, but I haven't seen her there, as females generally prefer to remain sheltered within the interior of a tree, shrub, or vine.\n\n### **_Shade and Shelter_**\n\nAlthough we think of hummingbirds as being constantly on the wing, in fact they spend about equal amounts of time locating food and resting between meals. Males will rest anywhere from exposed branches to clotheslines to TV antennae, but females and immature birds seek the shade and protection of foliage. Dense foliage for shelter from the elements \u2014 evergreens are excellent windbreaks \u2014 and for roosting at night is also important to these tiny birds. The ideal balance for a hummingbird habitat is about one-half full sun and one-quarter each shade and partial shade.\n\n### **_Nesting Sites_**\n\nIt's doubtful that you'll ever see a hummingbird nest \u2014 or if you do see one, you may not realize what it is. These tiny, usually lichen-covered structures are only 1 to 1\u00bd inches (2\u00bd\u20134cm) in diameter, and are so effectively camouflaged that you would assume they're but a knot on a branch. Hummingbirds nest in both deciduous and evergreen trees, anywhere from 4 to 50 feet (1.2\u201315m) up but most frequently in the 10- to 20-foot-high (3\u20136m) range, often bordering or over a stream. Although there are no guarantees in tempting a hummingbird pair to set up housekeeping in your yard, by planting both food sources and those trees and shrubs that provide nesting materials, you'll make it more appealing for them to do so. Primary among the latter is downy plant material, which makes up the bulk of hummingbird nests. An excellent \u2014 and favored \u2014 source of downy fibers are the filaments of willow seeds; additionally, willow flowers provide both nectar and the insects attracted to it. Consider planting shrub willow in your garden if your yard has a favorable site for this moisture-loving tree. Other trees that provide nesting material for hummingbirds include cottonwoods, aspens, and sycamores.\n\n_The exterior of the nest is often covered with lichens._\n\n_The interior of the next is packed with downy plant material._\n\n## **A Hummingbird Gallery**\n\nHummingbirds are strictly a New World phenomenon, of Central American origin. North America is home to eight common species of hummingbirds and several more rare species. Hummingbirds follow a migratory pattern and are seen in the United States mainly during the summer months, although several species are known to take up permanent residence in coastal California, coastal Oregon, southern Arizona, and southern Florida. In some areas of the country, the ranges of certain species may overlap, although if you live anywhere east of the Mississippi, identification is usually easy: The ruby-throated hummingbird is the only regular visitor to that area.\n\n**A Q UICK GEOGRAPHICAL STUDY**\n\n**Eastern and Midwestern Hummingbirds**\n\n* * *\n\nRuby-throated\n\n**Southeastern and Gulf Coast Hummingbirds**\n\n* * *\n\n**Rocky Mountain Region Hummingbirds**\n\n* * *\n\n**Southwestern Hummingbirds**\n\n* * *\n\n**West Coast Hummingbirds**\n\n* * *\n\n## **Identifying Hummingbirds**\n\nListed below are brief descriptions of the hummingbirds that can typically be seen in the United States (those listed under \"Common\" on page 6). For more comprehensive information on common and uncommmon hummingbirds \u2014 identification, territories, and behavior \u2014 consult a hummingbird identification reference book.\n\nAllen's hummingbird **_(Selasphorus sasin)_**\n\nAllen's hummingbirds are usually about 3\u00be inches (9.5cm) in length. An adult male Allen's has rufous (reddish) sides and tail; its gorget (throat) is a deep orange-red bordered below by white. Its green-bronze back distinguishes it from the otherwise similarly colored male rufous hummingbird, which generally has a red back. An adult female Allen's is similarly marked but lacks the gorget \u2014 its throat is marked with a small patch of iridescent orange-red feathers and rows of small green dots.\n\nAnna's hummingbird **_(Calypte anna)_**\n\nAnna's hummingbirds are about 4 inches (10cm) in length. The adult male Anna's has an iridescent rose-colored gorget and crown; its sides are washed with green and its tail is generally dark. The female Anna's has a green-bronze back and a gray-green tail with a dark band; it lacks the gorget but may have instead a patch of iridescent rose-colored feathers in the center of its throat.\n\nBlack-chinned hummingbird **_(Archilochus alexandri)_**\n\nBlack-chinned hummingbirds are typically 3\u00be inches (9.5cm) long. The adult male has a black gorget bordered below by an iridescent purple band; it has a dull green crown and a deeply notched black tail. The adult female has an all-white breast and throat and a green back.\n\nBlue-throated hummingbird **_(Lampornis clemenciae)_**\n\nBlue-throated hummingbirds are usually about 5 inches (12.5cm) in length. The adult male has a bronze-green crown and back and a white streak that extends back from its eyes, creating a masked look. Its gorget is an iridescent deep blue that is sometimes bordered below by a white stripe. The adult female is similarly marked but lacks the iridescent gorget, having instead a patch of gray on the throat and a white breast. Both males and females have white-tipped tails.\n\nBroad-billed hummingbird **_(Cynanthus latirostris)_**\n\nBroad-billed hummingbirds are typically 4 inches (10cm) in length. The vibrantly colored adult male has an iridescent bronze-green back and crown, an iridescent blue throat that melds into green along the breast and belly, and a coral bill tipped with black. The adult female has a bright green crown and back, a subdued gray breast and belly, scattered green spots along the sides, and a black bill with bright orange or pink at its base\n\nBroad-tailed hummingbird **_(Selasphorus platycercus)_**\n\nBroad-tailed hummingbirds are usually about 4 inches (10cm) in length. The adult male has a deep rose\u2013colored gorget, a green crown and back, and a white breast. The adult female lacks the gorget, having instead a small patch of rose-colored feathers in the center of its throat. Both males and females have a long, squared tail.\n\nBuff-bellied hummingbird **_(Amazilia yucatanensis)_**\n\nBuff-bellied hummingbirds are typically 4\u00bc inches (10.8cm) long. The adult male has a bronze-green back, a brighter green throat and breast, and a buff-colored belly. Its bill is coral with a dull-colored tip, and it has a narrow buff-colored band encircling its eyes. Females are similar in appearance, althought not as brightly colored.\n\nCalliope hummingbird **_(Stellula calliope)_**\n\nCalliope hummingbirds are typically 3\u00bc inches (8.3cm) long, making them the smallest birds found in the United States or Canada. The adult male Calliope has a vibrant gorget composed of streaks of iridescent rose-purple; the adult female lacks this gorget. Both males and females have iridescent blue-green backs and white breasts.\n\nCosta's hummingbird **_(Calypte costae)_**\n\nCosta's hummingbirds are typically 3\u00bd inches (8.9cm) in length. The adult male has an iridescent rose-purple gorget and crown, a dark green back, and a white breast. The adult female is similarly marked but lacks the gorget and crown; it may occasionally have a small patch of purple feathers marking its throat.\n\nMagnificent hummingbird **_(Eugenes fulgens)_**\n\nMagnificent hummingbirds, also known as Rivoli's hummingbirds, are typically 5\u00bc inches (13.3cm) in length. The adult male has an iridescent blue-violet crown, an iridescent green gorget, and a bronze-green back. Its breast and belly are dark, almost black, but shade to grayish along the edges. The adult female lacks the iridescent crown and gorget and is pale gray along its belly.\n\nRuby-throated hummingbird **_(Archilochus colubris)_**\n\nRuby-throated hummingbirds are typically 3\u00be inches (9.5cm) in length. The adult male has an iridescent ruby gorget, bordered below by a white breast, and an iridescent green crown and back. The adult female is similarly marked but lacks the gorget.\n\nRufous hummingbird **_(Selasphorus rufus)_**\n\nRufous hummingbirds are about 3\u00be inches (9.5cm) in length. The adult male has an orange-red gorget bordered below by a white breast and rufous back, sides, and tail. The adult female has green on its back with some rufous on the sides and tail; a small patch of iridescent orange-red feathers marks its throat, accompanied by speckles of dull green dots.\n\n## **Designing a Hummingbird Garden**\n\nYes, it's true, many hummingbirds have a preference for red flowers, and for a very good reason: They have learned through experience that red flowers frequently have more nectar than others. Ruby-throated hummingbirds in particular have the strongest attraction to red, while this characteristic is less pronounced in many of the western species. However, hummingbirds also feed at pink, orange, purple, yellow, and even white blossoms. In short, there are innumerable tubular-shaped flowers, both cultivated and wild, that can justly be called hummingbird flowers.\n\nWith so many flowers to choose from, narrowing down your selection will take some work. Obviously, not all flowers that hummingbirds are attracted to will be hardy to your area, but if you're among those lucky enough to live in a zone suitable to a wide and varied range of plant life, your selections will be limited only by personal preference and space considerations.\n\n### **_Choosing Plants_**\n\nWhen choosing plants for your hummingbird garden, select varieties with overlapping periods of bloom. You can select combinations of annuals, perennials, flowering shrubs and vines, and even some vegetables and herbs. Plant species that are native to your region, especially wildflowers. These will be much better nectar producers than nonnative plants and cultivars.\n\nTo ensure an adequate supply of nectar at all times, plant a variety of flower-producing plants in sizable numbers each. Nectar production in some plants can slow or stop altogether when it's too hot, too cold, too wet, or too dry. Having an assortment of plants blooming in your garden at any one time should minimize this problem.\n\nMost gardens have a combination of perennials (herbaceous plants that live at least three years, although most will happily bloom for far longer than that) and annuals (which, as the name implies, bloom for one season only, although many will self-seed for the following year). However, although perennials will reappear year after year, they bloom for only three or four weeks in any one season, whereas many annuals will produce flowers all summer long. Bear in mind, however, that a zone 8 perennial, such as the nasturtium, will be available at a zone 4 garden shop as an annual simply because the plant can't survive that region's cold winters. And some plants, such as begonias, that are designated annuals in colder climes can be dug up in autumn, potted, enjoyed through the winter as houseplants, and then put back in the garden the following spring, after the last frost.\n\nAlthough not every flower in a hummingbird garden needs to be red, hummingbirds know that red flowers usually offer good nectar. Therefore, to attract hummingbirds to your garden, whether during their summer sojourns or during their long migratory flights, a patch of bright red blossoms will be both highly visible and a good signpost that your garden is an excellent source of food \u2014 which is especially important to a tiny bird with limited energy reserves.\n\n### **_Laying Out Your Garden_**\n\nOnce you have a good idea of the hummingbird-attracting plants that will be appropriate for your region, zone, and soil conditions, you're ready to begin breaking ground for your garden. Remember that hummingbirds prefer areas with trees and\/or shrubs that will provide perching locations, sheltering foliage, and protected roosting sites. The ideal hummingbird habitat has about one-half full sun and one-quarter each full shade and partial shade.\n\nGroup the plants in your garden so that their blossoms are easily accessible to hummingbirds, with ample room for hovering and flight maneuverability. Flowers are visually more interesting when they're tiered, with the tallest ones in back and the shorter ones in front, and a tiered design will also provide better hummingbird access to all of the blossoms in your garden.\n\nDon't overlook your decks and porches \u2014 or even apartment balconies \u2014 as potential hummingbird garden sites. Being fearless creatures, hummingbirds will visit container plants and hanging baskets just as often as they do more traditionally embedded flora. In fact, a hanging basket of fuchsia set outside after wintering indoors may well be the only nectar source around during the early warm days of spring, when many hummingbirds return from a winter sojourn in Central America.\n\n## **_Cultivating Wildflowers_**\n\nIt's likely that hummingbird-attracting wildflowers are already established either in or near your yard. Search them out, and if you find any, help them to thrive by eliminating some of their competitors. Thin or prune surrounding trees to let in more light, and provide the wildflowers with water during dry spells. In doing so you'll not only be  helping native plants to get a stronger foothold, but you'll also be providing a richer source of nectar for your winged visitors (wildflowers generally produce more nectar than their cultivated cousins), and you'll be saving money to boot.\n\n_Note:_ The letters \"spp.\" following the Latin name mean that many of the species in that genus attract hummingbirds.\n\n**E ASTERN WILDFLOWERS**\n\n* * *\n\n**W ESTERN WILDFLOWERS**\n\n* * *\n\n## **Flowers for Hummingbirds**\n\nWhen planting, consider some of the following flowers for your hummingbird garden, depending on your planting zone and sun and soil conditions. The zone listings specify the zones in which each plant may be grown as a perennial \u2014 most plants can be grown as annuals in any zone. The specified heights include flower stalks as well as foliage, which may often be very short by itself. This is followed by the period in which the plant is in flower. For more comprehensive information on any of the plants referenced here, consult a gardening manual.\n\n_Beard-tongue_\n\n**Beard-tongue** _(Penstemon barbatus)_  \nZones:3\u20139 Height: 8\"\u201336\" (20\u201390cm)  \nBlooming season:Late spring to mid-summer\n\nThe individual blossoms of this easy grower are reminiscent of foxglove, although its loose clusters of flower heads are more like annual phlox. Plant in moist, well-drained soil and full sun or light shade.\n\nBee balm _(Monarda_ spp.)  \nZones: 4\u20139  \nHeight: 2'\u20134' (60\u2013120cm)  \nBlooming season: Summer\n\nHummingbirds, bees, and butterflies alike all love the shaggy blossoms of bee balm. Most often seen in red, bee balm also blooms in purple, pink, and even white. Deadhead the spent blossoms regularly to keep these easy growers blooming, and plant in moist soil in full sun or very light shade.\n\nBegonia ( _Begonia_ spp.)  \nZones:6\u201310  \nHeight: 6\"\u201324\" (15\u201360cm)  \nBlooming season: Summer through autumn\n\nPlant begonias in shades of red, pink, or white in your garden or in containers. Give them rich, moist soil in sun where it's cooler and partial shade in hotter climes.\n\n_Bee balm_\n\nBlazing star _(Liatris_ spp.)  \nZones: 3\u201310  \nHeight: 2'\u20136' (.6\u20131.8m)  \nBlooming season: Summer to early autumn\n\nThese rocket-shaped, pink-purple beauties (also known as gayfeather and snakeroot) will perk up any garden. Although preferring a sandy, rich soil, Liatris will tolerate even poor, dry soil, as long as their planting medium is very well drained. They prefer full sun to light shade.\n\nBleeding heart ( _Dicentra spectabilis_ )  \nZones: 3\u20139  \nHeight:2'\u20133' (60\u201390cm)  \nBlooming season: Mid- to late spring\n\nThis traditionally favorite plant with fernlike foliage and sprays of heart-shaped pink and white blooms at the tips of long, slender stems will impart elegance and charm to your garden. Plant in partial sun or partial shade \u2014 more shade is required in hotter areas \u2014 in rich, moist, well-drained soil.\n\nBugleweed ( _Ajuga_ spp.)  \nZones:3\u201310 Height: 4\"\u201310\" (10\u201325cm)  \nBlooming season: Mid-spring to midsummer\n\nCarpet bugleweed _(Ajuga reptans),_ a fast-spreading ground cover that's wonderful under trees or other places too shady for grass to grow, sprouts a forest of purple-blue flowers on a carpet of green and bronze-purple leaves. In rock gardens and mixed shade plantings, try Geneva bugleweed _(Ajuga genevensis)_ and upright bugleweed _(Ajuga pyramidalis),_ which are less invasive. This plant thrives in either sun or shade and just about any soil, even dry, poor soil, provided it drains well (note that in dry soil, bugleweed needs to be shaded).\n\nCalifornia fuchsia _(Zauschneria californica)_  \nZones: 9\u201310  \nHeight: 12\"\u201324\" (30\u201360cm)  \nBlooming season: Late summer to October\n\nSpikes of vivid red, tubular flowers are a good reason that this plant also goes by the name hummingbird flower. Plant in a warm, sunny spot in light, well-drained soil.\n\nCardinal flower _(Lobelia cardinalis)_  \nZones: 2\u20139  \nHeight:3' (90cm)  \nBlooming season: Summer\n\nThe dazzling red spikes of the cardinal flower are a surefire magnet for hummingbirds. Lobelias do best if given afternoon shade, moist soil (they thrive near running water), and good drainage for regular waterings.\n\nCentury plant _(Agave americana)_  \nZones: 6\u201310  \nHeight: Varies; can grow as high as 40 feet (12m)  \nBlooming season: Summer\n\n_California fuchsia_\n\nThese bold succulents with fleshy, sword-shaped leaves and giant flower spikes are highly prized desert hummingbird plants. Plant them in well-drained sandy soil in full sun.\n\nColumbine _(Aquilegia_ spp. _)_  \nZones: 3\u20139 Height: 6\"\u201348\" (15\u2013120cm)  \nBlooming season: Mid-spring to early summer\n\nThese beautiful spurred flowers are hummingbird favorites. The red-and-yellow-flowered wild columbine native to the East, Aquilegia canadensis, will freely reseed itself \u2014 be careful it doesn't become a pest. In the West, plant crimson columbine, Aquilegia formosa, native to California, Oregon, and Nevada. All columbines like moist soils with light to moderate shade. Columbines do well in rock gardens.\n\nCoralbells _(Heuchera_ spp. _)_  \nZones: 3\u20139  \nHeight: 12\"\u201336\" (30\u201390cm)  \nBlooming season: Late spring to early autumn\n\nDelicate sprays of small tubular, red, white, or pink flowers rise on tall, wiry stems out of compact clumps of scalloped foliage. Keep this plant neat by removing the flowering stems once they've bloomed. Grow in light, well-drained soil in full sun in northern zones and partial shade in warmer climes.\n\nCreeping phlox _(Phlox stolonifera)  \n_ Zones: 3\u20139 Height: 6\"\u20138\" (15\u201320cm)  \nBlooming season: Early to late spring\n\nThese spreading perennials form beautiful beds of star-shaped flowers in varying shades from white to purple to blue, although the bright, hot pink ones will attract hummingbirds most readily. Phlox prefer a rich, well-drained, moist soil and will grow in either full sun or partial shade.\n\nDelphinium _(Delphinium_ spp. _)_  \nZones: 3\u20139  \nHeight: 18\"\u201384\" (.5\u20132m)  \nBlooming season: Late spring through autumn, depending on species\n\nThese statuesque spires of blossoms \u2014 some single flowered, some double \u2014 are beautiful in any garden. Also known as larkspur, delphiniums bloom in blue, purple, pink, yellow, and white. Plants over 18 inches (46cm) tall will need to be staked to keep them upright. Although short-lived, fading out after only two or three years, delphiniums can be propagated by cuttings from new spring growth. Grow these beauties in rich, moist, well-drained soil.\n\nFire pink _(Silene virginica)_  \nZones: 4\u20139 Height: 10\"\u201324\" (25\u201360cm)  \nBlooming season: Late spring to early summer\n\nThese masses of dark pink and crimson blooms will stay ablaze for quite some time. Plant in well-drained, humus-rich soil in full sun or light shade (more shade in hotter climates).\n\nFour-o'clock _(Mirabilis Jalapa)  \n_ Zones: 8\u201310  \nHeight: 24\"\u201348\" (60\u2013120cm)  \nBlooming season: Midsummer to late autumn\n\nComing from the tropics, these lovely blooms, in shades from rosy purple or red to white and yellow, are perennials only in the warmest climates. Elsewhere cultivate as container plants in well-drained soil.\n\n_Fire Pink_\n\nFoxglove _(Digitali_ s spp. _)_  \nZones: 3\u20139  \nHeight: 24\"\u201360\" (60\u2013152cm)  \nBlooming season: Late spring to late summer, depending on species\n\nThe tall spires of these plants look majestic in any setting \u2014 and depending on the species and your conditions (they prefer cool, moist climates), they'll grow just about anywhere, from full sun to full shade (the hotter the summer, the more shade necessary). Foxgloves come in creamy yellow, pink, salmon, and orange. All have freckled interiors. Give these beauties moist, rich soil, and they'll happily self-seed.