…waiting are Mary Blonda, Jane Bradley, and Louise Brown, from Eloise’s generation; and Cornelis Oranjeboom, Phoebe Atwood, and Andrew Sharp, Eloise’s eldest son, from our generation. Also present are George Galloway and Laurance Rudolph. And Salbert, in his “Sagebrush” identity, albeit with clean clothes and without the burro. 
And, of course, Lorna McManus.
I speak first. “We had to wait a day to get the medical papers. Ms. McManus, I believe this is what you insisted on concerning the bookstore incident.”
“Allow me,” says Alice, politely taking the medical reports for Gwendolyn Maureen Berry, and laying them on the table in front of Lorna for her to read. Now we’ve all sat down.
Lorna, an avid reader in her own right, scrutinizes the papers closely. She hands them back to Alice, with an apparently satisfied look, which Gwen sees and is apparently relieved about.
Lorna says to me, “Your point is well taken.”
Then George Galloway takes the floor. He seems to be the most silver-tongued person present, and we listen as he presents an eloquent argument to persuade Lorna to bury the hatchet, compassionately showing her, for example, that Gwen was duped into giving her the parathion envelope; that Alice had known Gwen herself for years–since the tragic loss of her parents, and the fire–and Alice, after all, had not appraised Gwen as ‘the most mendacious person in the world.’ He also notes that Jock himself, the alleged object of Gwen’s affections, was in fact the policeman who arrested Gwen.
While this is going on I feel the vibrations of my cell phone, whose ringer I’d turned off; and I excuse myself. I take the call in the library; it’s Professor Fields.
He says, “It’s likely Lemoyne’s lawyers–his cousin Paul Newsome and that fizgig Erika Thallwood–may try to use an insanity plea to exculpate him from federal charges. But the FBI has solid evidence against that, and the court that will handle the matter is known in the Ninth Circuit for refusing to recognize insanity pleas, except in the most extreme of circumstances.”
“How did you find that out?” I ask.
“I consulted Edmond Bartholomew–George Galloway’s attorney. [see earlier in thread–d.m.] He can’t represent the case against Lemoyne–that’s up to the U. S. Attorney’s office and the Postal Inspector–which, as you know, has a 99% conviction rate. Edmond and I will present an amicus curiae brief; we both know this court well. Newsome and Thallwood may try to press the plea but they’re not likely to impress Judge Cantrell.”
That makes me shiver. Judge Isidore Cantrell! I think :eek:! A hanging judge much like Vinegar Joe Hale–whom Lemoyne still has to face. A distant cousin of mine was charged with importing illegal aliens–and Judge Cantrell threw the book at him. I happen to know the insanity plea didn’t help much.
“Is there anything else, Professor?” I ask.
“Yes…I got a court order to subpoena Lemoyne’s own medical records, from San Francisco General. According to the records, Lemoyne, at 68, has been diagnosed with a moderate heart condition. Things like sudden fright could throw his system into a potentially fatal spasm.” Fields closes sternly with, “So leave the lawyer stuff to me. I’ll stay in touch.”
Somehow I suspect that Fields himself has a psychic nature, much like Salbert and Buster…:eek: :)
We ring off and I return to the meeting. Before I leave the library I look the word sidhe up in a dictionary. “In Irish folklore, a hill inhabited by supernatural beings”; “such beings collectively.” I wonder what the English-through-and-through Alice would say to that. 
Lorna and Gwen have apparently simmered down; Lorna doesn’t give the impression she wants to throttle Gwen.
I sit next to Alice again. She seems now to want to pull my hand under her blouse!
Now Salbert, as the grizzled old prospector, has some comments on Gwen and Lorna, etc. for the group. He appears even older than Galloway. He says:
“I concur with what Galloway said about Gwen. I’ve been a patron of R. Kane’s Books for years–in fact, long before Gwen started working there–and I can fully vouch for her character.”
As Salbert talks, I see Fred Moreland quietly enter the Green Room and stand by the door.
Salbert continues. “I know she may seem a bit sour at first but Gwen was always helpful every time I came in. And her knowledge about the books in the store was amazing–far beyond that of any other clerk I knew who worked there. In fact, I think it was that knowledge that got her into trouble.”
I glance at Lorna. She doesn’t seem skeptical about Salbert’s testimony. I also briefly look at Fred who is oddly engrossed by what Salbert’s saying–like he’s taking mental notes.