\n\nFuchsia _(Fuchsia_ spp. _)_  \nZone: 10  \nHeight: 1'\u20136' (30\u2013180cm)  \nBlooming season: Late spring to autumn\n\nWith its pendulous blossoms, this plant is much esteemed for hanging baskets and comes in shades of bright red, fiery pink, purple, white, and various combinations of them all. It does best in full or half shade \u2014 I hang my fuchsia basket from a sturdy lower pine branch several feet away from a feeder \u2014 in a rich, moist soil.\n\nGeranium _(Geranium_ spp. _)_  \nZones: 3\u201310  \nHeight: 4\"\u201336\" (10\u201390cm)  \nBlooming season: Spring through late summer, depending on species\n\nWe usually associate the name \"geranium\" with the familiar velvet-leafed houseplant with bright red flowers, but those belong to the Pelargonium genus. Geraniums are hardy, carefree plants with lovely lacy leaves and red, pink, or purple blooms, depending on the species and cultivar. They'll grow in average, well-drained soil, but when planted in rich soil, they'll spread rapidly. Plant in full sun in colder climates and in partial shade in warmer southern climates.\n\nHollyhock _(Althea_ spp. _)_  \nZones: 5\u20139  \nHeight: 2'\u20136' (60\u2013180cm)Blooming season: Summer to early autumn\n\nThis wonderful, old-fashioned, upright plant is available in just about every color. Use the older, taller species as back border plantings, along a fence, or against a cottage wall; the newer, shorter species can go anywhere. Although favoring rich, well-drained, moist soil, they'll tolerate dry soil, too \u2014 but not excessive heat and humidity.\n\nImpatiens _(Impatiens_ spp. _)_  \nZones: Can be grown in any zone as an annual  \nHeight: 12\"\u201324\" (30\u201360cm)  \nBlooming season: Late spring through first frost\n\nImpatiens are grown as annuals in most of the country since they are unable to survive frost. With their vibrantly colored, long-lasting blossoms, they are ideal hummingbird flowers. Mass them under trees or in containers under your porch overhang, since most species prefer full shade. They also like a rich, moist soil.\n\nLily _(Lilium_ spp. _)_  \nZones: 3\u20139  \nHeight: 2'\u20136' (60\u2013180cm)  \nBlooming season: Late spring through autumn, depending on species\n\n_Hollyhock_\n\nLilies have large and exquisite, usually multiple, trumpet-shaped flowers on long, strong stems \u2014 eye-catching either singly or when massed together in any garden. Lilies require moist, well-drained, usually slightly acidic soil in full sun or light shade.\n\nLupine _(Lupinus_ spp. _)_  \nZones: 4\u20138  \nHeight: 18\"\u201360\" (46\u2013152cm)  \nBlooming season: Spring to midsummer\n\nLupines give any garden a boost, even when there are only a few. When massed, the effect of the pink, purple, blue, and red flower spikes is spectacular. Many species thrive in areas with relatively cool summers, although others will tolerate hotter climes. Give them a rich and moist but well-drained soil in either full sun or light shade.\n\nMammillaria _(Mammillaria setispina)_  \nZones: 9\u201310  \nHeight: Various; ball-like  \nBlooming season: Late spring to summer\n\nThis member of the cactus family produces dark red flowers beyond its spines, which makes it a fine place for desert hummingbirds to sup. If you don't live in the Southwest, the mammillaria makes an excellent houseplant that can summer outdoors in half shade. As with most cacti, plant in a light and porous yet stable soil with excellent drainage (a mixture of sandy and clay soils works well).\n\nMonkey flower _(Mimulus_ spp. _)_  \nZones: 3\u20139  \nHeight: 8\"\u201336\" (20\u201390cm)  \nBlooming season: Spring to autumn, depending on species\n\nDepending on the species suitable for your location, these trumpet-shaped, lipped flowers come in all sizes and will want either full sun or partial shade. Check a reference guide for more detailed information. Coming in hues of red, orange, pink, and yellow, these plants grow best in moist, rich soil.\n\nMontbretia _(Crocosmia_ spp. _)_  \nZones: 5\u20138  \nHeight: 12\"\u201348\" (30\u2013120cm)  \nBlooming season: Summer\n\nSpectacular branches of funnel-shaped flowers in red, orange, or yellow emerge from fans of stiff, swordlike foliage. Like the iris the foliage resembles, these plants grow from corms and spread to form clumps. Grow in sun to partial shade in average, well-drained soil.\n\n_Monkey flower_\n\nNasturtium _(Tropaeolum majus)_  \nZones: Can be grown in any zone as an annual  \nHeight: 12\"\u201348\" (30\u2013120cm)  \nBlooming season: Summer to late autumn\n\nThese annuals have bold and beautiful yellow, orange, and red spurred blossoms that are a wonderful contrast to their rounded green leaves. Nasturtiums prefer summers that are mild and dry with cool nights. They do well even in poor soil so long as it's well drained and slightly acidic. Plant in full sun to partial shade.\n\nObedient plant _(Physostegia_ spp. _)_  \nZones: 2\u20139  \nHeight: 12\"\u201348\" (30\u2013120cm)  \nBlooming season: Midsummer to autumn\n\nThe pink, purple, or white blooms on these vigorous, easy-care plants \u2014 also known as false dragonhead \u2014 grow in long, regimented rows. Physostegia enjoy any good garden soil in either full sun or partial shade.\n\nPetunia _(Petunia_ spp. _)_  \nZones:Can be grown in any zone as an annual  \nHeight: 12\"\u201318\" (30\u201346cm)  \nBlooming season: Late spring to frost\n\n_Montbretia_\n\nPetunias are one of the most widely grown annuals due to their tireless (and seemingly endless) blooming period. The cheery trumpet-shaped flowers are borne on long stems that work well in hanging baskets. To make them bushier, pinch back young plants. When planted in the garden, put them in moist, well-drained soil in full sun or very light shade.\n\nRed-hot-poker _(Kniphofia Uvaria)_  \nZones: 5\u20139  \nHeight: 2'\u20134' (60\u2013120cm)  \nBlooming season: Midsummer\n\nAlso known as torch lily, Kniphofia (knee-FOE-fia) has blossoms of fiery red, yellow, and orange on thickly clustered spikes that are dramatic in any setting. Plant in rich, moist, and well-drained soil. Give full sun in moderate climes, partial shade where summers are very hot.\n\n**_Scarlet sage_** _(Salvia splendens)_  \nZones: Can be grown in any zone as an annual  \nHeight: 1'\u20133' (30\u201390cm)  \nBlooming season: Summer to autumn, depending on species\n\nScarlet sage is a tender perennial most often grown as an annual. Its usually bright red spikes are wonderful for creating splashes of color in your garden. Give it well-drained soil and full sun or partial shade.\n\nSpider flower _(Cleome hassleriana)_  \nZones: Can be grown in any zone as an annual  \nHeight: 3'\u20134' (.9\u20131.2m)  \nBlooming season: Summer through late autumn\n\nAlthough annuals, these odd-looking plants will self-seed with wanton regularity, so be careful where you plant them. Give these long bloomers average soil and lots of sun. If your summers are very hot, give them half shade.\n\nSweet William _(Dianthus barbatus)_  \nZones: Can be grown in any zone as an annual, or sometimes a biennial  \nHeight: 6\"\u201324\" (15\u201360cm)  \nBlooming season: Late spring to summer\n\nChoose the crimson variety of this plant with its cushiony, tightly packed blooms. Sweet William self-sows readily and prefers rich, well-drained slightly alkaline soil in the sunny or lightly shaded part of your garden.\n\nVerbena _(Verbena_ spp. _)_  \nZones: 3\u201310  \nHeight: 4\"\u201324\" (10\u201360cm)  \nBlooming season: Late spring to frost\n\nThese showy plants with tightly packed flower heads are rather short-lived and are best grown as annuals. Choose from pink, white, purple, and red blossoms. Plant in full sun in any well-drained soil.\n\nYucca _(Yucca_ spp. _)_  \nZones: 3\u201310  \nHeight: 3'\u201330' (.9\u20139m)  \nBlooming season: Early summer to autumn, depending on species\n\nAn impressive spike of white, bell-shaped flowers stands like a sentinel over the yucca's straplike evergreen leaves. This very tough, drought-resistant plant likes full sun and average or sandy well-drained soil. Some species need protection in winter in colder climates.\n\n## **Vines, Shrubs, and Trees**\n\nSome of the most favored blossoms of hummingbirds are those of vines, shrubs, and trees, which also provide shelter for resting, roosting, and nesting. If you can, make room in your garden for one or more of these beauties.\n\n### **_Vines_**\n\nMany of these vines, having densely packed foliage, are ideal homes for hummingbirds.\n\nMorning-glory _(Ipomoea_ spp. _)_  \nZones: 5\u201310  \nBlooming season: Midsummer through autumn\n\nThese twining vines with their blue, lavender, pink, or white flowers will wrap themselves around just about anything \u2014 and will also grow in just about anything, including poor, dry soil. Grow in full sun.\n\nScarlet runner bean _(Phaseolus coccineus)_  \nZone: 10  \nBlooming season: Midsummer to frost\n\nAnnuals everywhere but tropical climates, scarlet runner beans make everyone happy \u2014 hummingbirds for the nectar in the clusters of flowers, humans for the beans. Grow in full sun against a trellis to appreciate fully the brilliant red flowers.\n\nTrumpet creeper _(Campsis radicans)_  \nZones: 4\u20139  \nBlooming season: Midsummer through fall\n\nThis vigorous, twining perennial vine with its bold, trumpet-shaped (hence the name) scarlet flowers prefers full sun and a rich, moist, well-drained soil. It will need strong supports in your garden.\n\nTrumpet honeysuckle _(Lonicera sempervirens)_  \nZones: 3\u20139  \nBlooming season: Early to late summer\n\n_Morning-glory_\n\nRich orange, scarlet, or yellow clumps of blossoms punctuate this semi- to evergreen vine (depending on your climate); in areas subject to much frost it needs protection. Grow in cool, semishady areas, in porous, well-drained, fertile soil.\n\n### **_Shrubs_**\n\nAzalea _(Rhododendron_ spp. _)_  \nZones: 5\u20138  \nBlooming season: Early spring\n\nIn colder climes, grow this decorative species of the classic rhododendron as a houseplant and put it outdoors after the last frost. Give it a rich, moist soil \u2014 an azalea needs lots of water \u2014 and shade.\n\n**Butterfly bush** _(Buddleia Davidii)_  \nZones: 5\u20139  \nBlooming season: Midsummer to autumn\n\nAlso known as summer lilac, butterfly bush \u2014 which obviously also attracts butterflies \u2014 has profuse white, pink, red, or purple blossoms in long clusters. Grow this and other Buddleias in any soil in full sun.\n\nCape honeysuckle _(Tecomaria capensis)_  \nZones: 9\u201310  \nBlooming season: Year-round\n\nThose in more tropical climes can enjoy the scarlet blossoms of this evergreen all year long. This beautiful shrub, which will reach 8 feet, should be grown in fertile soil in full sun.\n\nFlowering quince _(Chaenomeles_ spp.)  \nZones: 4\u20139, depending on species  \nBlooming season: Spring\n\nThe showy flowers on these deciduous shrubs, not the fruit, are the main attraction for both hummingbirds and humans \u2014 although if the yield is bountiful, you can make preserves from the fruit. Plant in fertile soil in a sunny spot.\n\nHibiscus _(Hibiscus_ spp. _)_  \nZones: 5\u201310, depending on species  \nBlooming season: Mid- to late summer\n\nHibiscus are often thought of as strictly tropical shrubs, but they also include some hardier species such as rose-of-Sharon (Hibiscus syriacus). Grow in a sheltered, sunny spot in any well-drained soil and enjoy masses of pink, purple, orange, yellow, or scarlet blossoms, depending on the species.\n\nHoneysuckle _(Lonicera_ spp. _)_  \nZones: 4\u20139  \nBlooming season: Late spring to early summer\n\nThese bushy shrubs have tubular blossoms in creamy white, pale yellow, pink, and even hot pink, depending on the species. Honeysuckles generally prefer well-drained soil and full sun to partial shade.\n\nLantana _(Lantana Camara)_  \nZones: 8\u201310  \nBlooming season: Year-round\n\nThis 6-foot-tall evergreen shrub produces compact clusters of orange-yellow, orange, red, or red-and-white flowers. Grow in any well-drained soil in full sun.\n\n_Hibiscus_\n\nMealberry _(Arctostaphylos Uva-ursi)_  \nZones: 2\u201310  \nBlooming season: Mid- to late spring\n\nThe drooping clusters of blossoms on this dwarf evergreen shrub give way to brilliant red berries. This species prefers soil that is sandy or acidic, but will grow in almost any type of soil. Prefers full sun but will tolerate some shade.\n\nRosemary _(Rosmarinus officinalis)_  \nZones: 6\u201310  \nBlooming season: Early spring\n\nThe stems of the fragrant herb we get at our greengrocers are actually branches of an evergreen shrub that grows to 7 feet tall \u2014 yet another plant that satisfies the needs of both humans and hummingbirds. The latter appreciate the lovely lilac-blue flowers. Rosemary grows best in light, well-drained soil in a warm, sunny spot.\n\nWeigela _(Weigela florida)_  \nZones: 4\u20139  \nBlooming season: Spring\n\nThis hardy shrub is generally easy to cultivate. It has tubular or funnel-shaped flowers in all shades of pink from deep carmine to almost white. Weigela thrives in any moist, well-drained soil in full sun.\n\n### **_Trees_**\n\nTrees don't usually come to mind when we're thinking of flowers for hummingbirds, but many species have spectacular blossoms.\n\nChinaberry _(Melia Azedarach)_  \nZones: 7\u201310  \nHeight: 30'\u201340' (9\u201312m)  \nBlooming season: Late spring\n\nThis member of the mahogany family produces lovely sprays of lilac-colored flowers. A good shade tree, it grows best in full sun. Chinaberry is often considered a weed species, as its wood breaks easily during heavy storms.\n\nCockspur\/Cry-baby tree _(Erythrina crista-galli)_  \nZone: 10 Height: 15' (5m)  \nBlooming season: Late summer\n\nThis small to average-size tree produces clusters of dark red, waxy flowers. It prefers moist but well-drained soil. Plant in full sun.\n\nEucalyptus _(Eucalyptus_ spp. _)_  \nZones: 9\u201310  \nHeight: 30'\u2013100' (9\u201330m)  \nBlooming season: Winter to summer\n\nEucalyptus provide both nectar and shelter for hummingbirds. These Australian imports have flowers that range from white to showy red and for the most part prefer full sun in moist soil.\n\nFlowering crabapple _(Malus_ spp. _)_  \nZones: 2\u20136  \nHeight: 15'\u201325' (5\u20138m)  \nBlooming season: Mid- to late spring\n\nThis is another species that benefits both hummingbirds (nectar) and humans (fruit for preserves \u2014 if the blue jays don't eat them first). Flowers range in color from white to pink to bright red. Grow in any well-drained, fertile soil in full sun.\n\nPoinciana _(Caesalpinia_ spp. _)_  \nZone: 10  \nHeight: 15'\u201320' (5\u20136m)  \nBlooming season: Summer\n\nThis fast-growing small tree (or shrub) is a member of the pea family. Beautiful clusters of white or yellow pealike flowers with prominent red stamens are framed by delicate fronds. Grow in full sun in well-drained, dryish soil.\n\nRed horse chestnut _(Aesculus x carnea)_  \nZones: 3\u20137  \nHeight: 30'\u201340' (9\u201312m)  \nBlooming season: Late spring to early summer\n\nAs its name implies, the large clusters of blooms on this spectacular tree have rose red panicles that can reach 6 to 8 inches in length in the spring. Grow in moist, well-drained soil in full sun to light shade.\n\nSiberian peashrub _(Caragana arborescens)_  \nZones: 2\u20137  \nHeight: 15'\u201320' (5\u20136m)  \nBlooming season: Spring\n\nLovely yellow flowers dress up this tree's feathery leaves. It does well in all soil types and prefers full sun.\n\n**Silk tree** _(Albizia Julibrissin)_  \nZones: 6\u20139  \nHeight: 20'\u201335' (6\u201311m)  \nBlooming season: Late spring to late summer\n\nThis small tree, also called mimosa tree, produces beautiful bristly clusters of flowers \u2014 looking like so many bottle brushes \u2014 that are white at the base and bright pink at the tips. Grow this member of the sun-loving pea family in full sun; it does well in all soil types.\n\n**Tulip poplar** _(Liriodendron Tulipifera)_  \nZones: 4\u20139  \nHeight: Can grow to 200 feet (60m)  \nBlooming season: Spring to early summer\n\nThis tall, stately tree, also known as tulip tree, produces \u2014 no surprise \u2014 tuliplike greenish yellow flowers lined with orange. Grow in rich, moist soil in full sun.\n_The mission of Storey Publishing is to serve our customers by publishing practical information that encourages personal independence in harmony with the environment._\n\nEdited by Nancy W. Ringer  \nCover illustration by Alison Kolesar  \nCover design by Carol J. Jessop (Black Trout Design)  \nIllustrations by Mallory Lake, except pages 4, 5, 11, 14 (top), and 17 by Alison Kolesar  \nText design and production by Heather Clemow\n\n\u00a9 1997 by Storey Publishing, LLC\n\nAll rights reserved. No part of this bulletin may be reproduced without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages or reproduce illustrations in a review with appropriate credits; nor may any part of this bulletin be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or other without written permission from the publisher.\n\nThe information in this bulletin is true and complete to the best of our knowledge. All recommendations are made without guarantee on the part of the author or Storey Publishing. The author and publisher disclaim any liability in connection with the use of this information. For additional information please contact Storey Publishing, 210 MASS MoCA Way, North Adams, MA 01247.\n\nStorey books and bulletins are available for special premium and promotional uses and for customized editions. For further information, please call 1-800-793-9396.\n\nPrinted in the United States by Excelsior\n\n**Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data**\n\nGelfand, Dale, 1944\u2013\n\nGrowing a hummingbird garden \/ by Dale Gelfand  \np. cm. \u2014 (A Storey country wisdom bulletin; A-167)  \nISBN 978-0-88266-713-3 (alk. paper)\n\n1. Gardening to attract birds\u2014North America. 2. Bird attracting\u2014  \nNorth America. 3. Hummingbirds\u2014North America I. Title. II. Series\n\nQL676.57.N7G44 1997  \n635.9'67\u2014dc21\n\n96-53551  \nCIP-10:\n\n##  **M ORE COUNTRY WISDOM  \nBULLETINS YOU WILL ENJOY**!\n\nThese and other Storey Country Wisdom Bulletins are available for $3.95 at your local bookstores, garden centers, farm stores, and gift shops. Use the order numbers listed under each bulletin to make your requests. You can also order directly from Storey Publishing by writing to us at 210 MASS MoCA Way, North Adams, MA 01247 or by calling 1-800-441-5700. For more information about our books and bulletins, visit our Web site at _www.storey.com._\n","meta":{"redpajama_set_name":"RedPajamaBook"}}
+{"text":"\n\n## CONTENTS\n\nCover\n\nAbout the Book\n\nAbout the Author\n\nAlso by Milton Crawford\n\nTitle Page\n\nDedication\n\nChew. Slurp. Lick. Nibble.\n\nRelationship Questionnaire\n\nA Note on Unsexy Foods\n\nSOMETHING TO SLURP ON\n\nFrozen Watermelon Margarita\n\nBasil Martini\n\nAlmond Milk White Russian\n\nBloody Mary with Clam Juice\n\nStrawberry Bellini\n\nNIBBLES AND TIT-BITS\n\nSpiced Honeyed Almonds\n\nCaviar Blinis\n\nPuglia Broad Bean Dip\n\nOyster Fritters with Rocket and Wasabi Mayonnaise\n\nChaat Masala Watermelon with Mint\n\nSMOOTH AND SLIPPERY\n\nOysters with Chilli, Ginger and Lime\n\nSalmon Tikka Skewers with Dill and Pomegranate Raita\n\nMilton's Moules\n\nLobster with B\u00e9arnaise Sauce, Home-made Oven Chips and Broccoli\n\nScallops with Brown Butter, Capers and Lemon\n\nFLESH\n\nVenison and Liver Pies\n\nBeef Carpaccio with Parmesan, Rocket and Truffle Oil\n\nYakitori-style Chicken Heart Skewers\n\nSteak Tartare with Confit Egg Yolk and A\u00efoli\n\nHerb-crusted French Rack of Venison\n\nBeef Fillet, Ceps, Marsala Sauce and Roasted Shallots\n\nTHE SPICE OF LIFE\n\nButternut Soup with Nutmeg and Toasted Pumpkin Seed Oil\n\nCrispy Sea Bass with Ginger and Spring Onions\n\nPaneer Tikka Masala\n\nSmoked Garlic Dauphinoise\n\nSalt and Pepper Baby Squid with Garlic Mayonnaise\n\nSaffron Roast Chicken with Lemon and Rosemary\n\nSHAPELY VEG\n\nCrunchy Fennel and Green Apple Salad\n\nAsparagus with Crab, Poached Eggs and Lemon Vinaigrette\n\nAvocado, Pancetta and Toasted Pumpkin Seed Salad\n\nPommes de Terres Sarladaises with Truffles\n\nRed Mullet, Artichoke Hearts and Lemon\n\nGETTING FRUITY\n\nWatermelon Salsa with Black Pepper Goat's Cheese\n\nGrilled Honey Figs, Goat's Cheese and Walnut Salad\n\nPork and Lychee Curry\n\nSalt Caramel and Rum Banana Cake\n\nPoached Quince with Mascarpone and Stilton Cream\n\nSWEET BITS\n\nCranachan with Figs, Candied Walnuts, Honey and Meringue\n\nChocolate Chilli Fondant\n\nRed Wine Poached Pears with Stem Ginger Cr\u00e8me Fra\u00eeche\n\nVanilla and Saffron Baguette and Butter Pudding with Gooseberry-Ginger Jam\n\nRaspberry and Rose Pudding\n\nAcknowledgements\n\nCopyright\n\n## About the Book\n\nThis book offers a unique culinary slant on dinner \u00e0 deux with fun and adventurous recipes that will help love to blossom, tease palates and arouse the senses... and make all the difference between a firecracker of an evening and a damp squib:\n\n**Something to Slurp on** \u2013 get the juices flowing with a **Basil Martini** or a **Bloody Mary with Clam Juice**  \n**Nibbles and Tit-bits** \u2013 get down to some fun foreplay with **Spiced Honey Almonds** or **Caviar Blini**  \n**Shapely Veg** \u2013 get forking Asparagus with **White Crab Meat** or **Pommes Sarladaises with Truffles**  \n**Smooth and Slippery** \u2013 serve **Milton's Moules** or **Salmon Tikka Skewers with Dill and Pomegranate Raita** for a boost in the bedroom  \n**Flesh** \u2013 wrap your mouth around **Pot-roast Haunch of Venison** and **Beef Fillet, Ceps and Marsala Sauce**  \n**The Spice of Life** \u2013 get hot and spicy with **Saffron Roast Chicken** or **Paneer Chilli**  \n**Getting Fruity** \u2013 with **Pineapple and Pork Curry** or **Poached Quince with Mascarpone and Gorgonzola Cream**  \n**Sweet Bits** \u2013 down and dirty desserts, from **Chocolate Chilli Fondant** to **Raspberry Rose Pudding**\n\nRead on and let Milton Crawford share his secret potions of love.\n\n_'Cooking is like love: It should be entered into with abandon or not at all'_ **Harriet van Horne**\n\n## About the Author\n\nMilton Crawford was born somewhere north of the Zambezi and west of the Rift valley in a small town in the middle of Africa. He has travelled the world in search of good liquor, fine food and game women. He is an author and journalist, and in keeping with the most honourable traditions of the writing profession, a bon viveur and lover of distinction. Author of the bestselling _The Hungover Cookbook_ and _The Drunken Cookbook_ , his previous books have been published under a more sober alias.\nAlso by Milton Crawford\n\nThe Hungover Cookbook  \nThe Drunken Cookbook\n\nFor Lovers Everywhere\nDisclaimer\n\nI worry about why all my books have to have disclaimers. I said no, but the lawyers insisted.\n\n_So, here we go:_\n\nThis book is intended for adults, has adult themes and contains some explicit references to sex. Although the recipes contained within these pages may suggest that they will lead to some form of romantic conquest, I cannot guarantee that this will happen. Similarly, none of these recipes claim to cure any medical conditions and, if you believe that you are suffering from a medical condition, then I recommend that you see a medical professional. These recipes are in no way a substitute for any treatment you may need to receive.\n\nI hope you succeed in your amorous attempts, but I accept no responsibility should you fail. Please do not try to contact me for romantic advice; my past is littered with plenty of romantic failures so I do not profess to be an authority on the subject.\n\nGood luck. Love is a wonderful thing. I hope that this culinary adventure helps you on your quest for romance.\n\nDo aphrodisiacs really work? And, even if they do, isn't the concept of eating foods specifically to boost libido and mutual pleasure a bit old-school? After all, these days both men and women can pop a pill to produce the desired effect. So this book is not so much concerned with the direct impacts of aphrodisiacs, which are not always quantifiable, as with the idea of making food in the name of love. And of course there is the hope that, at some point, the effort of making food may gain some form of reward. If you know what I mean.\n\nBut why, you may ask, would you not simply go to a romantic restaurant with your love interest and choose a suitably sublime menu? That is surely just as romantic as cooking for them? I beg to differ. For one thing, it is more of a gift to create something from scratch; to conceive, buy the ingredients for, create and serve a meal for someone you love (or at least have designs on) is a telling gesture. It creates the impression that you're considerate; that you care; that you're prepared to make an effort. I think you get my drift. It also shows your potential partner that you are resourceful and skilful. More and more people seem to be spending more and more time watching people cooking on screen and less and less time actually doing it in the kitchen. You can demonstrate that you have this valuable skill, which, when done well, shows off many of the same skills you also need in the bedroom: finesse, a sure touch, excellent judgement and a willingness to experiment.\n\nAnd, talking of 'doing it in the kitchen', creating a meal at home does offer far greater \u2013 and more immediate \u2013 opportunities for post-prandial love-making than at least most forms of restaurant that I have ever been to. Put simply: you may start sitting at the dining table; you may end up lying on top of it.\n\nFood and sex are intimately connected in all kinds of ways: the similar noises that we make while we're engaged in these two acts, the words we use to describe them, even the feelings that both can engender.\n\nSex, like eating, can be both mundane and remarkable. Both acts are fundamental to human existence and there's nothing new about either: the associations between food, sex and sin have existed at least since Adam and Eve. Don't be prudish about this; as I hope you already realise, I'm not going to be, despite my highly repressed British sexuality.\n\nWe use our hands and our mouths for both food and sex. We make similar noises, not just the chewing, sucking and slurping, but also the expressions of delight, groans of appreciation or \u2013 perhaps most tellingly \u2013 the concentrated silence of genuine enjoyment.\n\nThen there is our language. 'Tasty' is often used to describe an attractive potential partner. Depending on your age, social class, gender and where you grew up, you might also use 'yummy', 'scrummy', 'luscious', 'delicious', 'dishy' or 'hunky' (like a hunk of meat). And it's not unknown for the expression 'I want to eat you up' to pass between two lovers (in a generally metaphorical sense, unless, that is, you have cannibalistic tendencies and probably live somewhere in Germany). We talk about sexual appetite, cravings, being sex-starved or sated. Post-coital bliss and post-prandial satisfaction share much in common. The associations run deep.\n\nBut we're not just talking about sex here \u2013 that purely biological function of procreation \u2013 we're talking about love. I've always thought that romantic love needs to involve both a sense of fun and of adventure and this book offers a unique culinary slant on it, with fun, adventurous recipes that should help romance to blossom.\n\nIn conventional terms, the classic romantic encounter is a dinner date, where food, wine and conversation create an atmosphere of intimacy. Such a meal is the focus of this book. The choices we make about what to eat during this window of opportunity may make all the difference between a firecracker of an evening and a damp squib. Certain foods rich in the right vitamins and minerals, and that are suggestive in colour, shape and texture, may lead to a blossoming of mutual desire.\n\nThe science of aphrodisiacs is hotly disputed and many claims made about certain ingredients are certainly dodgy, perhaps, historically, due to overzealous traders keen to talk up their wares and imbue them with extra benefits that don't really exist. I am not a scientist and this is not a scientific guide. But there is no doubt that food changes our mood and, even if we don't experience the same extreme physiological effects that are produced by Viagra and the like, the subtle changes that the right foods have on us can make the world of difference. For me, the folkloric associations of certain foods with sex make ample case that they do have some effect. There is usually some truth to myths that grow up around food and, as a storyteller myself, I am more inclined to follow this kind of narrative than scientific studies, the quality of which are hard to determine. Oysters contain high levels of zinc, but is it this that makes them so sought after as aphrodisiacs, or is it more to do with their evocative appearance, texture, flavour and the tactile way in which they are consumed? These are things that are hard to determine using science alone.\n\nSo let me guide you through the delightful world of being a lover cooking for your lover. This book is a homage to the pleasures of giving; a culinary odyssey that delves deeply into the relationship between nutritional and emotional sustenance. In short, it is a foray into food and fornicating.\n\nI have used ingredients that are legal, generally accessible and widely regarded as good to eat. There will be no rhino horn or tiger penis, no whale sperm or Spanish fly. Above all, I would like you and your dinner partner to enjoy your meal, as I believe that the warm glow of shared enjoyment is as great an aphrodisiac as anything.\n\nAll recipes are for two. Modern 'couples' consisting of three or more parties should multiply ingredients by the appropriate factor.\n\nAnd a final word of advice: gluttony is the enemy of desire. In other words, don't eat too much!\n\nWhat type of relationship are you in \u2013 or would like to be in? This is important when it comes to choosing an appropriate menu for your romantic assignation. Every couple has a dominant mood or character. So I have classified six of these to provide an idea of what type of dishes may appeal to you and your partner.\n\nThis is not an exact science \u2013 it possibly only describes the six types of relationship that I have ever been in, though I hope that it is more universal than that. But you may feel that your relationship fits into more than one of these categories \u2013 or possibly even none.\n\nThere is, despite I'm sure some protestations to the contrary, no such thing as the perfect relationship. Different people want different types of relationship and have personalities that are suited to different types of relationship.\n\nFor some, a life of dedicated, monogamous commitment is the nearest thing to hell. For others, romantic love is all about loyalty and mutual respect. Not that monogamy occupies the moral high ground when it comes to mutual respect. Ooh, relationships: they're such a minefield aren't they?\n\nIn this book, different recipes are coded to show that they are particularly suitable for different types of relationship. So, answer the following questions to find out what type of relationship you're in \u2013 and help to create a bespoke menu that suits you and your partner.\n\n## The Results\n\nIf you answered mainly (a) then you are either in, or most suited to, an intense relationship.\n\nIf you answered mainly (b) you fall into the slow-burning category.\n\nIf you answered mainly (c) then you are in the quick & messy relationship category.\n\nAnswering mainly (d) means that your relationship is wholesome & nutritious.\n\nIf your answers were mainly (e) it means that you are most probably in a light & frothy relationship.\n\nAnd if your answers were mainly (f) then you fall into the heavy & profound group.\n\n  **Intense**\n\nThis type of relationship is characterised by violent passion, intense physicality, outbursts of jealousy, occasional arguments, quarrels, breakages, spillages and enthusiastic making up afterwards.\n\n  **Slow-burning**\n\nThe antithesis of the intense relationship, the slow-burner is all about gentle, ardent, respectful and growing love. Consideration and loyalty are key words here.\n\n  **Quick & messy**\n\nA hedonistic form of relationship that is non-committal and concerned primarily with the pleasures of sex. Swipe left and move on.\n\n  **Wholesome & nutritious**\n\nThis couple probably likes country walks, visits to art galleries, learning foreign languages together and eating healthily. Domestic duties are shared. Croissants are a weekend treat. Camomile tea is a nightly routine.\n\n  **Light & frothy**\n\nThis relationship is founded on fun and friendship and a refutation of all things serious. Life is for living, so let's enjoy ourselves. Sunday lunch in the pub with friends. Coffee and cake after work.\n\n  **Heavy & profound**\n\nExistentialism is erotic. I orgasm, therefore I am. Cue long nights discussing Kierkegaard, Dostoyevsky and Nietzsche in dimly lit rooms, writing love letters, packing suitcases and meeting in second-hand bookshops.\n\nFoods that actively dissuade us from sexual acts are called anaphrodisiacs. I have given details of a few of these below and you may want to think about avoiding them in a romantic meal. But this is also a subjective category: foods that one person finds delicious and sensuous another may find disgusting. Not everyone likes oysters, or steak tartare. So it is worth doing your research if you are cooking for someone, to see what foods they love and which they dislike.\n\nChasteberry\n\nYou're hardly likely to consume chasteberry, but it is worth a mention simply for the name. If you're in the market for chastity, this is clearly the herb for you.\n\nCherries\n\nOne study suggested that the mere smell of cherries reduces blood flow to the vagina by up to 18 per cent, which is hardly likely to help with female sexual pleasure. This is all the more surprising when you consider some of the associations of the fruit, especially 'popping the cherry'. Probably best to keep them off the menu if you're planning to cook for a lady.\n\nLettuce\n\nThis apparently neutral food in fact exerts a quite subtly powerful effect on us: it is a sedative. Identified by the Roman author Pliny as good for combatting sexual desire, lettuce is best eaten when you desire a good night's sleep rather than a night of frenetic activity.\n\nLiquorice\n\nThis root diminishes desire in both men and women, wreaking all kinds of negative hormonal changes and reducing sex drive. Avoid.\n\nTofu\n\nIt's actually the soy bean that is the culprit here (although soy sauce is all right because it has been fermented), but it's perhaps hardly surprising that something with the texture of soggy cardboard is unlikely to inspire ardour.\n\n## Key\n\nDifficulty ratings\n\n  Part-time Lover\n\n  Baby Love\n\n  Justify My Love\n\n  Love Takes Time\n\n  Whole Lotta Love\n\nRelationships types\n\n  Intense\n\n  Slow-burning\n\n  Quick & messy\n\n  Wholesome & nutritious\n\n  Light & frothy\n\n  Heavy & profound\n\nArouseometer ratings\n\n1 _(lip-moistening)_ to 5 _(raging horn)_\n\n## The recipes\n\nSOMETHING TO SLURP ON\n\nFrozen Watermelon Margarita\n\nBasil Martini\n\nAlmond Milk White Russian\n\nBloody Mary with Clam Juice\n\nStrawberry Bellini\n\nNIBBLES AND TIT-BITS\n\nSpiced Honeyed Almonds\n\nCaviar Blinis\n\nPuglia Broad Bean Dip\n\nOyster Fritters with Rocket and Wasabi Mayonnaise\n\nChaat Masala Watermelon with Mint\n\nSMOOTH AND SLIPPERY\n\nOysters with Chilli, Ginger and Lime\n\nSalmon Tikka Skewers with Dill and Pomegranate Raita\n\nMilton's Moules\n\nLobster with B\u00e9arnaise Sauce, Home-made Oven Chips and Broccoli\n\nScallops with Brown Butter, Capers and Lemon\n\nFLESH\n\nVenison and Liver Pies\n\nBeef Carpaccio with Parmesan, Rocket and Truffle oil\n\nYakitori-style Chicken Heart Skewers\n\nSteak Tartare with Confit Egg Yolk and A\u00efoli\n\nHerb-crusted French Rack of Venison\n\nBeef Fillet, Ceps, Marsala Sauce and Roasted Shallots\n\nTHE SPICE OF LIFE\n\nButternut Soup with Nutmeg and Toasted Pumpkin Seed Oil\n\nCrispy Sea Bass with Ginger and Spring Onions\n\nPaneer Tikka Masala\n\nSmoked Garlic Dauphinoise\n\nSalt and Pepper Baby Squid with Garlic Mayonnaise\n\nSaffron Roast Chicken with Lemon and Rosemary\n\nSHAPELY VEG\n\nCrunchy Fennel and Green Apple Salad\n\nAsparagus with Crab, Poached Eggs and Lemon Vinaigrette\n\nAvocado, Pancetta and Toasted Pumpkin Seed Salad\n\nPommes de Terres Sarladaises with Truffles\n\nRed Mullet, Artichoke Hearts and Lemon\n\nGETTING FRUITY\n\nWatermelon Salsa with Black Pepper Goat's Cheese\n\nGrilled Honey Figs, Goat's Cheese and Walnut Salad\n\nPork and Lychee Curry\n\nSalt Caramel and Rum Banana Cake\n\nPoached Quince with Mascarpone and Stilton Cream\n\nSWEET BITS\n\nCranachan with Figs, Candied Walnuts, Honey and Meringue\n\nChocolate Chilli Fondant\n\nRed Wine Poached Pears with Stem Ginger Cr\u00e8me Fra\u00eeche\n\nVanilla and Saffron Baguette and Butter Pudding with Gooseberry-Ginger Jam\n\nRaspberry and Rose Pudding\n\nAll recipes are for two people, unless otherwise stated. All recipes call for sea salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste, unless otherwise stated.\n\n## RECIPE LIST\n\nFROZEN WATERMELON MARGARITA\n\nBASIL MARTINI\n\nALMOND MILK WHITE RUSSIAN\n\n[BLOODY MARY  \nWITH CLAM JUICE](chapter004.xhtml#list4)\n\nSTRAWBERRY BELLINI\n\nGiven that I have previously written The Hungover Cookbook and The Drunken Cookbook, and that I was once Beer Writer of the Year, it probably comes as no surprise that drink should figure prominently in this book, too. Other than complete incompatibility, inhibition is probably the biggest single barrier to us getting it on with one another. Let's face it: we were born to fornicate as much as we were to do anything else, yet we have such disabling neuroses about it. Alcohol can help to pull the barriers to one side and make everything seem so much more... simple. I suppose it is alcohol's ability to do this that makes it such a problem for certain religions, which feel it leads to licentiousness and depravity.\n\nI am not necessarily advocating debauchery, though William Blake's words about the road of excess leading to the palace of wisdom have long been a personal motto of mine. Alcohol, as we are constantly reminded, should be used responsibly: it is, after all, a powerful drug. Plying someone with booze to get them drunk and compliant is not what I am suggesting. But I do think alcohol has a significant place in creating an atmosphere in which feelings can be expressed in a more honest way, and in which many of the potentially negative aspects of sobriety \u2013 such as guardedness, prudishness and the need to feel always in control \u2013 can be fleetingly banished.\n\nYet both men and women \u2013 but men in particular \u2013 should be wary that too much drink may, to paraphrase Shakespeare, provoke desire, but take away performance. The porter in Macbeth tells us that,\n\n_'... much drink may be said to be an equivocator with lechery. It makes him, and it mars him; it sets him on, and it takes him off; it persuades him, and disheartens him; makes him stand to and not stand to; in conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep, and, giving him the lie, leaves him.'_\n\nHere are five alcoholic drinks to get the juices flowing. In a sense. Just don't drink too much of them or you, too, could end up desiring to do something but failing to live up to your own expectations, let alone those of your partner.\n\n## FROZEN WATERMELON MARGARITA\n\njuice of 1 lime, plus 1 more lime for the glass rims ~ finely crushed sea salt, for the glass rims ~ 300g watermelon, deseeded and chopped into 2.5cm dice, frozen, plus 2 wedges of watermelon to serve ~ 100ml good-quality aged tequila ~ 25ml Cointreau ~ 2 handfuls of ice\n\nWatermelon appears three times in recipes in this book and not just because it is the colour of flushed skin, roses and lipstick. It contains citrulline, which is sometimes prescribed as a supplement for erectile dysfunction. It has the effect of improving circulation by dilating veins \u2013 vasodilation \u2013 via the production of nitric oxide. In one study, citrulline 'increased hardness by 50 per cent'. Now I doubt very much that the small amount of watermelon needed to make this delicious drink contains anything amounting to a therapeutic dose, but it can certainly do no harm.\n\nAnd, regardless of the impact of the watermelon, I've always found tequila (in modest quantities) to be effective in promoting concupiscence. The chilled quality of this drink adds an extra frisson of excitement... it should be served very cold. You will need martini glasses, or tall narrow tumblers.\n\nMilton's Method   Rub lime around the rims of two martini or Tom Collins glasses, then roll the outer part of the rim in the crushed salt (you don't actually want salt in the drink).\n\nPut all the ingredients for the margarita into a blender (not forgetting the lime juice) and blend thoroughly.\n\nPour into the glasses and serve immediately with a watermelon wedge on each.\n\n## BASIL MARTINI\n\nlarge handful of ice cubes (optional) ~ 8 basil leaves, plus more to serve ~ 4 mint leaves ~ 30ml sugar syrup (see recipe introduction) ~ 120ml gin ~ 30ml dry vermouth\n\nBasil has an ancient reputation for perking up flagging libidos. Pairing it with the martini \u2013 one of the more potent cocktails known to man (and woman) \u2013 seems like the perfect way to begin an evening of high-octane romance. For an insight into the possible consequences of this approach, Dorothy Parker wrote that:\n\n'I like to have a martini,\n\nTwo at the very most.\n\nAfter three I'm under the table,\n\nafter four I'm under my host.'\n\nKnowing when to stop is a key skill when drinking martinis. So be warned.\n\nThere are more ways to make a martini than there are ways to shake a (cocktail) stick, so feel free to amend this basic recipe. I have used a little sugar syrup to bring out the flavour of the basil (made by mixing two parts of water to one of caster sugar, then dissolving the sugar in a saucepan over a medium heat). You will need cocktail-making equipment \u2013 a shaker, a strainer and a muddle stick \u2013 as well as two martini glasses.\n\nMilton's Method   Chill two martini glasses by either placing them in a freezer for 10 minutes or filling them with ice cubes. The glasses should be as cold as possible.\n\nMuddle the basil, mint and sugar syrup thoroughly in a cocktail shaker with the muddle stick, then add the rest of the ingredients and stir for 30 seconds.