“Gwen was manipulated and exploited by a number of unscrupulous groups and individuals because of what she knew,” Salbert explains. “In fact, if I am to find fault with Gwen about anything, it’s not that she’s mendacious, but rather overly naive. However, I trust that she’s now a little wiser about people’s motives than she was a few years ago.”
With that, Salbert sits down. When he does, Fred sees his opportunity to speak.
“Excuse me,” he says. “But can Miss Alice please go outside for a short time. The lights on her car are on.”
Odd. It’s daylight and I don’t remember Alice ever turning on her headlights on the way over.
“Oh, of course,” Alice says as she gets up from the table. “Thank you, Fred. And can you come with me _____? I think you might have the keys.”
“I’m pretty sure the keys are still with you,” I answer.
“No,” Alice says with an affected tone of voice that indicates she wants me to come with her. “I didn’t wear a coat and I think I slipped the keys into your coat pocket on the way in.”
“Master _____, your coat is in the hallway closet,” says Fred. “So could you please come with us?”
I get the sense Alice and Fred want to get me out of the room for reasons that have little to do with whether I still have Alice’s car keys.
“Okay,” I say while getting up. “We’ll be back in a little while.”
Alice, Fred, and I leave the Green Room, walk down the hall, and out the front door without even checking the coat closet.
“Hey, don’t you want to get my coat to see if the keys are in there?” I ask.
“Follow us, Master ____,” Fred responds as we turn to walk across the front outside of the house. We then turn the corner and follow along the side of the house until we stop by the chimney. Fred furtively looks around and, when it’s apparent there’s no one else around, changes his demeanor from that of an overly formal servant to that someone who’s cooler and more authoritative.
“Okay pal, you probably guessed by now that Alice didn’t leave the lights on,” Fred says as he lights a cigarette. “The reason you’re out here is a helluva lot more important than that.”
Fred’s sudden personality change has me a little disoriented. I look at Alice and see no sign of surprise. She’s apparently familiar with the two faces of Fred.
“What’s new?” Alice asks Fred. “By the way, it’s great Salbert’s taking time to help Gwen out like this.”
“Yeah, but Salbert’s always been a sucker for a pretty face,” Fred says with a slight grin. “Why do you think he’s helped you out so much?”
“Pardon me?” I interrupt. “But what exactly is going on here? How do you know about Salbert? And what is the important thing you have to tell us?”
“The butler job is just a cover,” Fred explains. “I work with Salbert. Buster too. We all work for the DXM League.”
“Of course,” I say. “Everywhere I turn, I run into someone with the DXM League.”
“And you should be damn thankful you do,” Fred asserts. “There’s a lot of big bad things out there and you and Alice would’ve been deep sixed a long time ago if it weren’t for us.”
“____ is a little new to all this,” Alice explains to Fred. “Forgive him if he seems not to know how big the whole picture is. So, what is it you have to tell us?”
“I have to warn you about something,” Fred says. “Something you and your friend have to watch out for.”
“What?” asks Alice.
"It’s this…
[note: this posting is being added because the SDMB was apparently down for about 24 hours. I wanted to keep the thread from being lost. 
--dougie_monty]
“It would be best if you [Lorna and Gwen] would not dwell too much on this matter. For one thing, Lorna has not suffered severely from the parathion [Lorna nods] and besides, Jock and Lorna have maintained their relationship intact. Perhaps Gwen is not a saint, but then again neither is she Attilla the Hun.”
Lorna and Gwen still seem glum, but then they turn to each other. “Wanna make nice?” asks Gwen. Lorna nods. They shake hands and the rest of us are relieved.
Mr. Galloway, Salbert, and the others of our parents’ generation leave except for Jack and Eloise Sharp, and Jane Bradley.
Now that we have settled the matter, Jane speaks up.
She asks Alice, “Do you think the benefit could use some singing groups?”
“Why not?” asks Alice.
“Well, I’d like to see if I can harmonize with Sally Mears, and with Amy Dolan and her cousin Jeanette.”
I think, This should be interesting. All four statuesque women have lower-than-average voices and a chorus of four contraltos would be a novelty…
We continue with this discussion, and arrangements to have Lena and Amy meet us for organization and rehearsals, and to contact Jeanette Strong, Amy’s cousin; Jane and the others are interested in The Cigar Band. Jack owns a downtown theater called the Morpheus which we could use for rehearsals, at least, and the performance, pending approval from the appropriate division of the college…
Alice and I, of course, expect to hear soon from the FBI or the Circuit Court concerning the depositions we’ll be summoned to give next week, regardless of what Lemoyne and his lawyers might have in mind.