\n\nEmpty the ice out of the glasses (if you used that method to chill them) and strain the martini into them. Decorate each with basil leaves and serve immediately.\n\n## ALMOND MILK WHITE RUSSIAN\n\n90ml vodka ~ 90ml Kahlua ~ 60ml almond milk ~ large handful of ice\n\nAlmonds have been a well-known aphrodisiac throughout history. Samson wooed Delilah with the branches of almond trees. And the ovoid shape of the almond resembles both the egg and a rather sensitive area of male anatomy.\n\nThere is also some science that explains how almonds help to improve libido: they are packed with various minerals, vitamins and healthy fats. Men who eat monosaturated fats of the type found in almonds have been found to have the highest levels of testosterone. In addition, the nuts contain zinc and the amino acid arginine, both of which play an important role in sexual function.\n\nThe smooth, silky texture and rounded flavour of almond milk makes it ideal in this enormously simple and delicious cocktail, with the added bonus that it can be rustled up in a matter of seconds. You will need a cocktail shaker.\n\nMilton's Method   Mix all the ingredients in a cocktail shaker with ice. Shake thoroughly for around 30 seconds, then serve in two Old Fashioned glasses (short tumblers).\n\n## BLOODY MARY  \nWITH CLAM JUICE\n\n500ml Clamato (tomato and clam juice) ~ 100ml vodka ~ 1 tsp lemon juice \u00bd tbsp Worcestershire sauce ~ splash of Tabasco sauce, or to taste ~ 1 tbsp tomato ketchup ~ pinch of hot smoked paprika ~ celery salt, or sea salt if you don't have it ~ freshly ground black pepper ~ ice cubes\n\nTomatoes, chillies, paprika and clam juice all stake a claim to be aphrodisiacs and, as they all make an appearance here, this can rightfully be seen as a lover's super-drink.\n\nNot everyone may appreciate clam juice in their drink. It's safe to say that it splits opinion. But by incorporating it, the cocktail is even richer in libidinous nutrients, as they offer various amino acids that have been shown to increase sex hormone production in rats. It seems that the same study has not yet been conducted on humans, but the reputation of bivalves such as oysters, mussels and clams seems to indicate that there might be something in it.\n\nThis is my favourite bloody Mary recipe that I have used for many years, to great success. Please feel free to tweak it to your preference.\n\nMilton's Method  Mix all the ingredients very well to make sure that everything is combined, especially the ketchup and paprika. Adjust the seasoning to taste and serve over ice in tall glasses.\n\n## STRAWBERRY BELLINI\n\nhandful of strawberries ~ 2 tsp caster sugar ~ 1 tsp lemon juice ~ 1 mint leaf ~ 1 bottle of champagne\n\nI would recommend champagne on its own as an aphrodisiac, but what kind of recipe would that be? Despite it being on the late polemicist Christopher Hitchens's list of the most overrated things in life (along with lobster, picnics and anal sex), I think there is nothing better than drinking champagne with those you love... or for whom you may yet form a passion. People may say they prefer prosecco, cava, or even English sparkling wine these days, but there is still nothing like the real thing.\n\nOpening a bottle of champagne in such a way that the foam pours out is, when you think about it, an act with plenty of erotic symbolism. The convention is to mute the pop and it is true that this helps to avoid spillages and maintains the atmosphere in those restaurants where 'muted' is seen as a good thing. But the child in me prefers the sense of theatre of a good loud bang.\n\nStrawberries add gentle sweetness, a romantic pink hue and a suggestive shape.\n\nMilton's Method   Begin by macerating the strawberries: put them in a small bowl with the sugar and lemon juice and leave at room temperature for around 20 minutes. The berries will release some of their juice and the sugar will be absorbed into the lemon\/strawberry juice mixture.\n\nPour the strawberries and juice into a blender with the mint leaf. Quickly pulse-blend, then pass through a fine sieve, pushing it with the back of a spoon into the bowl to remove the seeds. Chill until you are ready to drink.\n\nPlace 1 tablespoon of the strawberry pur\u00e9e in each of two champagne flutes and carefully top up with champagne. Serve immediately.\n\n## RECIPE LIST\n\nSPICED HONEYED ALMONDS\n\nCAVIAR BLINIS\n\nPUGLIA BROAD BEAN DIP\n\n[OYSTER FRITTERS  \nWITH ROCKET AND WASABI MAYONNAISE](chapter005.xhtml#list9)\n\n[CHAAT MASALA WATERMELON  \nWITH MINT](chapter005.xhtml#list10)\n\nJust as sex usually begins with some form of foreplay, your erotic culinary journey should also start with small, gentle steps that serve to excite the appetite, rather than sating it. This comes in the form of small bites that aim to tease and arouse palates and minds. The very beginning is one of my favourite parts of any evening, because of the anticipation of delights that are yet to be served up. It is an opportunity for lightness and fun, before the serious business gets under way. There is something to be said, sometimes, for diving straight in, disregarding all niceties and tucking straight into the main course before even a drink has been poured, but playfulness and build-up should not be under-estimated. If all the main action is over too soon, what is there left to do?\n\nThe ability of ingredients to have an aphrodisiac effect is contentious, and there is certainly much more to creating an erotic dining experience than merely using the right foods. It is about conjuring up an atmosphere for romance and, above all, showing that you are an attentive lover. 'Genius,' according to Thomas Carlyle, 'is an infinite capacity for taking pains.' My plan is to turn you into a genius lover... when it comes to making dinner. With these first steps you will hopefully begin not only to arouse your partner with food, but also demonstrate that you know how to press more than just the most obvious buttons.\n\nHere are five nibbles to begin your erotic culinary experience.\n\n## SPICED HONEYED ALMONDS\n\n\u00be tsp cayenne pepper ~ \u00bd tsp smoked paprika ~ 1 tbsp olive oil ~ 400g raw almonds ~ 75ml good-quality honey ~ 30g raw sugar ~ \u00be tsp sea salt\n\nThis simple and delicious pre-dinner snack combines almonds with honey and spices, all of which have some aphrodisiac qualities. Sweet, salty, spicy and crispy, this little dish pleases the senses in lots of different ways and is a great accompaniment to cocktails.\n\nMilton's Method  Preheat the oven to 180\u00b0C\/gas mark 4. Place the spices, olive oil and almonds in a large bowl and mix thoroughly.\n\nGently heat the honey in a heavy-based non-stick pan until it is thin and runny. Add the honey to the nut mixture and mix again so all the nuts are well coated.\n\nLine a baking tray with greaseproof paper and empty the nuts out on to the tray, spreading them out so they form a single layer. Place in the oven for 10 minutes.\n\nRemove the almonds from the oven and allow to cool for 5 minutes, then place in a serving bowl, sprinkle with the sugar and salt, mix once more and serve.\n\n## CAVIAR BLINIS\n\n**For the blinis:** _40g strong white bread flour ~ 60g wholemeal buckwheat flour ~ \u00bd tsp fine salt ~ 1 tsp caraway seeds ~ 100ml milk ~ 1 tsp dried 'quick' or 'fast action' yeast ~ 1 large free-range egg, lightly beaten ~ 70g sour cream ~ unsalted butter, to fry_ **For the topping:** 230g sour cream ~ handful of chives ~ caviar\/roe of your choice\n\nCaviar is a prestige food and its association with that most effective of aphrodisiacs \u2013 money \u2013 is often, on its own, enough to produce the required response. Scarcity is not its only appeal: caviar's texture and flavour are sublime, and it is also incredibly rich in nutrients. 'Wit ought to be a glorious treat like caviar,' said Noel Coward; 'never spread it about like marmalade.'\n\nThere is no greater fertility symbol than the egg and, in each mouthful of caviar, you may consume a hundred or more of them. Assuming that your budget may not quite stretch to the real thing, or at least not on a regular basis, there are alternatives at a more realistic price, which still contain a similar amount of key aphrodisiac components such as selenium, iron and magnesium as well as the amino acids arginine and histidine. So consider pink salmon roe, or black lumpfish caviar. They are less delicate and refined than the real deal, it is true, but also much cheaper.\n\nOligarchs and royalty may consume caviar by the mother-of-pearl spoonful, but a blini \u2013 a Russian buckwheat pancake \u2013 is a perfectly adequate receptacle for the rest of us. And wheeling out a dozen blinis topped with sour cream and fish eggs always creates a sense of occasion. Feel free to buy your blinis from the shop; however, if you want to impress your guest, try making them from scratch.\n\nMilton's Method   For the blinis, tip both types of flour, the salt and caraway seeds into a mixing bowl. Place the milk in a small pan and heat it gently until it begins to bubble, then immediately take it off the heat and stir in the yeast with a balloon whisk, followed by the egg and sour cream, making sure all the ingredients are well incorporated. Slowly pour the milk mixture into the bowl of flour, stirring, until you have a smooth batter. Cover with cling film and leave for an hour or two. The mixture should thicken and some bubbles begin to appear.\n\nWhen you are ready to cook the blinis, heat a large, heavy-based frying pan over a medium heat and melt the butter in it. Use a teaspoon to gently place small circles of batter in the pan, being careful not to crowd them. Cook for around 2 minutes until golden, then flip and cook the other sides until they, too, are golden. Allow to cool on a wire rack while you cook the rest of the batter.\n\nDress each blini with sour cream, chives and caviar and serve on a platter.\n\n## PUGLIA BROAD BEAN DIP\n\n350g dried split broad (fava) beans ~ 2 large old potatoes, peeled and chopped into large cubes ~ sea salt and freshly ground black pepper ~ 2 garlic cloves, very finely chopped or crushed ~ 125ml extra virgin olive oil ~ juice of \u00bd lemon\n\nBroad beans, called fava beans in many places in the world, are perhaps among the more unlikely \u2013 if not outright unsexy \u2013 of aphrodisiacs. Well known across the Mediterranean countries as a peasant food, they historically provided a cheap source of protein. However, they also contain fortifying iron and a chemical called levodopa, which helps to produce dopamine in the brain, a hormone that drives us to seek out pleasure. Whether or not the beans contain enough of this to make a substantial impact is debatable, but its reputation suggests that it does. And, as a dip, this dish can satisfy any Freudian oral-stage fixations that you may have, rehearsing the same compulsive behaviours that you may wish to repeat a little later in the evening.\n\nIn the heel of Italy's boot, in the province of Puglia, broad beans have traditionally been turned into a version of this pur\u00e9e, commonly served as part of a spread of antipasti, or as a dish in its own right. You could use fresh broad beans to produce a green pur\u00e9e, but I have stuck with the classic Puglian version.\n\nMilton's Method  Tip the broad beans and potatoes into a large saucepan and cover with cold water. Bring to the boil, though do not stir, and simmer over a medium heat for around 10 minutes. Now drain and refill the pan with clean water and 1 teaspoon of salt. Return to the boil and simmer for a further 25\u201335 minutes, until the beans have broken down in texture. Drain and, using a hand-held blender, blitz them to a smooth consistency.\n\nIn a separate pan, gently saut\u00e9 the garlic in 1 tablespoon of the olive oil and, when it softens, add it to the bean mix. Over a very low heat, gradually drizzle in the rest of the olive oil, while stirring the mixture fairly vigorously in order to prevent it from splitting. When all the oil has been incorporated, add the lemon juice and pepper and adjust the seasoning to taste.\n\nPlace in a bowl and allow to cool before serving with carrot batons and breadsticks.\n\n## OYSTER FRITTERS  \nWITH ROCKET AND WASABI MAYONNAISE\n\n**For the mayonnaise:** _1 tsp wasabi paste ~ 2 medium free-range egg yolks, at room temperature ~ pinch of sea salt ~ 250ml sunflower oil ~ 25ml extra virgin olive oil ~ 1 tbsp lemon juice ~ handful of rocket, roughly chopped_ **For the fritters:** _150g plain flour ~ pinch of fine salt ~ 1 free-range egg, lightly beaten ~ 150ml beer (ale) ~ 12 very fresh oysters ~ sunflower oil, to deep-fry_\n\nI will assume that you know about oysters being among the most potent of libido-boosters, and I examine their reputation in more detail on here. Perhaps less well known is that both rocket and wasabi have also been ascribed aphrodisiac properties.\n\nWhereas lettuce has since ancient times been known to cause lethargy, rocket is its counterbalance. In a poem ascribed to Virgil, the poet declares that 'rocket excites the sexual desire of drowsy people'. This is perhaps not surprising, given rocket's pungent, peppery flavour that stimulates the taste buds and, by extension, other bits of the body.\n\nThe same basic principle applies to wasabi, a Japanese plant which tastes somewhere between horseradish and hot mustard. Unlike chilli, it targets the sinuses more than the lips and tongue. And also unlike chilli, wasabi's heat quickly diminishes and can be washed away with water. But by then it has already increased the heart rate and dilated the blood vessels enough to achieve a potentially libidinous effect.\n\nMilton's Method   Begin by preparing the mayonnaise. In a large mixing bowl, whisk the wasabi and egg yolks together with the salt until everything is well-blended and the salt has dissolved. Add the sunflower oil in a very thin continuous stream, whisking the whole time. Be careful at this stage: the mixture needs to emulsify and thicken as you go. As the mixture gets thicker, you can increase the rate at which you pour in the oil until you have the amount of mayonnaise you need, finishing with the extra virgin oil, for a bit of flavour. Continue whisking for a further minute to get a stiff consistency and glossy sheen. Then add the lemon juice, which will thin the mayonnaise slightly, and whisk it in gradually. Finally, fold in the rocket with a spoon.\n\nNow for the fritters. Combine 100g of the flour and the salt in a large bowl. In another bowl, mix the egg and the beer. Gradually add the wet ingredients to the dry, whisking until you have a smooth batter. Cover and place in the fridge for 20 minutes.\n\nCarefully shuck the oysters (see here), discarding any with open shells. In a wok or deep-fat fryer, heat sunflower oil to about 180\u00b0C, if you have a thermometer (if you don't, a scrap of the batter should immediately sizzle when thrown into the oil). When you are ready to fry, roll the oysters in the remaining 50g of flour, then dip them in the batter and very carefully place them into the hot oil using a slotted spoon.\n\nCook for 2\u00bd-3 minutes, checking carefully to see that they do not overcook. When they are golden brown, remove them from the oil with the slotted spoon and place on kitchen paper. Dab off the excess oil and serve immediately with the mayonnaise.\n\n## CHAAT MASALA WATERMELON  \nWITH MINT\n\nhandful of mint leaves, finely chopped ~ 1 tbsp chaat masala ~ 2 tsp caster sugar ~ \u00bd small watermelon ~ juice of 1 lime ~ cocktail sticks, to serve\n\nWith a watermelon you will inevitably, at some stage or another, slurp. Juices will run down your chin. You will need to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. It is, in these respects, a sensual fruit. Yet it has further surprises up its sleeve. For a food that contains such an overwhelming percentage of water, its remaining active ingredients are packed full of libido-boosting goodies. In particular, it contains citrulline, an amino acid that plays an important role in promoting sexual arousal.\n\nTo this recipe I have also added a little spice \u2013 in the form of a tangy powder called chaat masala \u2013 and mint, both of which pair nicely with watermelon and make this pre-dinner tit-bit an exotic, tantalising treat.\n\nMilton's Method  Combine the mint, chaat masala and sugar in a bowl.\n\nCut the watermelon into 2cm-thick wedges, then peel off the skin and cut the wedges into large tapered chunks, each about 3cm long.\n\nSqueeze lime juice over the watermelon chunks, then cover one of the tapered sides of each piece with the chaat masala mixture. Spear with a cocktail stick, arrange on a plate and chill in the fridge before serving.\n\n## RECIPE LIST\n\n[OYSTERS  \nWITH CHILLI, GINGER AND LIME](chapter006.xhtml#list11)\n\n[SALMON TIKKA SKEWERS  \nWITH DILL AND POMEGRANATE RAITA](chapter006.xhtml#list12)\n\nMILTON'S MOULES\n\n[LOBSTER  \nWITH B\u00c9ARNAISE SAUCE, HOME-MADE OVEN CHIPS AND BROCCOLI](chapter006.xhtml#list14)\n\n[SCALLOPS  \nWITH BROWN BUTTER, CAPERS AND LEMON](chapter006.xhtml#list15)\n\nCasanova was a great lover of oysters. To my mind that sentence doesn't prove anything and contains two great implied and unsubstantiated clich\u00e9s: first, that Casanova is the greatest lover that has ever lived; second, that oysters constitute the ultimate aphrodisiac. Casanova did, however, have a nice suggestion for how to eat the briny bivalve: 'I placed the shell on the edge of her lips and after a good deal of laughing, she sucked in the oyster, which she held between her lips. I instantly recovered it by placing my lips on hers.' And various forms of seafood do seem to have a deserved reputation for making us frisky. So perhaps the clich\u00e9s are well founded after all.\n\nOysters are not the only type of seafood to be addressed in this chapter, but they are the most famous of all aphrodisiacs. They have in common with other shellfish a passing, though perhaps not entirely complimentary, resemblance to female genitalia and it is the textural qualities of seafood \u2013 the smooth and slippery title of this chapter \u2013 that make them an aphrodisiac as much as any nutritional qualities. According to one report, the late art critic Brian Sewell was at pains to suggest that oysters were not as feminine as many people suggest. When a colleague told him that she didn't like oysters, he replied, 'Oh. Well, I daresay you ought not to try fellatio.' However, I should probably also point out that Sewell had something of a reputation as a misogynist.\n\nThe sensuous nature of seafood and the tactile way in which we eat it, the high levels of zinc and amino acids contained within it, and its cultural legacy as pre-pharmaceutical Viagra, means these recipes are the closest you will get to sure-fire aphrodisiacs.\n\n## OYSTERS  \nWITH CHILLI, GINGER AND LIME\n\n12 very fresh oysters ~ bag of ice ~ small piece of root ginger, peeled and finely grated ~ 1 medium-hot red chilli, deseeded and very finely chopped ~ juice of \u00bd lime ~ 1 kaffir lime leaf, very finely chopped ~ 1 tsp brown sugar ~ 3 tbsp rice wine vinegar\n\nPurists will no doubt insist that at most a little lemon juice, shallot vinegar and \u2013 at a stretch \u2013 a couple of drops of Tabasco sauce are the most that a good oyster will ever need. As variety is the spice of life, I wanted to present you with this eastern take on serving oysters.\n\nMuch has been made of the aphrodisiac properties of the oyster. The fact that they are very high in zinc is often cited as the primary reason. But I think it is the uniquely tactile way we eat oysters that puts us in mind of affairs of the heart (and other parts of the body). With the oyster we literally kiss the sea, then swallow it.\n\nMilton's Method  Wash and carefully shuck the oysters. Discard any that are open, or partially open. Hold the oyster on a flat surface using a tea towel, curved side down, and insert a short knife with a short blade into the crack at the base of the hinge. Use a combination of twisting and levering to prise the top shell off, then slice gently along the underside of the top shell to remove the oyster. Place carefully on a platter of crushed ice.\n\nCombine all the remaining ingredients to make a dressing and sprinkle over the oysters. Serve within 30 minutes.\n\n## SALMON TIKKA SKEWERS  \nWITH DILL AND POMEGRANATE RAITA\n\n**For the salmon:** _1 tbsp tikka spice paste ~ 4 tbsp full-fat Greek-style yogurt ~ squeeze of lime juice, plus lime wedges to serve ~ 200g salmon fillet ~ a little sunflower oil_ **For the raita:** \u00bd pomegranate ~ 4 tbsp full-fat Greek-style yogurt ~ 1 tbsp roughly chopped dill fronds, plus more to serve ~ sea salt ~ \u00bc tsp cayenne pepper\n\nThis makes a quick and simple starter, packed with omega-3 fatty acids that are said to improve libido. Add spices and pretty jewels of pomegranate to colour the raita pink... and the result is an enticingly sexy beginning to your dinner.\n\nMilton's Method   Mix the spice paste, yogurt and lime juice in a bowl until well blended. Cut the salmon fillet into 2.5cm cubes, add to the bowl and gently stir into the mixture. Set aside.\n\nTake the seeds out of the half pomegranate. If it is a good, juicy fruit, you will also get at least 1 tablespoon of juice from it, too. Add almost all the seeds (reserve a few) and 1 tablespoon of juice to a bowl with the yogurt and add the dill and two pinches of salt. Sprinkle the cayenne pepper over the top.\n\nPreheat your grill to maximum. Taking great care, thread the salmon pieces on to skewers. Lay some foil over a grill pan and brush it with oil where the skewers will sit. Place the skewers on the foil, brush with oil and put them under the grill. Wait until they colour and char a little at the edges, then extremely carefully (the salmon gets flakier as it cooks) rotate the skewers, brushing with oil once more, so the fish gets cooked all the way through; you will probably only need to do this once.\n\nRemove the skewers and slide the salmon pieces on to warmed plates. Spoon a good portion of raita next to them and dress it with the reserved pomegranate seeds and a little dill. Squeeze a little lime juice over the salmon, add a pinch of salt and serve immediately with lime wedges.\n\n## MILTON'S MOULES\n\n1.5kg very fresh mussels ~ large knob of unsalted butter ~ 6 rashers of smoked streaky bacon, finely chopped ~ 2 small shallots, finely sliced ~ 250ml dry cider ~ 75ml double cream ~ 1 tbsp chopped tarragon leaves ~ freshly ground black pepper ~ crusty bread, to serve\n\nThere are many tasty ways to prepare mussels, but my favourite is to use smoky bacon, cider, cream and tarragon to make a luxuriant sauce that works perfectly with seafood. I think that a dry cider is also great to drink with many types of seafood.\n\nMake sure you thoroughly check and clean all your mussels; a success the night before won't mean much if there's failure hours after. A little care will ensure that only good things will come of your bowl of moules.\n\nMilton's Method   Check and clean your mussels. Discard any that are open and refuse to close when tapped sharply on the edge of the sink (they are probably dead) or too heavy (they are probably full of sand). Remove the beards and scrub the shells so they look beautiful enough to serve to someone you love.\n\nSet a large saucepan or casserole dish over a medium heat. Add the butter, let it bubble a little, then add the bacon. When the bacon has coloured a little, add the shallots, cook for 2 minutes, stirring occasionally, then pour in the cider. Let it come to the boil, then throw in the mussels and put a lid over them.\n\nThe mussels only need 2 or 3 minutes, and you should shake the pan well halfway through. Keep an eye on them and, when they have opened, remove them immediately into warmed bowls with a slotted spoon. Discard any that stubbornly refuse to open. Reduce the heat under the pan to low and add the cream, tarragon and a little black pepper. Stir well, let the sauce cook for a minute or two, then pour over the mussels and serve straight away with crusty bread and a glass of cider or dry white wine.\n\n## LOBSTER  \nWITH B\u00c9ARNAISE SAUCE, HOME-MADE OVEN CHIPS AND BROCCOLI\n\n**For the lobster, chips and broccoli:** _3 large Maris Piper potatoes ~ sea salt and freshly ground black pepper ~ 2 tbsp olive oil ~ 2 sprigs of rosemary ~ 2 whole live lobsters ~ 100g tenderstem broccoli_ **For the b\u00e9arnaise sauce:** _150g unsalted butter ~ 2 tbsp white wine vinegar ~ 2 echalion (banana) shallots, chopped ~ 1 tbsp chopped tarragon leaves, plus 1 tbsp whole leaves ~ 2 large free-range egg yolks ~ 2 tsp lemon juice_\n\nDespite having recently become less expensive and more commonly served in restaurants, lobster remains one of life's great culinary indulgences. Full of zinc, B-vitamins and amino acids, it is also one of Aphrodite's envoys from the sea, come (unwittingly, it is true) on to land to promote love and raunchiness between humans. As David Foster Wallace urged, I ask that you both respect and 'consider the lobster' and deal with them in the most humane way possible. Rather than giving a tutorial on how to do this within these pages, I suggest you check out one of the numerous online video tutorials for the best method.\n\nThe b\u00e9arnaise sauce in this recipe is a little bit of a shag to make, but I am assuming that you are going all out to impress your fellow diner and will go the extra mile. And a half. Actually it's not that bad and it's well worth it: the buttery tarragon flavour works brilliantly with lobster.\n\nAs for the oven chips? Well, how many people do you know with a deep-fat fryer in their kitchen? This method is easier, less messy and healthier... and produces pretty fine chips.\n\nMilton's Method   Sort out the chips first. Preheat the oven to 220\u00b0C\/gas mark 7 and put a baking tray inside.\n\nPeel the potatoes and cut them, lengthways, into 1cm-thick chips. Place in a saucepan with cold water, give the pan a good shake, stir the potatoes with your hands, then drain the water. Refill with cold water, add 1 tsp of salt, clap on the lid and place over a medium-high heat. When the water comes to the boil, leave for 2 minutes, then drain and wrap briefly in a clean tea towel to dry them out.\n\nPut the blanched chips in a bowl with 1 tablespoon of the olive oil and a generous pinch of salt, then take the hot baking tray out of the oven and place on the side. Empty the chips out onto the hot baking tray so they form a single layer. Splash the remaining tablespoon of oil over them, throw on the rosemary and place in the oven for 35 minutes, until crispy and golden, shaking once or twice.\n\nTo make the b\u00e9arnaise sauce, start by clarifying the butter: place a heavy-based saucepan over a low heat and put the butter in it. Once all the butter has melted and created a foam, turn the heat off and leave for a couple of minutes. Skim the foam off the top with a teaspoon (discard it), then pass the remaining butter through a fine sieve into a bowl, leaving the milky solids at the base of the pan behind (discard them, too). Set aside.\n\nAdd the vinegar, shallots, chopped tarragon and a pinch of salt to a small pan. Set over a medium heat and reduce the volume of the liquid by half. Strain and set aside to cool.\n\nGently beat the egg yolks with 1 teaspoon of water and add to the cooled vinegar with 1 teaspoon of the lemon juice. Add this mixture to a heatproof bowl suspended over a pan of simmering water (make sure the bowl does not touch the water). Whisk the mixture vigorously for 2-3 minutes until it thickens enough to coat the back of a spoon. Remove from the heat and gradually pour in the clarified butter, still whisking all the time so that the mixture emulsifies. Keep whisking once all the butter has gone in, until glossy and well mixed. Add the whole tarragon leaves, the remaining 1 teaspoon of lemon juice and some black pepper and pour into a small jug.\n\nMeanwhile, bring a very large pan of water to the boil, then reduce the heat to a steady simmer. Humanely dispatch the lobsters as you see fit, then separate the claws and the tail meat and poach in the water: the tail needs 4-6 minutes, the claws 6-8 minutes. Scoop out of the water with a slotted spoon and dunk immediately into cold water, to arrest the cooking. Drain well. Take the flesh from the tail and crack the claws.\n\nSteam the broccoli for 3 minutes, drain, then place everything on warmed plates, pouring some of the b\u00e9arnaise over the lobster tails and serving the remaining sauce in individual ramekins. Season the broccoli and chips with sea salt and serve immediately.\n\n## SCALLOPS  \nWITH BROWN BUTTER, CAPERS AND LEMON\n\n50g unsalted butter ~ 6 very fresh scallops ~ 1 tbsp rapeseed oil ~ 150ml dry white wine ~ 1 tbsp capers, drained ~ finely grated zest and juice of \u00bd unwaxed lemon ~ sea salt and freshly ground black pepper ~ French bread, to serve\n\nIn legend, Aphrodite, goddess of love, emerged from a scallop shell... and the sweet flesh of these treats from the sea is a sensual delight. The smooth and slippery texture of seafood that I allude to in the title of this chapter is uniquely suggestive. Choose the freshest, hand-dived scallops; here, their sweetness pairs nicely with sharp, salty capers, nutty butter and a little lemon juice. The secret is all in the cooking: overcooked scallops are rubbery; undercooked scallops are unappealing; a perfectly seared scallop is sublime.\n\nMilton's Method   First make the brown butter by melting it in a heavy-based saucepan over a medium-low heat; ideally, use a pan with a white or stainless-steel base, so you can see the change in colour. It should foam, then gradually turn brown. Keep a close eye on it, as you don't want it to burn (if it does, you'll have to start again). When it is nut-brown, remove it immediately from the heat and pour into a bowl so it stops cooking.\n\nPrepare the scallops by shucking them from the shells, discarding the frilly 'skirt', black stomach and rubbery foot. I prefer to cook the orange-pink coral with the scallop itself rather than discarding it, but this is up to you. Give the scallops a good wash under cold running water, but do not soak them, then pat dry with kitchen paper or a clean tea towel.\n\nHeat a heavy-based frying pan and add the oil. When it is hot, place the scallops gently in the pan. Cook for two minutes on one side, then turn and cook for around a minute on the other side, until each scallop has a slight spring to it when pressed, but is not too firm.\n\nRemove the scallops from the pan, add the white wine, stir and reduce the liquid by half, then add the capers, lemon zest and juice, brown butter and a little salt and pepper. Stir well and remove from the heat immediately. Plate the scallops on warm (but not hot) plates and drizzle the sauce over the top. Serve with a little French bread and glasses of very cold dry white wine.\n\n## RECIPE LIST\n\nVENISON AND LIVER PIES\n\n[BEEF CARPACCIO  \nWITH PARMESAN, ROCKET AND TRUFFLE OIL](chapter007.xhtml#list17)\n\nYAKITORI-STYLE CHICKEN HEART SKEWERS\n\n[STEAK TARTARE  \nWITH CONFIT EGG YOLK AND A\u00cfOLI](chapter007.xhtml#list19)\n\nHERB-CRUSTED FRENCH RACK OF VENISON\n\nBEEF FILLET, CEPS, MARSALA SAUCE AND ROASTED SHALLOTS\n\nAs any writer worth their salt knows, the only two subjects really worth writing about are sex and death. They form the basis of all great comedy and all true tragedy. Flesh \u2013 or meat \u2013 symbolises both sex and death: the word carnal, which relates to sexual appetite, comes from the Latin for 'flesh'. Sexual sins are 'sins of the flesh'. Meat-eaters who have sex are carnal carnivores.\n\nThere is something primal about eating a hunk of meat \u2013 red meat in particular \u2013 and it is no surprise that the act of eating it may arouse animal passions in us, too.\n\nAtavism is a powerful force: by subconsciously suggesting a time in prehistory before we were bound by the laws and institutions of modern civilisation, it liberates us and allows us to follow our more primal urges. Now, I'm not saying that eating a steak will make you act like an unreconstructed caveman or woman \u2013 and nor should it \u2013 but there is definitely something about tearing into meat that subtly reinforces the notion of our animal selves. Meat contains plenty of useful nutrition for lovers, but it is by emphasising the hunter rather than the gatherer in us that our lusts are truly awakened.\n\nHere are six meaty recipes to wrap your mouth around.\n\n## VENISON AND LIVER PIES\n\n**For the pastry:** _225g plain flour ~ fine salt ~ 100g unsalted butter, finely chopped ~ 1 free-range egg yolk, lightly beaten, plus 1 beaten free-range egg for brushing_ **For the filling:** _2 tbsp rapeseed oil ~ 350g venison, diced ~ 6 rashers of smoked streaky bacon ~ 1 onion, finely chopped ~ 1 carrot, finely chopped ~ 1 bay leaf ~ 1 tbsp plain flour ~ 250ml red wine ~ 350ml beef stock ~ sea salt and freshly ground black pepper ~ 1 sprig of rosemary ~ 1 tsp redcurrant jelly ~ 200g venison or calf's liver ~ a little milk_\n\nA little pie on a plate is a lovely thing. My original plan for this recipe was for venison liver on its own, but, after some reflection, I realised that the only person I know who gets a perverse kick from eating slabs of liver is Hannibal Lecter. It is hardly the stuff \u2013 by itself, at any rate \u2013 of a romantic dinner _\u00e0 deux_. However, liver is a wonderfully nutritious food with iron-rich properties offering fortification for lovers, if fortification be needed. So I decided to work venison liver into these lovely little shortcrust venison pies that make a perfect romantic treatment for a cold winter's day in front of a roaring log fire. If you cannot get hold of venison liver, use calf's liver instead.\n\nYou will need two little pie dishes, each about 12cm across. These are big enough to have a plate to themselves; serve the vegetables on a separate plate.\n\nMilton's Method   Make the pastry by sifting the flour into a large bowl with a pinch of salt. Work in the butter with your fingertips until you have a breadcrumb consistency. Add the egg yolk and 3 tablespoons of water and stir in using a knife. You should now be able to make a ball of dough. If the mixture is still too dry, add a little more water until this is possible. Wrap in cling film and chill in the fridge for at least 20 minutes.\n\nNow for the filling. Pour half the oil in a heavy casserole dish, place over a high heat and seal the venison on all sides. Remove with a slotted spoon and wipe the pan clean.\n\nReturn the pan to the heat and add the remaining oil. Add the bacon, cooking until it is beginning to crisp up, then add the onion, carrot and bay leaf. Stir a few times and cook for around 5 minutes, then reduce the heat to medium, stir in the flour until well mixed, then pour in the red wine. Stir in and reduce a little, then add the stock, salt and pepper and rosemary. Bring to the boil, return the meat (but not the liver) to the pan and reduce the heat to a simmer. Leave to simmer for 80 minutes with the lid on, then add the redcurrant jelly, stir well and check the seasoning, adjusting it if necessary. Leave to cool and thicken a little, then remove the rosemary twig and the bay leaf.\n\nPreheat the oven to 210\u00b0C\/gas mark 6\u00bd.\n\nMake the pastry cases by rolling out the pastry and cutting out four discs for the pie lids and bases. Place a round of the pastry in each pie dish, tucking it snugly in with your fingers. Press the pastry firmly around the rim of the dish and trim any excess with a knife, then fill with the venison using a slotted spoon. Cut the liver and add this to the mix, topping up with a little of the cooking liquid (but reserve some to make the gravy).\n\nBrush a little beaten egg onto the pastry rim of each pie and add the pie lids, seal and crimp the edges, and brush with the rest of the egg. Cut a small hole in the centre of each lid and bake for around 25 minutes, or until golden.\n\nStrain the remaining venison cooking liquid into a small saucepan over a medium heat for a few minutes, stirring occasionally, allow the gravy to reduce and thicken a little, then pour into a jug.\n\nServe the pies with the gravy, creamy mash and red cabbage.\n\n## BEEF CARPACCIO  \nWITH PARMESAN, ROCKET AND TRUFFLE OIL\n\n**For the carpaccio:** _1 tsp black peppercorns ~ 1 tsp fennel seeds ~ 200g aged fillet steak ~ knob of unsalted butter ~ slug of flavourless oil ~ 2 large handfuls of rocket ~ 50g Parmesan cheese_ **For the balsamic dressing:** _1 tbsp aged balsamic vinegar ~ 4 tbsp extra virgin olive oil ~ sea salt_ **For the truffle oil dressing:** _1 tsp lemon juice ~ 4 tsp truffle oil_\n\nBeef is seldom a delicate commodity, but this dish combines finesse with simplicity to create a harmonious whole. Carpaccio is very finely sliced raw meat and can be made using any number of different meats or fish, but the most well-known form uses beef. The home cook has to rely on a different set of tricks and skills than the professional chef. In this case, it is essential to source the best ingredients you possibly can. There is no point in using second-rate beef. It has to be the finest, aged fillet steak that will melt in your mouth.\n\nAnd having said that this is a simple dish, achieving a perfect fine carpaccio slice is slightly tricky. You will need a very sharp knife but, rather than trying to slice the beef too finely and ending up with tatters, I recommend making sure you cut it thickly enough to get a complete slice, then flatten it between sheets of cling film to achieve the fineness you require. I like to sear the outside of the fillet with a peppercorn and fennel seed crust to give it a bit of texture. This is a perfect starter.\n\nMilton's Method   In a mortar and pestle, grind the peppercorns and fennel seeds a little until you have a coarse, nubbly texture. Using your hands, pick up the steak and rub the outer edges (but not the faces) with the fennel mix; it will stick well. Add the butter and oil to a hot non-stick pan and, still holding the fillet in your hand, sear the outer edges very briefly, turning, perhaps for a minute in total. Let the beef cool a little, then wrap it tightly in cling film to preserve its shape and chill in the fridge for around 20 minutes to make it easier to slice.\n\nIn the meantime, prepare the dressings. Pour the balsamic vinegar into a small bowl, then vigorously whisk in the olive oil a little at a time until the mixture is emulsified. Add a pinch of salt.\n\nIn a second bowl, combine the lemon juice, truffle oil and another pinch of salt until emulsified.\n\nIn a larger bowl, combine the rocket with the balsamic dressing. Toss well, then place on two serving plates. Shave the Parmesan cheese using a vegetable peeler and sprinkle it over the rocket.\n\nRemove the beef from the fridge and cut into roughly four slices with a sharp knife. Place each between sheets of cling film and flatten using the back of the knife and pressure from your hand.\n\nArrange the slices with the rocket on the plates and leave to come up to room temperature before serving, sprinkling the beef with the truffle dressing.\n\n## YAKITORI-STYLE CHICKEN HEART SKEWERS\n\n1 tsp finely chopped root ginger ~ 1 tsp finely chopped garlic ~ \u00bd red chilli, finely chopped ~ 1 tsp soy sauce ~ 1 tsp caster sugar ~ 3 tsp mirin (rice wine) ~ 24 chicken hearts ~ a little flavourless oil\n\nI have been studiedly coy about my own romantic affairs in this cookbook, not just because I am in this respect an Englishman of the old school, but because there is probably nothing so off-putting to good eating than hearing about other people's sex lives. However, the reason that I have included this slightly macabre recipe is that once, on a remote island near Borneo with a very special person by my side, we ate a rather similar dish, cooked over flames under the stars, and felt very much in love. When you think of the number of chickens that had to die for this to be created it may make you feel a little less romantic, but I prefer to dwell on the fact that I have done my bit to ensure nothing has gone to waste. Getting hold of chicken hearts is easy enough if you pre-order them from your butcher.\n\nMilton's Method   Prepare the marinade by bashing the ginger, garlic and chilli to a paste in a mortar and pestle. Put this in a bowl, add the soy sauce, sugar and mirin and combine well.\n\nWash the hearts and thread them on to skewers. Brush with the marinade and leave for 10 minutes to allow them to come up to room temperature. It is best to cook these on a barbecue, to get a smoky flavour, but you can also use a hot griddle pan, or place under a hot preheated grill. Regardless of the method, make sure that you brush a little oil beneath where the skewers will cook so that they don't stick. Cook, turning regularly and brushing with the marinade as you go. They will be done in about 5 minutes and should be a uniform colour throughout, perhaps a little pink in the middle but certainly not bloody. Don't overcook them, or they will be tough. And no one likes hard hearts.\n\nServe with sticky rice and salted edamame beans.\n\n## STEAK TARTARE  \nWITH CONFIT EGG YOLK AND A\u00cfOLI\n\n**For the egg yolk confit:** _100ml extra virgin olive oil ~ 2 fresh, good-quality free-range egg yolks_ **For the steak tartare:** _200g aged fillet steak ~ \u00bd small shallot, finely chopped ~ 1 tbsp small nonpareille capers ~ 1 tbsp finely chopped cornichons ~ 1 tsp finely chopped chives ~ 1 tsp finely chopped flat leaf parsley leaves ~ 2 tsp Dijon mustard ~ 1 tsp Worcestershire sauce ~ 6 drops of Tabasco sauce ~ \u00be tsp fine salt ~ freshly ground black pepper_ **For the a\u00efoli:** _\u00bd garlic clove, crushed or minced ~ 1 egg yolk ~ 200ml extra virgin olive oil ~ pinch of sea salt ~ 1 tsp lemon juice_ **To serve:** _2 handfuls of rocket ~ extra virgin olive oil ~ squeeze of lemon juice ~ 2 slices of light rye or sourdough bread_\n\nThere is a blog that details why it is best to leave this particular dish to the professionals, complete with photos of beef tartare prepared with pre-minced beef, big chunks of onion and in various other revolting permutations. The recipe is indeed a tricky proposition, largely because it requires precise execution or else it will end up looking like a dog's dinner. And a dog's dinner is almost certainly not going to achieve amorous success. So take care in your preparation and aim for perfection.\n\nI have enjoyed steak tartare a number of times, yet for some people, I realise, it is a somewhat intimidating dish. I don't believe it should be, as when it is done well it tastes sublime, like a delicious p\u00e2t\u00e9. And, like p\u00e2t\u00e9, it is best served with crisp toast. To make it a little less scary, I have decided to confit an egg yolk (a very simple thing to do) rather than serve it raw, so that, when it is broken, it spreads a comforting warmth through the fantastic flavours beneath.