She says, as we alone remain in the Green Room, “and…somehow I sense that there is something special about that lawyer–Professor Fields. When we get back to my place, we’ll take it up with Buster.”
“Don’t forget to offer him some liver,” I suggest.
[Note from NDP: this should go before D.M.'s entry of 1-29-03 and after my previous one.]
Potter-Sykes might be dead and Lemoyne might soon be institutionalized in either a prison or mental hospital but there are still a lot of dangerous forces and people out there. They may be bit more disorganized but a bit more scattered, but that doesn’t mean they’re any less deadly."
“We sensed that,” Alice says in agreement. “We haven’t stopped keeping our eyes open.”
“Well, if it’s possible, open them wider,” Fred warns. “We have info that the life of both you and ____ is in immediate danger–from someone who’s very close to you.”
“Who?” I ask.
“Unfortunately, we’re not sure yet,” Fred answers. “We just know it’s somebody that either Alice knows or you know. It could be family or it could be a close friend.”
Fred pauses for a second and puts out his cigarette. I sense he wishes he could fully inform us about the danger we face if he could.
“We better get back in,” Fred says. “If we’re out here much longer, people will start talking.”
We walk back around the house and toward the front door.
“I would’ve liked to tell you who it is,” explains Fred. “But there just isn’t enough evidence. However, Buster and Salbert will help out as much they can so don’t think we’re leaving you by yourselves.”
As we walk in the front door, Fred re-assumes the role of butler. We head down the hall back to the Green Room where we see Salbert advising Gwen and Lorna on what they should do.
He says…
“It’s best to work together for the performance, not that you necessarily need to be in the same pieces of music. I was with a performing troup for 26 years in central Arizona, about the time I really was prospecting, like Sagebrush in Cracked, and uncovered a mother lode I can live off for the rest of my life. I made many friends with that troupe and the mutual benefit the two of you stand to gain is considerable.”
Lorna admits she had overreacted. She knows that one way an enemy can succeed is to cause the opposition to fight among itself. 
Lorna comments, “That Jane Bradley…harmonizing with Sally and the others…she is so nice; she has such a lovely voice…” she sobs slightly, as if expelling pent emotions. She obviously sympathizes with Salbert about show folk working together. We wait for her to regain composure.
We continue with arrangements and get a rudimentary written agreement from Jack and Eloise for the use of the Morpheus, along with keys and a map.
On our way back to Alice’s place, Alice and I mull over what Fred told us about the Judas we may have to watch out for.
Alice says this is not too likely. “In my family anyway. Me, Mum, Dad, Arthur, Daniel, their wives–I don’t know offhand of any other relatives of mine in the States anywhere else…” (Alice’s great-uncle Matthew has already returned to England.)
“And most of mine live in Indianapolis,” I say. “I have a cousin in Fresno, named Harry Langford, I’m not sure about…but I don’t know that he has any psychic proclivity. And a second cousin in Los Angeles, named Kurt Todd, who looks a lot like Mark Spitz…”
"Well, sighs Alice, “We’ll take this up with Buster…”
By the time we get to the house it’s dark; Alice and I go to her room in the main house. We undress, and get in the bed naked, but as usual we engage in an absorbing conversation. We both finally nod off…
and sleep for a few hours.
Early in the morning, while it’s still dark, I awaken. However, like the night before, I can’t get back to sleep. The mystery of what those multiples of 23 mean on that sheet of paper is still bothering me. But now, the new revelation that someone Alice or I knows is trying to kill us adds unwanted weight to my mind. I mentally review each and every encounter I’ve had with friends or family to try to remember any behavior that now–in retrospect–seems suspicious. The first person I think of is Gwen. After all, she’s been spying on Lemoyne for us and who knows what could’ve happened between him and her. And can we really trust Gwen? Maybe she’s not as naive as everyone thinks. Maybe Lorna’s initial assessment about her was accurate and she’s just playing us for a bunch of saps.
But then I think that if Gwen was really up to something, surely Fred and Salbert would’ve mentioned it yesterday. In fact, Salbert himself has known her for years and took great effort to defend her! Gwen would have to be a criminal mastermind of combined Professor Moriarty/Keyser Soze` proportions to fool the likes of Salbert and the other agents of the DXM League.