\n\nBuy the best beef and the finest, freshest eggs you can.\n\nMilton's Method   To make the egg yolk confit, preheat the oven to 65\u00b0C\/gas mark \u00bc (or as low as it will go), divide the extra virgin olive oil between two ramekins and gently place an egg yolk into each. Heat in the oven for 30 minutes.\n\nMeanwhile, prepare the other ingredients. The steak should come straight from the fridge, so it is firm and easy to slice. Some people recommend slicing off a thin layer of the exterior of the steak in order to avoid the possibility of bacterial infection. If you do choose to do this, use a separate knife and chopping board. Then, holding it carefully, cut lengthways, then widthways, to achieve a fine mince. You should be aiming to achieve a consistent result rather than the finest mince possible. Place in a bowl with all the other ingredients for the tartare and gently combine. Place a round pastry cutter on a serving plate and push half the mix inside it. Gently press down with the back of a spoon to achieve a firm circle and, once you are confident of the mixture's firmness, remove the pastry cutter. Get another serving plate, and repeat the process above, so that you have two tartares, each on their own plate.\n\nNow make the a\u00efoli. Combine the garlic and egg yolk in a bowl. Drizzle in the olive oil very slowly at first, whisking all the time so that the mixture emulsifies, then gradually adding the oil more quickly until the mayonnaise becomes thick and glossy. Add the salt and lemon juice, whisk again and arrange a precise dollop on each plate.\n\nPlace the rocket in a bowl, dress with a pinch of salt, a splash of olive oil and a squeeze of lemon juice. Toss and place on the plates. Toast the bread, cut diagonally and place on the plates.\n\nFinish by removing the ramekins from the oven and gently removing the yolks with a slotted spoon. Place each yolk on top of a steak tartare and serve immediately.\n\n## HERB-CRUSTED FRENCH RACK OF VENISON\n\n1 small French-trimmed rack of venison ~ fine salt and freshly ground black pepper ~ 2 tbsp Dijon mustard ~ 1 tsp honey ~ 3 tbsp softened unsalted butter ~ 3 garlic cloves, finely chopped ~ 4 slices of white bread, crumbed in a food processor ~ 2 tbsp finely chopped rosemary leaves ~ 6 tbsp finely chopped flat leaf parsley leaves\n\nAnyone who has heard the lusty roar of a stag across a moor on a misty autumn morning knows that this is one of the ultimate expressions of primal sexuality there is. As a beautifully flavoured, lean red meat, venison is also an excellent ingredient for promoting primal passion between lovers.\n\nThis is a sophisticated yet simple recipe that requires a little care and, depending on where you buy your venison, a little home butchery as well. My venison comes direct from source, but you may well be able to ask your butcher to separate the rack from the chine bone so you can separate the individual cutlets easily after cooking. Otherwise you will need to do this yourself with a hacksaw, which may somewhat alarm any potential partner who is arriving for dinner...\n\nMilton's Method   Preheat the oven to 200\u00b0C\/gas mark 6.\n\nIf your venison has not already been French-trimmed by a butcher, remove any excess fat or silvery bits of meat with a short, sharp knife. Trim the bones so they are clean. It is a bit fiddly, but worth persevering with to make the final visual effect all the more impressive.\n\nScore the thin layer of outer fat with a light criss-cross pattern so the crust will stick. Season the whole rack well with salt and pepper and place in a baking tray. Mix all the remaining ingredients in a bowl to make a crust, then apply it to the meat by hand, using some pressure to ensure the mixture sticks.\n\nRoast in the oven for 20\u201325 minutes for medium-rare meat, then rest in a warm place for 10 minutes. Serve on warmed plates with saut\u00e9ed potatoes and green vegetables.\n\n## BEEF FILLET, CEPS, MARSALA SAUCE AND ROASTED SHALLOTS\n\n2 \u00d7 150g fillet steaks, at least 21-day-aged ~ fine salt and freshly ground black pepper ~ 8 echalion (banana) shallots ~ a few sprigs of thyme ~ olive or rapeseed oil ~ large knob of unsalted butter ~ 2 medium ceps, sliced lengthways ~ 100ml medium-sweet Marsala ~ 250ml beef stock\n\nThis rich, indulgent main course features some beautiful ingredients that complement one another perfectly. And the cep (also known as the porcini) is as worthy of attention here as the fillet steak. This is truly the king of mushrooms. When I am foraging in the forest and I see a cep it sends a quiver of excitement through me. The Romans attributed aphrodisiac qualities to the cep and \u2013 with its firm, bulbous stem thrusting powerfully from the earth \u2013 there is something innately sexual about it. Unlike many other fungi it is not slippery or delicate, but dry and robust. This is matched by its flavour, a fantastic accompaniment to a good, well-aged fillet steak. Depending on the season, you may not be able to find fresh ceps, but it is possible to buy them frozen from online retailers.\n\nThere are only three ways to cook this steak: rare, medium-rare or ruined. I would opt for one of the two former options. The dish goes well with Pommes de Terre Sarladaises with Truffles (see here). You could also have Crunchy Fennel and Green Apple Salad (see here) as a side dish to lighten the meal, or just some greens such as spinach or Swiss chard.\n\nMilton's Method   Preheat the oven to 160\u00b0C\/gas mark 3. Rub the steaks well with salt and pepper and set aside.\n\nChop the ends off the shallots but leave the skins on. Place on a small baking tray with the thyme and 1 tablespoon of oil. Give the tray a shake to make sure all the shallots are coated in oil, then cook for 35 minutes.\n\nWhen the shallots are almost ready, heat a frying pan over a medium-high heat and add most of the butter and a glug more oil. When the butter is bubbling, place in the fillet steaks and press down slightly so they sizzle. Fry for 2-3 minutes on each side. When you turn the steaks, add the ceps to the pan with a little more butter. Cook these evenly on both sides so they colour a little.\n\nOnce cooked, remove the steaks and ceps and leave in a warm place to rest while you make the sauce. Remove the shallots from the oven, squeeze them from their skins and reserve half of them. Use a fork and a sharp knife to finely chop the other half. Add the Marsala to the pan over a medium heat to deglaze it, then add the stock and chopped shallots. Allow to reduce by half, then strain into a jug through a fine sieve.\n\nPut the steaks and ceps on to warm plates. Add the reserved shallots with a drizzle of oil and a pinch of salt and pour on the sauce. Serve immediately.\n\n## RECIPE LIST\n\n[BUTTERNUT SOUP  \nWITH NUTMEG AND TOASTED PUMPKIN SEED OIL](chapter008.xhtml#list22)\n\n[CRISPY SEA BASS  \nWITH GINGER AND SPRING ONIONS](chapter008.xhtml#list23)\n\nPANEER TIKKA MASALA\n\nSMOKED GARLIC DAUPHINOISE\n\n[SALT AND PEPPER BABY SQUID  \nWITH GARLIC MAYONNAISE](chapter008.xhtml#list26)\n\n[SAFFRON ROAST CHICKEN  \nWITH LEMON AND ROSEMARY](chapter008.xhtml#list27)\n\nSpices can scintillate not just our taste buds but our minds and libidos, too. By spices, I am referring to a wide category of plant-based pungent or aromatic substances, including garlic, onions, ginger and chilli, or saffron, nutmeg, pepper and paprika, to name a paltry few. Many of these substances are categorised by strict adherents to Hinduism as having undesirable effects on the body and mind. Garlic and onions, for instance, are both said to stimulate the nervous system to such a degree that they are incompatible with vows of celibacy. Garlic, in particular, is said to exert a powerful effect and is credited with invigorating a waning sexual appetite.\n\nMy theory about spices is that they help to enliven food and, as they do so, they also enliven us. An appetite for spice is an appetite for life. Spices pep us up. They can be fiery, fragrant or intense, or all three, and offer infinite variety in the way they can be used. And, for westerners at least, there is still a sense of exciting exoticism surrounding many spices, with their power to transform a dish into something redolent of steamy, far-away climes.\n\nSpices need to be handled with care. Too much chilli, for instance, is definitely a passion killer; you'll end up panting and sweating for all the wrong reasons. And if you are handling chilli and expecting a romantic encounter later on, you ought to take special precautions: one dinner of mine ended in painful disappointment because of my inattention in this respect. If you don't find them to be too much of a passion killer (or too sinister), perhaps invest in some latex gloves for chopping your chilli?\n\nSpice up your sex life with these recipes.\n\n## BUTTERNUT SOUP  \nWITH NUTMEG AND TOASTED PUMPKIN SEED OIL\n\nglug of olive oil ~ 1 tbsp fennel seeds ~ 2 onions, chopped ~ 1 fennel bulb, outer leaves and core removed, chopped ~ 3 garlic cloves, finely chopped ~ 1 butternut squash, peeled and chopped into 2.5cm dice ~ 1 tsp hot smoked paprika ~ 450ml chicken or vegetable stock, plus more if needed (optional) ~ sea salt and freshly ground black pepper ~ 1 tsp freshly grated nutmeg ~ toasted pumpkin seed oil, to serve\n\nThis soup includes a number of aphrodisiacs. Nutmeg has been used as an aphrodisiac in Asia. And in Germany there was, I have read, a rather dubious folk tradition involving a woman swallowing and passing out a whole nutmeg in order to snare a lover, that I shan't share fully with you here for fear of putting you off your food.\n\nA drizzle of shiny, green-black toasted pumpkin-seed oil on top makes this bowl of soup look as good as it tastes.\n\nMilton's Method   Add the oil to a large, heavy-based saucepan. Place over a medium heat. Add the fennel seeds and cook for 1 minute. Then add the onions, fennel and garlic and stir well. Put the lid on and cook for 5 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the fennel and onions have softened a little. Add the squash and the paprika and increase the heat a little to medium-high. Stir and let the onions colour a little. Be careful not to let them burn. Add the stock, season and reduce the heat to medium. Simmer for 15\u201320 minutes or until the squash is tender, but not falling apart.\n\nLadle the mixture into a blender and whizz until well liquidised. Return to the pan, check and adjust the seasoning. If the soup is too thick, add a little more liquid (water or stock). Stir well and serve in warm bowls with crusty bread, with the nutmeg grated on top and drizzled with toasted pumpkin seed oil.\n\n## CRISPY SEA BASS  \nWITH GINGER AND SPRING ONIONS\n\n4 sea bass fillets, around 125g each ~ sea salt and freshly ground black pepper ~ glug of sunflower, vegetable or rapeseed oil ~ thumb-sized piece of root ginger, peeled and cut into fine matchsticks ~ 2 garlic cloves, finely chopped ~ 6 spring onions, finely shredded lengthways ~ 2 red chillies, deseeded and very finely chopped ~ 1 tbsp soy sauce ~ 1 tbsp bought crispy fried shallots ~ Malaysian hot chilli sauce, to serve\n\nOne of my favourite street food places in London is the Malaysian Pit Stop Caf\u00e9 on Berwick Street in Soho. Every lunch time, long queues of office workers line up for Singapore noodles, Malaysian curries and other delicious treats. This is my favourite dish.\n\nWarming, gently spicy ginger helps with circulation and as such is a kind of natural Viagra, though a rather understated version. Soho is increasingly criticised for losing its authenticity, but there are still plenty of shops where you can buy non-culinary Viagra and plenty of places where it is then possible to avail yourself of its benefits. I prefer the gentler pleasures of the Pit Stop Caf\u00e9, and this is my attempt to recreate their iconic dish.\n\nMilton's Method   Slash the skin of the sea bass fillets diagonally two or three times, so that they don't curl up in the pan. Season well with salt and pepper.\n\nAdd the oil to a non-stick frying pan over a medium-high heat. When the oil is hot add the fish fillets, skin-side down. Cook for about two minutes on the skin side, until golden and crispy, then turn and cook for another minute on the other side, until the fish is cooked all the way through. Place on warm serving plates.\n\nWorking quickly, add the ginger, garlic, spring onions and chillies to the same pan and cook for a minute or two over a high heat. Add the soy sauce, then spoon the mixture over the fish with the crispy shallots. Serve with the chilli sauce and some noodles and eat with chopsticks.\n\n## PANEER TIKKA MASALA\n\n**For the paneer tikka:** _1 tbsp tikka paste ~ 4 tbsp Greek-style yogurt ~ squeeze of lemon juice ~ 300g paneer cheese, cut into 2.5cm cubes ~ 1 red onion, quartered, then split up into layers ~ 1 red pepper, cut into 2.5cm sections ~ a little vegetable or sunflower oil_ **For the masala sauce:** _2 tbsp sunflower oil ~ 1 onion, sliced into fine half rings ~ generous 1cm piece of root ginger, peeled and finely grated ~ 3 garlic cloves, finely chopped ~ \u00bd tsp turmeric ~ 2 tsp ground coriander ~ \u00bd tsp cayenne pepper ~ 1 tsp paprika ~ 2 tbsp Greek-style yogurt ~ \u00bd \u00d7 400g can of chopped tomatoes ~ 250ml vegetable stock ~ large pinch of sea salt ~ handful of coriander leaves, chopped_\n\nThere is a lot of protein \u2013 an important substance for the human reproductive organs \u2013 in this book, and this delicious dish is both protein-packed and also vegetarian. The important aphrodisiac ingredients are the chilli, ginger and garlic, but there are also a pleasing mix of textures and flavours: the creaminess of the cheese contrasts with the tang of tomato; while the crispy surface of the paneer is a great foil for the voluptuous sauce.\n\nThe quantities here are for a main course.\n\nMilton's Method   Preheat the grill to high. Mix the tikka paste and yogurt together with the lemon juice in a large bowl. Add the paneer cheese, onion and pepper pieces and toss to coat. Once they are fully coated, thread them on to skewers, brush with a little oil and place under the hot grill. Once the cheese has turned golden on top, turn and repeat, until the skewers are fully cooked. This should take about 10 minutes. Set the skewers aside while you make the sauce.\n\nPut a non-stick frying pan over a medium heat and add the oil. When the oil is hot, add the onion and cook for around 6 minutes until it begins to turn golden at the edges. Then add the ginger and garlic, stir for a minute until you can smell them, then mix in the turmeric, ground coriander, cayenne pepper and paprika. Add the yogurt, stirring it in well, then the tomatoes. Pour in the stock and add the salt. Bring to the boil, then reduce the heat and simmer for 10\u201315 minutes to thicken the sauce, stirring now and again.\n\nCheck the seasoning, then remove the paneer, onion and pepper from the skewers and put them into the sauce. Sprinkle with the chopped coriander leaves and serve straight away with naan bread and basmati rice.\n\n## SMOKED GARLIC DAUPHINOISE\n\nlarge knob of unsalted butter ~ 400g waxy potatoes ~ 1 smoked garlic clove, finely chopped ~ 200ml double cream ~ 100ml whole milk ~ \u00bd tsp fine salt ~ freshly ground black pepper ~ freshly ground nutmeg\n\nAlthough not technically a spice, I include garlic in this chapter because it has such a pungent, unmistakable flavour. Its aphrodisiac properties are well known and have ancient heritage: Aristotle included it on his list of aphrodisiacs. For many, though, its stimulant effect is offset by the lingering odour it leaves behind. One story suggests that the cheating wives of Greek soldiers ate garlic before their husbands came home, so they would not suspect them to be guilty of infidelity with such foul-smelling breath. I have never had any aversion either to eating or, unless in egregious excess, to smelling garlic, though I understand that some people do. A reasonable rule of thumb is that if you eat the same amount as the person you are eating with, you are unlikely to be offended.\n\nOf all the many ways to prepare potatoes, this is probably the most decadent, though Pommes de Terres Sarladaises with Truffles (see here) comes a close second. It goes especially well with Beef Fillet, Ceps, Marsala Sauce and Roasted Shallots (see here). Using smoked garlic, easy to buy online, works brilliantly.\n\nMilton's Method   Preheat the oven to 150\u00b0C\/gas mark 2.\n\nButter the base and sides of an ovenproof dish (mine is around 20cm in diameter) with half the butter.\n\nSlice the potatoes evenly and thinly with a sharp knife or, preferably, a mandolin to no more than \u00bccm thick. Layer in the dish so that they overlap one another, making sure that the top layer is neatly arranged.\n\nIn a saucepan, heat the remaining butter over a medium-low heat and, as soon as it has melted, add the garlic. Cook very gently for 2 minutes, stirring occasionally, then add the cream and the milk. Stir well and do not allow to come to the boil. Season with the salt and pepper and then very gently pour the mixture evenly over the potatoes. Leave standing for 10 minutes, then grate the nutmeg over the top and place in the oven for 65 minutes, or until golden brown and cooked through. Serve immediately.\n\n## SALT AND PEPPER BABY SQUID  \nWITH GARLIC MAYONNAISE\n\n**For the garlic mayonnaise:** _1 free-range egg yolk ~ 1 garlic clove, finely minced ~ 150ml sunflower oil ~ pinch of sea salt ~ 1 tbsp lemon juice_ **For the squid:** _400g baby squid ~ 1 tbsp peppercorns ~ 1 tsp coarse sea salt ~ 75g self-raising flour ~ 75g cornflour ~ 1 free-range egg, lightly beaten ~ vegetable oil, to deep-fry ~ 1 medium-hot red chilli, deseeded and finely shredded ~ 4 spring onions, shredded lengthways ~ lime wedges, to serve_\n\nOf the everyday aphrodisiacs (of which there are a remarkable number; worth investigating if you feel unexpectedly sexy and don't know why), black pepper is perhaps one of the most startling in terms of how commonly it is used. Yet is it really so surprising when you consider all that grinding and those enormous, phallic pepper mills that used to be so _de rigeur_ in Italian restaurants and pizza joints? A recipe in the _Karma Sutra_ , no less, suggests applying a concoction including black pepper and honey to the genitals to enable you to 'utterly devastate your lady.' Now, although I enjoy black pepper in my food, I think applying it to my genitals may be a step too far... but feel free if you would like to experiment (and I refer you to the disclaimer on here). In the same manner as chilli, garlic or rocket, black pepper adds a stimulating heat to dishes and is effective with a large range of ingredients from steak to pasta, from chicken to seafood. The advantage of using baby squid is that they are tender and require less preparation than their bigger brothers.\n\nMilton's Method   Make the mayonnaise first. Beat the egg yolk with the garlic. Very gradually pour in the sunflower oil in a very fine stream, whisking all the time. Once it is emulsifying, you can add the oil more quickly, until you have a thick, shiny mayonnaise. Whisk in the salt and lemon juice to loosen it a little. Set aside.\n\nPrepare and clean the squid (or get the fishmonger to do this for you.) Slice the bodies into rings and keep the tentacles intact.\n\nIn a mortar and pestle, combine the peppercorns and salt and crush until the mixture is nubbly but not too fine. Mix with both types of flour in a large plastic food bag. Put the egg in a shallow dish.\n\nDip the squid pieces first in the egg, then drop into the bag of seasoned flour until well coated.\n\nPour enough oil into a wok to give a depth of at least 5cm. Place over a high heat until the oil is very hot, but not smoking: you're looking for a temperature of around 175\u00b0C if you have a cooking thermometer, or when a scrap of bread will sizzle immediately when dropped in. Very carefully place the pieces of squid in the oil and cook for 60\u201390 seconds, in batches if necessary so that you don't crowd the pan. Lift out with a slotted spoon and place on kitchen paper to blot off excess oil.\n\nPat dry the chilli and spring onions with kitchen paper so that they don't spit when you put them in the fryer. Fry for a few seconds in the wok, then remove with a slotted spoon and drain on more kitchen paper. Serve the squid immediately, sprinkled with the chilli and spring onions and accompanied by the garlic mayonnaise and lime wedges.\n\n## SAFFRON ROAST CHICKEN  \nWITH LEMON AND ROSEMARY\n\n50g unsalted butter, at room temperature ~ 2 tsp saffron threads ~ 1 good-quality smallish (1.3\u20131.5kg) free-range chicken ~ sea salt and freshly ground black pepper ~ 1 lemon, halved ~ glug of extra virgin olive oil ~ 3 sprigs of rosemary ~ 1 garlic clove, skin on, lightly crushed\n\nThere is nothing quite like the beautiful aroma of a chicken roasting in the oven and when using these wonderfully aromatic ingredients \u2013 saffron, lemon, rosemary and garlic \u2013 it is an even more enjoyably sensuous experience. The impact of fragrance is vital, both for our appetite for food and in how we choose partners. Both men and women spend about as much time trying to smell good as they do trying to look good. Great aromas can be seductive; they are enticing and intriguing, and smell is the sense that has the most impact on our emotional memory, connecting us with times when we have felt happy, sad, or turned on. The aromas given off by your chicken as it cooks can help you in your strategy for seduction.\n\nSaffron is said to give women stronger orgasms. Rosemary, meanwhile, was used in ancient times as an emblem of fidelity between lovers, as it is said to enhance the memory. So as well as smelling fantastic, this recipe should also help you in your quest for romantic and physical satisfaction and help implant new \u2013 and hopefully happy \u2013 emotional memories in your brain.\n\nHowever, this recipe is not a gimmick. I believe it is the best roast chicken recipe there is and saffron works especially well here.\n\nMilton's Method   Preheat the oven to 200\u00b0C\/gas mark 6.\n\nGently mash the butter and saffron together with the back of a fork and, using your hands, spread it over the bird. Place in a medium roasting tray, season with salt and pepper and squeeze over the juice of half the lemon, pouring on the olive oil, too. Insert both lemon halves inside the cavity of the bird along with the rosemary and the garlic.\n\nPut the chicken into the oven and cook for 15 minutes. Reduce the oven temperature to 180\u00b0C\/gas mark 4 and cook for a further 40 minutes if your bird is the weight that I have specified in the ingredients list. Check the thickest part of the thigh with a skewer to check that the juices run clear with no trace of pink or, using a meat thermometer, ensure that the meat's temperature has reached 65\u00b0C. The skin should be bronzed and crispy.\n\nRest the chicken for about 10 minutes, so it is nice and tender. I generally do this by leaving it in the roasting tin, in the oven, with the oven door open.\n\nThe roasting tin should contain plenty of scented juices from the bird. Use them as a thin gravy. Serve the carved chicken with roast potatoes, bread sauce and carrots.\n\n## RECIPE LIST\n\nCRUNCHY FENNEL AND GREEN APPLE SALAD\n\n[ASPARAGUS  \nWITH CRAB, POACHED EGGS AND LEMON VINAIGRETTE](chapter009.xhtml#list29)\n\nAVOCADO, PANCETTA AND TOASTED PUMPKIN SEED SALAD\n\n[POMMES DE TERRES SARLADAISES  \nWITH TRUFFLES](chapter009.xhtml#list31)\n\nRED MULLET, ARTICHOKE HEARTS AND LEMON\n\nOur antipodean cousins use earthy phrases such as 'rooting' and 'forking' to describe the act of sexual congress. I'm not sure where this comes from. Perhaps from rooting around \u2013 like Shakespeare's 'delving for trout in mysterious rivers' \u2013 or perhaps the way in which a hard root spears its way through soft soil. Once we start thinking like this it's easy to find a sexual connotation in everything, as I'm sure Sigmund Freud would agree.\n\nThere is something primitive and earthy about many vegetables, and often something rather suggestive about their shapes, too. Consider the phallic thrust of asparagus spears, the protruding knobs of carrots, the labial folds of the globe artichoke or the testicular tubers of the humble spud. This type of thing appeals to the pantomime British sense of humour: the age-old pun on meat-and-two-veg; the episode of Blackadder with a turnip shaped 'exactly like a thingie'. We know that vegetables are good for us. We occasionally find them smutty and hilarious. But can we ever really think of them as being sexy?\n\nI think we can. I am a great lover of vegetables and I think that, used in the right way, they can create dishes that are not simply nutritious but erotic and enticing, too.\n\nA note: although this is a chapter about vegetables, not all of these recipes are suitable for vegetarians.\n\n## CRUNCHY FENNEL AND GREEN APPLE SALAD\n\n**For the salad:** _1 tbsp fennel seeds ~ 1 fennel bulb ~ 1 green apple ~ large handful of rocket_ **For the dressing:** _1 tsp Dijon mustard ~ 1 tsp honey ~ 1 tbsp unfiltered cider vinegar ~ 4 tbsp extra virgin olive oil ~ pinch of sea salt_\n\nThe apple has long been used as a symbol of sex, romantic love, carnal knowledge and sin. In a biblical context, it is the forbidden fruit. Venus, the Roman goddess of love, is often pictured holding an apple. Aphrodite, her Greek counterpart, gave the fruits as gifts. A recent study discovered that women who regularly eat apples have better sex than those that don't. I'm not sure that is conclusive proof that apples are aphrodisiacs, but perhaps it more pertinently relates to the adage that 'an apple a day keeps the doctor away'... and hence to the fact that a physically healthy person is more likely to have a better sex life. Fennel may not be so conspicuous in ancient legend, but it was a surprising ingredient of Dionysian orgies.\n\nThis simple, refreshing salad can be served as a side dish with a variety of different meaty or fishy main courses.\n\nMilton's Method   Toast the fennel seeds in a dry pan over a medium heat until they darken just a touch. Remove from the pan and set aside.\n\nRemove the hard core at the base of the fennel bulb and slice it lengthways as thinly as possible. Quarter and core the apple and slice it thinly, too. Place these and the rocket in a salad bowl and mix together.\n\nNow, working quickly before the salad ingredients turn brown, combine all the ingredients for the dressing in a separate bowl and whisk until emulsified. Add the dressing to the salad, toss well, then sprinkle the fennel seeds on top and serve.\n\n## ASPARAGUS  \nWITH CRAB, POACHED EGGS AND LEMON VINAIGRETTE\n\n**For the vinigarette:** _\u00bd tsp finely grated unwaxed lemon zest, plus 2 tbsp lemon juice ~ \u00bd tsp Dijon mustard ~ \u00bd tsp honey ~ 4\u20135 tbsp extra virgin olive oil ~ sea salt and freshly ground black pepper_ **For the rest:** _12 in-season asparagus spears ~ a little olive oil ~ white bread, torn into rough crouton shapes ~ 4 free-range eggs ~ 2 tsp white wine vinegar ~ 6 tbsp fresh white crab meat ~ \u00bd tsp sea salt_\n\nBoth asparagus and eggs are aphrodisiacs, while seafood contains high levels of zinc and selenium, making this a lover's recipe _par excellence_. Just think: thrusting spears of phallic fecundity lying amongst the most potent symbol of fertility of all \u2013 the egg \u2013 with the fresh ocean flavour of crab sparked into life by a sharp lemon vinaigrette that brings everything together. This makes an excellent starter or a weekend brunch\/lunch in preparation for a spot of frisky afternoon fun.\n\nAsparagus, apart from looking the part, also contains lots of useful vitamins that are helpful for boosting libido and general vim and vigour. The one well-known side effect of asparagus that does make it a bit of a turn-off (smelly wee) means that you should open the window after you have urinated.\n\nMilton's Method   Start by making the vinaigrette. In a small bowl, whisk the lemon zest and juice, mustard and honey together with a small whisk or fork. Drizzle in the olive oil slowly so the mixture emulsifies, then season to taste. Set aside.\n\nUsing the freshest asparagus you can find, trim off any tough part of the stem at the base, wash and place in a steamer. Steam for around 3 minutes until just tender, but still with some bite. Do not overcook: limpness is not a good look.\n\nHeat some regular olive oil in a frying pan and fry the bread until golden. Drain the croutons on a plate lined with kitchen paper.\n\nMeanwhile, crack open the eggs and place each into a cup. Put the vinegar into a large pan of water and heat it until there are small bubbles rising to the surface. Reduce the heat to medium-low and swirl the water round with a spoon. Place the eggs in this whirlpool one at a time and cook for 3\u20134 minutes, or until the whites are set. Gently drain the eggs and run cold water over them for a few seconds so they stop cooking. This should be the very last thing you do, as the eggs need to be still warm when they are eaten.\n\nOn a single warmed platter, or two large warmed plates, roughly scatter the asparagus, seasoning it with the \u00bd tsp of salt, then add the crab meat. Place the eggs on top, sprinkle over the vinaigrette and croutons and serve immediately.\n\n## AVOCADO, PANCETTA AND TOASTED PUMPKIN SEED SALAD\n\n10 very thin slices of pancetta ~ 1 tbsp white wine vinegar ~ 4 tbsp toasted pumpkin seed oil ~ pinch of sea salt ~ 2 handfuls of baby spinach ~ 2 perfectly ripe Haas avocados ~ 2 tbsp pumpkin seeds\n\nPumpkin seeds are packed with zinc, an important mineral for amorousness, and are included here in two ways: both sprinkled on top of this simple salad and as a key ingredient of the dressing. Toasted pumpkin seed oil is absolutely delicious, but expensive and not widely available, though you can find it in health food shops. Make sure you only use perfectly ripe avocados. Packed with nutrition, these are also well known as aphrodisiacs.\n\nMilton's Method   Put the pancetta under a hot grill and cook for around 4 minutes, watching carefully to make sure it doesn't burn, turning once, and removing when crisp.\n\nMake the dressing by combining the vinegar, pumpkin seed oil and salt in a bowl and whisking until well blended.\n\nPut the spinach in a bowl and add half the dressing, tossing thoroughly. Place on two plates.\n\nPrepare the avocados by cutting in half, peeling and removing the stones. Cut into 1cm-thick slices and place them gently on the spinach. Arrange the crispy pancetta on top.\n\nToast the pumpkin seeds in a dry frying pan for around 3 minutes until they begin to colour and pop. Sprinkle over the salad, then drizzle the remaining dressing over the top.\n\n## POMMES DE TERRES SARLADAISES  \nWITH TRUFFLES\n\n3 large potatoes ~ 1 tbsp goose or duck fat ~ sea salt and freshly ground black pepper ~ 1 tbsp finely chopped flat leaf parsley leaves ~ 10g black truffle, shaved, or truffle salt\n\nA favourite way of cooking potatoes in the south west of France, the secret here is to use goose or duck fat rather than butter or oil. The dish is sometimes combined with another favourite of French cooking: truffle. A byword for indulgence, the truffle has an aroma and flavour unlike anything else, a rich, perfumed earthiness that has for centuries perked up flagging sex lives. The black P\u00e9rigord truffles that are most commonly used are expensive, and you may wish instead to use a good-quality truffle salt.\n\nThis is a simple recipe \u2013 just saut\u00e9ed potatoes, really \u2013 that goes brilliantly with grilled meats.\n\nMilton's Method   Peel the potatoes, then slice into thinnish round slices.\n\nPut the goose fat in a large, heavy-based frying pan over a medium heat. When it has melted, add the potatoes and make sure all the slices get coated with fat. Cook for around 15 minutes, turning regularly, until crisp and golden.\n\nSeason with salt, pepper, parsley and shaved truffle, if using, or sprinkle evenly with a little truffle salt instead.\n\n## RED MULLET, ARTICHOKE HEARTS AND LEMON\n\n6 fresh globe artichokes, or 6 pre-cooked frozen artichoke hearts ~ finely grated zest and juice of 1 unwaxed lemon, plus \u00bd lemon to prepare and cook the artichoke ~ good-quality extra virgin olive oil ~ 1 garlic clove, finely chopped ~ 1 tbsp thyme leaves ~ sea salt and freshly ground black pepper ~ 4 fillets of red mullet\n\nThe globe artichoke can be eaten in the most tactile of ways with a lover: boil or steam a fresh, firm artichoke for a good while then, together, lovingly peel off the outer leaves, dip them in butter, vinaigrette or hollandaise sauce and scrape the flesh from them with your teeth. This is best done outside, on a warm summer's evening, at sunset, with a glass of chilled muscat and someone special by your side, as I have often done. In the centre of the mass of overlapping leaves is the true delight of an artichoke \u2013 the heart \u2013 and, when perfectly cooked, the heart is one of the most delicious vegetables it is possible to eat.\n\nI have paired the hearts here with red mullet, as they complement one another well, but this artichoke recipe can also be used on its own as a side dish to grilled chicken.\n\nA relative of the thistle, the artichoke promotes good liver health... and good livers make better lovers.\n\nMilton's Method   If preparing fresh artichokes, peel off the outer leaves, then use a knife to remove the inner leaves until you get down to the heart in the middle. Remove the hairy, fibrous choke in the centre by scooping it out with a teaspoon. Squeeze a little lemon on to each artichoke heart to prevent discoloration and place in a saucepan of cold water. Squeeze the remaining lemon juice from the half lemon into the water and place the lemon half in the pan, too. Bring to the boil, then reduce the heat and simmer over a low heat, with a lid on, for around 30 minutes, or until just tender but still with a little bite. (If using frozen artichoke hearts, they only need to be heated through briefly in boiling water.)\n\nDrain, allow to cool a little, then slice lengthways. In a heavy-based frying pan, heat the olive oil over a medium-high heat and saut\u00e9 the artichoke slices for 2 minutes, then add the garlic, thyme, lemon zest and juice and salt and pepper. Cook for a further 2 minutes, then place on warm plates.\n\nQuickly season the fish fillets with a little salt and pepper and cook in the same pan, skin-side down at first, for 2 minutes on each side, until just cooked. Serve immediately with the artichokes, accompanied by saut\u00e9ed potatoes and a rocket salad.\n\n## RECIPE LIST\n\n[WATERMELON SALSA  \nWITH BLACK PEPPER GOAT'S CHEESE](chapter010.xhtml#list33)\n\nGRILLED HONEY FIGS, GOAT'S CHEESE AND WALNUT SALAD\n\nPORK AND LYCHEE CURRY\n\nSALT CARAMEL AND RUM BANANA CAKE\n\n[POACHED QUINCE  \nWITH MASCARPONE AND STILTON CREAM](chapter010.xhtml#list37)\n\nFrom the suggestive shape of bananas to the delicate, feminine fragrance of quince, fruit can be a surprisingly effective aphrodisiac. I've always thought of fruit in general as an intensely sensual form of food. At its erotic, chin-dribbling, slurp-making, mouth-wiping best, fruit offers treats that are sweet yet wholesome and healthy yet indulgent... a little like sex should be, really.\n\nThe idea of fruit as a treat tends to be a little overlooked these days in the developed world, where fruit is seen in general as less of an indulgence and more about reaching a daily quota of dietary intake. We are primates and our cousins in the animal world go wild for the bright colours and sugar found in fruits. To a large extent, in our sugar-rich society, we have lost that same excitement. But, for me, fruit is always a pure and happy pleasure: the crunchy bite of an apple; blackberry-stained fingers; strawberries and ice cream in the summer.\n\nThe apple has long been used as a symbol of fertility, love and eroticism. It is associated with Aphrodite, the goddess of love, and in Ancient Greece it was customary for couples to eat apples on their wedding night. Read on to discover how the apple \u2013 and other fruits \u2013 can take you from the boughs of the apple tree all the way down to a comfortable spot in the long grass beneath it.\n\n## WATERMELON SALSA  \nWITH BLACK PEPPER GOAT'S CHEESE\n\n200g soft fresh goat's cheese ~ 1 tbsp olive oil ~ 1 tbsp freshly cracked black pepper ~ \u00bd small watermelon, deseeded, cut into 1cm dice ~ \u00bd cucumber, peeled, cut into 1cm dice ~ juice and finely grated zest of 1 lime ~ 1 small red onion, very finely sliced into crescents ~ handful of mint leaves, roughly chopped ~ 1 medium-hot red chilli, deseeded and finely chopped ~ 1 tbsp extra virgin olive oil ~ \u00bd tsp sea salt ~ crackers or crispbread, to serve\n\nMiraculous attributes are ascribed to the watermelon, which is perhaps surprising given that many other aphrodisiac ingredients are pungent in nature whereas the watermelon is rather... well... watery? Being so mellow itself in flavour, however, it works well with spices, salt and herbs, some of which have their own stimulating properties. This could be a starter, an unusual cheese course or a light lunch.\n\nMilton's Method   Blend the goat's cheese, regular olive oil and black pepper with a whisk until you have a lovely, creamy texture. Place an artful dollop on each plate.\n\nCombine all the remaining ingredients in a bowl to make the salsa and mix well. Leave for 5 minutes for the flavours to infuse, then spoon on to each plate. Serve with crackers or crispbread.\n\n## GRILLED HONEY FIGS, GOAT'S CHEESE AND WALNUT SALAD\n\n**For the salad:** _8 round slices from a small baguette ~ olive oil ~ 4 perfectly ripe figs ~ 1 tbsp honey ~ 2 pinches of sea salt ~ 8 \u00d7 1cm-thick round slices of goat's cheese ~ 2 large handfuls of mixed salad leaves ~ handful of walnuts_ **For the dressing:** _1 tsp Dijon mustard ~ 1 tsp honey ~ 1 tbsp white wine vinegar ~ 4 tbsp extra virgin olive oil_\n\nNudity is probably never far from our minds when the word 'fig' is mentioned, as we reach in our minds for a metaphorical fig leaf... Though please don't misunderstand me: I have never liked the idea of naked dining. There is a time and place for everything and nudity at the dinner table strikes me as the wrong time and the wrong place, at least while food is being served. It's a little like breakfast in bed: why would you want big flaky croissant crumbs \u2013 or sharp, nasty toast crumbs \u2013 pricking you on your smooth sheets?\n\nFigs are a luscious fruit and a well-known aphrodisiac. In ripe, tender splendour they are a deep, priapic shade of purple. They go well with sharp, creamy goat's cheese and this simple dish makes an excellent starter or light lunch.\n\nCut the figs in half and place on the grill pan, cut sides up. Loosen the honey with 1 tsp of hot water, add a pinch of salt, then brush the figs with the honey mixture and place under a medium grill for 5 minutes. Set aside.\n\nMilton's Method   Brush each of the pieces of baguette on both sides with a little olive oil and place under a medium grill for around 2 minutes on each side, until golden and crisp. Set aside.\n\nPlace the slices of goat's cheese on the slices of crispy bread. Put under the grill (now medium-hot) for a few minutes, until the cheese colours on top.\n\nMeanwhile, place the leaves in a salad bowl. Make the dressing by combining the mustard, honey and vinegar in a separate bowl, whisking until well mixed, then pour in the olive oil in a steady stream until emulsified. Add three-quarters of the dressing to the leaves, toss well and place on plates. When the cheese is done, place on top of the salad leaves with the figs in between. Toast the walnuts in a dry pan and sprinkle on top, drizzle the remaining dressing over and serve immediately.\n\n## PORK AND LYCHEE CURRY\n\n3 garlic cloves, roughly chopped ~ thumb-sized piece of root ginger, peeled and roughly chopped ~ 2 lemon grass stalks, roughly chopped ~ handful of coriander, torn, plus more to serve ~ 2 long red chillies, roughly chopped ~ 2 tbsp tamarind pur\u00e9e ~ 4 kaffir lime leaves ~ flavourless oil ~ sea salt and freshly ground black pepper ~ 400g diced pork shoulder or chump end ~ 1 onion, finely chopped ~ 2 tsp curry powder ~ 2 star anise ~ 250ml chicken stock ~ 400ml can of coconut milk ~ 1 tsp Thai fish sauce ~ \u00bd \u00d7 400g can of lychees, drained (or 8 fresh lychees, peeled and pitted) ~ juice of \u00bd lime ~ pomegranate seeds, to serve\n\nThis is my version of a curry I once had in Singapore, which in a way represents the racial diversity that can be found there. Singapore is populated by populations from South East Asia, China and India and this curry combines influences from all three. The lychee is considered an aphrodisiac in China and its subtle fruitiness combines well with pork in this fragrant, slow-cooked dish.\n\nMilton's Method   Make a curry paste by blending the garlic, ginger, lemon grass, coriander, chillies, tamarind, lime leaves and 1 teaspoon of oil until everything is finely whizzed into a paste. You may need to squash the ingredients down a couple of times in order to achieve this consistency.\n\nLightly season the pork and place a heavy-based casserole dish over a medium-high heat with a good glug of oil. Sear the pork briefly on all sides, then remove with a slotted spoon and set aside. Immediately deglaze the pan with a splash of water. Give the pan a stir, then add the onion and a little more oil if necessary. Cook over a medium heat for 6 or 7 minutes, until the onion begins to colour slightly.\n\nAdd the blended curry paste and cook for 2 minutes, stirring occasionally and making sure that it doesn't stick to the pan. Add the curry powder and star anise, stir and add the chicken stock. Bring to the boil and allow to simmer for 5 minutes until the volume of the liquid has reduced by half. Now add the coconut milk and fish sauce and gently bring to the boil. Return the pork pieces to the pan, return to the boil once more, then reduce the heat to very low, put on a lid, and simmer for an hour and a quarter, checking occasionally to make sure it is not catching on the bottom.\n\nWhen the time has elapsed, give everything a good stir and add the lychees. Remove the lid and cook for a further 20 minutes over a medium-low heat, allowing the sauce to thicken a little. Finish by adding the lime juice and adjusting the seasoning to your preference.