What about Daniel? He tried to get us on that rickety old ladder a few days ago. He also seems to be often butting in when Alice and I are trying to have a private moment. And what about those “mocking” exchanges between him and Alice? Sure, it may look like ordinary teasing between siblings but maybe there’s something a lot darker at work. After all, I’ve only known the family for a very short time.
Wait a minute! We’re talking about a guy in his 30’s who collects garden gnomes and has a wife on the police force. We’re also talking about her brother for God’s sake. Siblings always tease each other–you did it yourself. And he wasn’t trying to get us to climb an unsafe ladder so we would fall and break our necks; he was only trying to get us to expose our wings (which he has not yet seen).
Alice rolls over on her side and, while still asleep, puts her arm around my chest. I mentally pause and I try to stop my suspicious thoughts. Unfortunately, my break doesn’t last long.
I remember that Eda suggested to Alice that we go up to Astoria, Oregon to see the Astoria Column. I also recall that this was right after we discovered the connection between the Column and the words written on Lemoyne’s paper. What caused her to bring that up? Didn’t Alice say something about Eda and Paul having previously been to Astoria? Fred mentioned that whoever was trying to kill us was someone close. Who could be closer than one’s mother?
No! Eda would never do something like that. I’m not ever going to tell Alice what I just thought. In fact, I refuse to even remotely consider that possibility ever again.
I try to banish my suspicious thoughts from my mind. I automatically think of the song “For What It’s Worth.”
Paranoia strikes deep/
Into your life it will creep/
Starts when you’re always afraid/
Step out of line and the man’ll come and take you away.
I try to get back to sleep. It’s still dark outside and almost totally silent except for what sounds like the engine of a small airplane in the distance. As I grow more drowsy, I hear the dull low buzz get closer. Then, it stops.
Alice’s cell phone rings. She suddenly wakes up and gets out of bed. As if on cue, we then hear Buster loudly yowling outside the door.
I get up. “I’ll go see what that cat wants,” I tell Alice as she walks to her desk to answer her phone. I put my robe on and walk toward the door.
Just then, a gigantic kumquat crashes through the ceiling and lands directly on the bed where Alice and I had been only a few seconds before.
I crouch by the door and cover myself from the parts of the ceiling coming down around me. For a second, I lose track of Alice. When the rain of debris stops, I yell, “Alice are you all right?”
“I’m okay,” she yells back. “I ducked under the desk. How are you?”
“Still in one piece,” I answer as I get up and take a look at the scene of the disaster. “What the hell was that?”
“It’s a kumquat,” Alice answers as she gets out from under her desk and hurriedly slips on her bath robe.
“But they’re out of season,” I say.
There’s a pounding at the door. I answer it and Paul, Eda, and Buster rush in. After seeing Alice and I are alright, they stare at the huge citrus fruit that’s crushed Alice’s bed and is now partially embedded in the floor.
After several silent minutes pass, Alice says…
“You said you have a cousin in L. A. named Kurt Todd?”
“Yes…I haven’t seen him for nine years since he did time at Leavenworth for that illegal-alien ring he participated in…” Wait a minute. Why did Alice mention him?
Paul, Arthur, and Daniel look at the gaping hole in the ceiling. Eda calls the local police and the FAA. As it happens, Winifred and Hermione are on night duty this week and they say they’ll be right over. Paul tells Arthur to go out to the shed and get that big tarpaulin they used when they remodeled the tower two years ago. He and Arthur and Daniel go to get it, while I take pictures of the damage with Alice’s Minolta.
Alice now answers me. She shows me a ragged piece of paper, tied simply to the stem, which has a crude but complete e-mail address on it, that I have to pull two pieces of paper, almost stuck together, apart to see. I also read a printed message “ES COUNTY FAIR, Sept. 27-Oct. 13.” also stuck to the tag is a torn postcard with “KURT W. TODD, 14…Cerr…” the rest is totally illegible and partly torn.
Well, now. We’re getting somewhere! My cousin Kurt Todd lives at 14101 East Felton Place in Cerritos, about 18 miles southeast of downtown Los Angeles. I knew him to be a dairy and fruit farmer.
“What does ‘ES COUNTY FAIR’ mean?” Alice asks.