\n\nServe immediately on hot plates with rice or noodles, sprinkled with coriander leaves and pomegranate seeds.\n\n## SALT CARAMEL AND RUM BANANA CAKE\n\n**For the salt caramel:** _100g unsalted butter ~ 100g soft light brown sugar ~ 100g caster sugar ~ 100g golden syrup ~ 200ml double cream ~ 1 tsp sea salt_ **For the cake:** _100g softened unsalted butter, plus more for the tins ~ 100g caster sugar ~ 100g demerara sugar ~ 3 large free-range eggs, separated ~ 3 mashed bananas, plus 1 banana to decorate ~ 200ml whole milk ~ 1 vanilla pod, split ~ 50ml dark rum ~ 300g self-raising flour, sifted ~ 1 tsp baking powder_ **For the buttercream:** _110g unsalted butter ~ \u00bd tsp vanilla extract ~ 120g icing sugar_\n\nThe suggestiveness of bananas hardly requires elaboration on my part. Here they are mashed into a truly rich, indulgent, moist and sweet dessert tempered by a little saltiness that will serve around eight people and works wonderfully well with vanilla ice cream. I have borrowed Nigella Lawson's method for making the salt caramel.\n\nMilton's Method  Start by making the salt caramel. Melt the butter, both types of sugar and the golden syrup in a small heavy-based pan for 4 minutes, stirring occasionally to make sure it doesn't stick and letting it darken a little. Then add the cream and the salt, whisking as you do so, until fully incorporated. Remove from the heat and put in a bowl or jug.\n\nTo make the cake, preheat the oven to 160\u00b0C\/gas mark 3 and butter two 23cm circular cake tins.\n\nIn a large bowl, using either a hand-whisk or a stand mixer, cream the butter and both types of sugar together until fluffy, then beat in the egg yolks one at a time until well incorporated.\n\nIn a separate bowl, whisk the egg whites until they are stiff.\n\nGradually beat the mashed bananas into the butter mixture, then add the milk, scrape in the seeds from the vanilla pod and add the rum. Fold in the flour until everything is incorporated. Add the baking powder and 150ml of the salt caramel and stir it in with a wooden spoon, then fold in the stiff egg whites.\n\nPour the batter evenly into the prepared cake tins. Pour another 50ml of salt caramel equally into each cake tin and use a knife to make it into a swirly pattern. Bake for around 45 minutes. Make sure the middle is cooked by using a skewer; when inserted into the cake it should emerge clean. Set aside to cool on a wire rack while you make the buttercream.\n\nIn a large bowl, using either a hand-whisk or a stand mixer, whisk the butter, 110ml of the caramel sauce and the vanilla extract until creamy. Then, still whisking, add the icing sugar bit by bit until the buttercream is nice and light.\n\nNow you can assemble the whole thing. Add a layer of buttercream to the first tier of cake and drizzle a little of the remaining salt caramel over the top. Add the top layer, ice this with buttercream and pour more salt caramel mixture on top of that. Add slices of bananas and serve with vanilla ice cream.\n\n## POACHED QUINCE  \nWITH MASCARPONE AND STILTON CREAM\n\n1 large quince ~ 200g caster sugar ~ juice of \u00bd lemon ~ 100g Greek yogurt ~ 100g mascarpone ~ 150g good Stilton cheese ~ 1 tsp honey\n\nThe quince was the equivalent of Viagra in Henry VIII's day, but for some reason it is not so widely used today, either as an aphrodisiac or merely as a fruit. Membrillo \u2013 a thick, slightly grainy quince paste most commonly served with Manchego cheese \u2013 is popular, and quince jelly is the preserve of WI ladies all over the country, though what they actually do with the hundreds of jars I regularly see at country f\u00eates is a mystery to me. I sometimes use it to sweeten game sauces instead of redcurrant jelly, but the pairing with cheese is the best.\n\nThis sort of dessert-cum-cheese course matches the dulcet tones of quince with the robust saltiness of Stilton. Try it with a glass of Sauternes or Pedro Xim\u00e9nez sherry.\n\nMilton's Method   Peel the quince and slice it in half lengthways.\n\nMeasure a litre of water into a saucepan, add the sugar and lemon juice and bring to the boil.\n\nCarefully place the quince halves in the pan, cover with a lid and simmer for 30\u201335 minutes or until the flesh is tender (check with a skewer or knife point).\n\nMeanwhile, blend the Greek yogurt and mascarpone in a bowl. Crumble in the Stilton and stir well. Add the honey, mix thoroughly and place a large dollop of this cream on each plate.\n\nWhen the quince halves are cooked, remove with a slotted spoon and put one on each plate, pouring over 1 tbsp of their poaching liquid to serve.\n\n## RECIPE LIST\n\n[CRANACHAN  \nWITH FIGS, CANDIED WALNUTS, HONEY AND MERINGUE](chapter011.xhtml#list38)\n\nCHOCOLATE CHILLI FONDANT\n\n[RED WINE POACHED PEARS  \nWITH STEM GINGER CR\u00c8ME FRA\u00ceCHE](chapter011.xhtml#list40)\n\n[VANILLA AND SAFFRON BAGUETTE AND BUTTER PUDDING  \nWITH GOOSEBERRY-GINGER JAM](chapter011.xhtml#list41)\n\nRASPBERRY AND ROSE PUDDING\n\nAmbrosial sweetness is inherently sensual. Smearing honey, chewing chocolate and licking ice cream, for instance, are all completely erotic activities, even when you're doing them on your own. Add a potential sexual partner into the mix and the sweet ending to your meal could be the start of something equally delicious and \u2013 possibly \u2013 ambrosial, too.\n\nIt is not just the sweetness of desserts that makes them so sexy, but their textures and flavours: sticky and gooey, fruity and chocolatey. They should be platefuls of fun and frolics, indulgence and hedonism, the cause of delight and surprise. They can either be smoulderingly hot or thrillingly frosty, but they must make us either smile or swoon.\n\nChocolate is known as one of the great aphrodisiacs and has been used as such for centuries. But there are many other ingredients that can be used at the end of a meal to signify that the serious business of eating is done and the fun can begin. In this chapter, I will show you how spices, rose petals and honey can also be part of the sensual smorgasbord that pudding can bring to the table. Try them at this crucial stage in the evening to see if they produce the desired result.\n\nAnd, as you savour the last lingering sweetness on your lips, perhaps now is the right moment to lean forward and give your partner an equally lingering kiss.\n\n## CRANACHAN  \nWITH FIGS, CANDIED WALNUTS, HONEY AND MERINGUE\n\nhandful of dried figs ~ 2 tbsp honey ~ 300ml double cream ~ 50g good-quality porridge oats ~ large knob of unsalted butter ~ handful of walnuts ~ 1 tbsp granulated sugar ~ 1 heaped tbsp broken meringue pieces ~ 50ml Scotch whisky 200g raspberries\n\nThis has always seemed to me a slightly straight-laced Scottish dessert, but with the addition of a few fun bits and pieces it can \u2013 like a repressed Englishman (or Scotsman) on holiday \u2013 break free from its shackles.\n\nMilton's Method   Chop the figs, removing their stalks, and put them in a bowl. Stir in 1 tablespoon of the honey and 1 tablespoon of hot water from the kettle. Leave to soak for 30 minutes.\n\nWhip the cream in a large bowl until it forms soft, billowing peaks.\n\nToast the oats in a small, non-stick pan over a medium heat for 3 or 4 minutes, taking care not to burn them. Set aside.\n\nIn the same pan, add the butter, walnuts and sugar, stir well to combine and stir for 3\u20134 minutes, making sure that the sugar doesn't burn. Once the sugar has caramelised, remove the nuts from the pan straight away, place them on a sheet of greaseproof paper and separate them from one another. Allow them to cool.\n\nFold most of the nuts and all the remaining ingredients into the cream, and that extra tablespoon of honey, and reserving a few raspberries and walnuts to serve. Serve in small bowls or glasses, sprinkling with raspberries and candied walnuts.\n\n## CHOCOLATE CHILLI FONDANT\n\n60g good-quality dark chocolate ~ 60g unsalted butter, plus more for the moulds ~ \u00bd medium-hot red chilli, deseeded and finely chopped ~ 2 free-range eggs, lightly beaten ~ 75g caster sugar ~ 25g plain flour ~ icing sugar, to dust ~ a very little cayenne pepper, to dust (optional)\n\nIt may be time for dessert, but, for you lovers, I hope that the 'main course' of your dinner date is still to arrive. With this in mind, the food at the end of your meal should still be focused on exciting you rather than rocking you to sleep, titillating your palate rather than soothing it. Hence chocolate and chilli. The spice here should be subtle rather than explosive, but enough to leave a lingering heat on your tongue, a flush in your cheeks and a light sweat on your brow, as though you are already mildly aroused. You will need two dariole moulds.\n\nMilton's Method   Break the chocolate into small pieces and put into a heatproof bowl suspended over simmering water (don't allow the bowl to touch the water). Add the butter to the bowl and melt with the chocolate together. Once both are fully melted, stir once to combine, remove from the heat and add the chilli. Set aside to cool slightly.\n\nButter two dariole moulds and preheat the oven to 200\u00b0C\/gas mark 6.\n\nIn a separate bowl, whisk the eggs and sugar together until well combined and fluffy. Gradually add the chocolate and butter mixture, stirring as you go, then fold in the flour. When everything is mixed, gently pour the batter into the prepared moulds, to reach about three-quarters of the way up.\n\nBake for around 7 minutes, or until there is a crust on the outside but the puddings are still molten in the middle (test with a skewer).\n\nLoosen the fondants very carefully by squeezing a palette knife down the sides, then carefully tip on to serving plates. Dust with a little icing sugar and a very little cayenne pepper, if you like (though do go carefully and check your partner enjoys heat first, as too much could render them inedible) and serve with vanilla ice cream.\n\n## RED WINE POACHED PEARS  \nWITH STEM GINGER CR\u00c8ME FRA\u00ceCHE\n\n**For the pears:** _500ml good-quality fruity red wine, such as Italian Primitivo ~ 100ml fresh orange juice ~ 1 tbsp finely grated orange zest ~ 150g caster sugar ~ 1 vanilla pod, split ~ 2 star anise ~ 1 cinnamon stick ~ 4 cardamom pods, gently crushed ~ 2 ripe Comice pears, peeled and cut at the base so they can stand up ~ 50g unsalted butter, chopped_  \n **For the ginger cr\u00e8me fra\u00eeche:** _1 tbsp stem ginger syrup from the jar ~ 150g cr\u00e8me fra\u00eeche ~ 6 balls of stem ginger, roughly chopped_\n\nThere is something rather sensuous and beautiful about a pear poached in red wine, it looks magnificent and smells delicious. The aromatics used to achieve the flavour in this dish include vanilla, cinnamon, cardamom and star anise. This subtle, delicate spicing, along with the depth of flavour of good red wine, creates an intoxicating blend that should hopefully prove irresistible to your dinner partner. Cr\u00e8me fra\u00eeche cut through with pieces of stem ginger \u2013 another aphrodisiac \u2013 provides the perfect accompaniment.\n\nMilton's Method   Pour the wine and orange juice into a large lidded saucepan or casserole and add the zest, sugar and spices. Place over a medium heat, stirring until the sugar has dissolved. Add the pears so they are standing in the pan and reduce the heat to low. Place the lid on the pan and simmer for 45 minutes to 1 hour, or until the pears are soft but not falling apart (test with a knife).\n\nMake the cr\u00e8me fra\u00eeche by gently combining the syrup, cr\u00e8me fra\u00eeche and stem ginger in a bowl. Spoon this into the centre of serving bowls. When the pears are ready, remove them from the pan and stand them in the bowls, squidging them down so the cr\u00e8me fra\u00eeche comes up around the base of each.\n\nBring the red wine sauce to the boil and reduce it until it is thick. Then remove from the heat, whisk in the butter pieces until it thickens slightly and serve warm, sprinkling a little over the pears and offering the rest in a jug on the side.\n\n## VANILLA AND SAFFRON BAGUETTE AND BUTTER PUDDING  \nWITH GOOSEBERRY-GINGER JAM\n\n30g unsalted butter, plus more for the dish ~ 2 tbsp gooseberry and ginger jam, plus more to glaze ~ \u00bd large baguette (about 150g) ~ 1 large free-range egg, plus 1 large free-range egg yolk ~ 25g caster sugar ~ \u00bd vanilla pod, split ~ 1 generous pinch of saffron threads ~ 100ml whole milk ~ 200ml double cream ~ 2 tbsp dark rum ~ 40g sultanas ~ 1 tbsp demerara sugar\n\nBread and butter pudding may not seem the most romantic of desserts, but by adding two exotic spices, a hit of rum and some gooseberry and ginger jam, it is elevated into a heady, fragrant dish with an indulgent texture.\n\nSaffron threads are the female sex organs \u2013 the stigma \u2013 of crocuses. That on its own may or may not be important, but it certainly helps to set out its stall as one of the most well-known aphrodisiacs, used by Greek gods, no less, in their pursuit of female company. Zeus seduced the princess Europa by breathing saffron from his mouth. Cleopatra, it is said, bathed in large quantities of the spice before making love.\n\nSaffron also happens to be remarkably expensive, by virtue of the fact that it is so labour-intensive to harvest, and perhaps this also adds to its reputation.\n\nMilton's Method   Preheat the oven to 180\u00b0C\/gas mark 4. Butter a medium-sized rectangular ovenproof dish. Spread the jam over the base of the dish.\n\nSlice the baguette thinly and butter both sides, then overlap the slices in the dish.\n\nPrepare a cold custard: beat the egg, egg yolk and caster sugar in a large bowl until thickened slightly and bubbly. Scrape the seeds from the half vanilla pod into the bowl, add the saffron, then mix in the milk, cream and rum. Mix well, then slowly pour over the bread. Sprinkle the sultanas over the pudding and leave for 30 minutes so the custard soaks into the bread.\n\nPlace the dish in a larger baking tray and pour boiling water around it. Sprinkle with the demerara sugar and, taking great care that the hot water doesn't spill, bake in the oven for around 35 minutes until golden on top.\n\nRemove from the oven. Melt a little more jam in a small saucepan with a splash of hot water to loosen, then brush this glaze over the pudding. Leave to stand for 10 minutes before serving.\n\n## RASPBERRY AND ROSE PUDDING\n\n**For the pudding:** _1 tbsp cornflour ~ pinch of fine salt ~ 1 free-range egg yolk ~ 250g raspberries ~ 50g caster sugar ~ juice of \u00bd lemon ~ 150ml double cream ~ 1 tsp edible rose water_ **To serve:** _1 tbsp white chocolate curls ~ 1 tbsp edible dried rose petals ~ 1 tbsp lightly crushed freeze-dried raspberries ~ 4 chocolate wafer sticks_\n\nI remember as a child sniffing deep red roses and thinking that they also smelt of raspberries. I discovered, while researching this book, that rose is a noted aphrodisiac... and its associations with romance, of course, are as enduring as they are clich\u00e9d. So the first thing that sprung to mind when I thought of using flowers in this book was to make a dessert out of raspberries and roses. And it works. The raspberries really shine through at first taste and the rose lingers a little (but not cloyingly) at the end.\n\nMilton's Method   Mix the cornflour and salt in a large bowl, then slowly pour in 125ml of water, whisking all the time until smooth. Add the egg yolk and whisk until fully incorporated.\n\nPut the raspberries, sugar and lemon juice in a blender and liquidise until smooth. Strain the mixture through a sieve to get rid of the seeds and pour into a heavy-based saucepan. Heat the mixture, stirring all the time, until it comes to the boil. Reduce the heat to its lowest, then take a couple of tbsp of the warm raspberry pur\u00e9e and whisk it into the bowl with the cornflour mixture. When it is well blended, pour back into the saucepan with the rest of the raspberry pur\u00e9e, whisking all the time, until the mixture has thickened and changed in colour from dark red to pink. Keeping the pan over a low heat, return to the boil, simmer for a couple of minutes to cook out the cornflour, whisking as you go, then set aside.\n\nIn a separate bowl, whisk the double cream until it forms billowing soft peaks but is not stiff, then whisk in the rose water. Once the raspberry mixture has cooled a little, fold in the cream until it is completely blended. Spoon the pudding immediately into serving dishes \u2013 I suggest either martini glasses, ramekins or small bowls \u2013 cover with cling film and place in the fridge. Leave for at least 2 hours to chill.\n\nWhen you are ready to serve, sprinkle with white chocolate curls, rose petals and crushed freeze dried raspberries, placing a couple of chocolate wafer sticks on the side.\n\n## Acknowledgements\n\nThis book would not have been written without a number of important people. Rosemary Davidson at Square Peg inspired the idea and Susannah Otter has been an organised and enthusiastic editor who has kept everything on track against some challenging deadlines. Lucy Bannell is a fantastic copy editor who has pointed out many important issues with a number of recipes and Marion Moisy tightened the text up still further at the proofreading stage. As ever, my brilliant agent Andrew Gordon has helped work out the details between everyone, and his assistant David Evans has been a great help in sorting out contracts and the like.\n\nThe dynamic duo of Matt Baxter and Graeme Rodrigo have played an instrumental role, not just in their respective fields of illustration and design, but in coming up with ideas for the whole concept. Katie Morgan's beautiful watercolour illustrations are also a vital part of the book.\n\nI would also like to thank Tom Charman for the fantastic venison and Price's Butchers for their excellent meat. Thanks to Bridget, Gilbert and Rafe for trying out many of the recipes, to Sue Telfer for testing the banana cake and Hilary Chandler for testing the fried oyster recipe.\n\nIt is patently absurd (they can't even read!) but I would also like to thank my three hens Delhi, Naggar and Leh, who have provided me with a plentiful supply of eggs during the writing of a book that has used vast quantities of them.\n\nDespite help from all these people (and chickens), if there are any errors or omissions, they are mine alone.\nThis ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.\n\nEpub ISBN: 9781473545175  \nVersion 1.0\n\n1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2\n\nVINTAGE  \n20 Vauxhall Bridge Road,  \nLondon SW1V 2SA\n\nSquare Peg is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.\n\nCopyright \u00a9 Milton Crawford 2015\n\nMilton Crawford has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988\n\nFirst published by Square Peg in 2015\n\nwww.vintage-books.co.uk\n\nA CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library\n\nISBN: 9781910931226\n\n### CONTENTS\n\n  1. Cover\n  2. About the Book\n  3. About the Author\n  4. Also by Milton Crawford\n  5. Title Page\n  6. Dedication\n  7. Chew. Slurp. Lick. Nibble.\n  8. Relationship Questionnaire\n  9. A Note on Unsexy Foods\n  10. Something to Slurp on\n    1. Frozen Watermelon Margarita\n    2. Basil Martini\n    3. Almond Milk White Russian\n    4. Bloody Mary with Clam Juice\n    5. Strawberry Bellini\n  11. Nibbles and Tit-Bits\n    1. Spiced Honeyed Almonds\n    2. Caviar Blinis\n    3. Puglia Broad Bean Dip\n    4. Oyster Fritters with Rocket and Wasabi Mayonnaise\n    5. Chaat Masala Watermelon with Mint\n  12. Smooth and Slippery\n    1. Oysters with Chilli, Ginger and Lime\n    2. Salmon Tikka Skewers with Dill and Pomegranate Raita\n    3. Milton's Moules\n    4. Lobster with Bearnaise Sauce, Home-Made Oven Chips and Broccoli\n    5. Scallops with Brown Butter, Capers and Lemon\n  13. Flesh\n    1. Venison and Liver Pies\n    2. Beef Carpaccio with Parmesan, Rocket and Truffle Oil\n    3. Yakitori-Style Chicken Heart Skewers\n    4. Steak Tartare with Confit Egg Yolk and Aioli\n    5. Herb-Crusted French Rack of Venison\n    6. Beef Fillet, Ceps, Marsala Sauce and Roasted Shallots\n  14. The Spice of Life\n    1. Butternut Soup with Nutmeg and Toasted Pumpkin Seed Oil\n    2. Crispy Sea Bass with Ginger and Spring Onions\n    3. Paneer Tikka Masala\n    4. Smoked Garlic Dauphinoise\n    5. Salt and Pepper Baby Squid with Garlic Mayonnaise\n    6. Saffron Roast Chicken with Lemon and Rosemary\n  15. Shapely Veg\n    1. Crunchy Fennel and Green Apple Salad\n    2. Asparagus with Crab, Poached Eggs and Lemon Vinaigrette\n    3. Avocado, Pancetta and Toasted Pumpkin Seed Salad\n    4. Pommes de Terres Sarladaises with Truffles\n    5. Red Mullet, Artichoke Hearts and Lemon\n  16. Getting Fruity\n    1. Watermelon Salsa with Black Pepper Goat's Cheese\n    2. Grilled Honey Figs, Goat's Cheese and Walnut Salad\n    3. Pork and Lychee Curry\n    4. Salt Caramel and Rum Banana Cake\n    5. Poached Quince with Mascarpone and Stilton Cream\n  17. Sweet Bits\n    1. Cranachan with Figs, Candied Walnuts, Honey and Meringue\n    2. Chocolate Chilli Fondant\n    3. Red Wine Poached Pears with Stem Ginger Creme Fraiche\n    4. Vanilla and Saffron Baguette and Butter Pudding with Gooseberry-Ginger Jam\n    5. Raspberry and Rose Pudding\n  18. Acknowledgements\n  19. Copyright\n\n","meta":{"redpajama_set_name":"RedPajamaBook"}}