“The Los Angeles County Fair is held in September and October every year–in Pomona, where most of the county agriculture remains,” I say. “Well, someone else was careless. The ragged pieces of paper seem to be what is left after an attempt to tear the tag off–as if Kurt’s pilot didn’t follow directions properly.”
Now Winifred and Hermione come–with Sergeant Bob Long. They survey the damage to the roof, the bedroom, and the bed, and make a report.
While they’re there we get a call-back from the FAA. The agent asks me what I know and I tell him a “large supply of fruit” crashed through a bedroom ceiling in the house. No need to sound crazy by saying it’s only one kumquat the size of a medicine ball! I give him the information; he says he has a computer record, and that sure enough, a small private plane took off from Ontario Airport, near San Bernardino, about two and a half hours before. The plane’s registration was indeed in the name of my cousin Kurt William Todd.
The police take pictures themselves, and look for prints on the huge fruit. They seem to find a few, but that may not be necessary, says the FAA agent, who is still on the line. They finish their investigation, the part in Alice’s room. We all pitch in to clean up debris, and Arthur, after all the pictures have been taken, gets a large dolly and trundles the fruit out into the garage and locks it in a closet (this is not the utility shed). Then he, Daniel, Paul, and I stretch the tarp over the hole in the roof. In the morning Paul will call some friends; I tell him Joe Bradley and Stan Brown are experienced builders and they can do a quick fix that will last until permanent repairs can be made; they’ll also fix the floor, I say. Arthur trundles the kumquat away and Alice and I examine the bed. No damage to the mattress, or even the box springs, but the headboard is split in two and the side rails are bent. “We can fix it, I believe,” Alice says. Arthur and Daniel also carry in a large piece of particle-board to cover the small hole in the floor.
“It looks like we’ll have to sleep in the den tonight–if we can sleep after this,” I say.
I slump into a chair. That a cousin of mine did this–and is maybe in the employ of Lemoyne–is really upsetting. Buster approaches; Alice and I cuddle close to each other, still quite shaken.
Buster says, “Well, it may be that it’s time for the Sunday punch! Wherever your cousin’s plane lands now the pilot and Kurt will face instant arrest and criminal charges. I think we should have Fred and Salbert out here in the morning.”
Somehow Alice and I, cuddling on the futon in the den, manage to get some sleep. When we wake up in the morning we stagger out into the living room, still in yesterday’s clothes. There are people at the door–Fred Moreland, Salbert in his “Sagebrush” getup, and two FAA agents.
They identify themselves to us. “You’ll be glad to know that the pilot who dropped that load here is under arrest, and so is Kurt Todd,” one says.
I think to ask, “Was he working alone–I mean, my cousin?”
“We don’t know; but he has two choices: He can take the rap himself or he can name names. We are investigating his property, and the L. A. County Sheriff’s Department, which arrested him at his home in Cerritos, has been searching it. He and his pilot will face charges ranging from malicious mischief to attempted murder.”
Paul has called his homeowner’s insurance company, and Joe Bradley and Stan Brown. They say they’ll be at the Terwilligers’ place this afternoon; the insurance adjuster promises to come this morning (in fact she arrives within an hour). Alice and I arrange to get our photos developed, and we get a copy of the police report from Hermione.
While all of this is going on, Alice and I return to the den. Paul has sent Arthur and Daniel to work on the roof, getting things ready for Stan and Joe; and Hermione and Winifred, off-duty, come in to stay with their mother-in-law in the kitchen.
This is fortunate. Fred, Salbert, and Buster go with us into the den to sort this out. All the work Paul and his sons and Stan and Joe can do won’t mend the emotional jolt we all have suffered.
So, with the DXM League people present Alice and I yet again return to normal state of mind, and Fred is the first to speak.
“If there’s anything good to come of us, it’s that we now know who the friend or family member trying to kill both of you is,” Fred states. “At least you can afford to be a little less paranoid about the people around you.”
“There’s a positive point,” I think.
“However,” he warns. “There are still people out there who want to do you harm so I wouldn’t reduce my vigilance just yet. By the way, you should both thank Buster and Salbert for getting you out of harm’s way.”
“What did they do?” Alice inquires.
“I was the one trying to call you just before the kumquat hit,” Salbert says. “When you didn’t answer, I was worried that I hadn’t called in time.”
“No, you got me out of bed and saved me,” Alice says. “I didn’t answer because I was distracted by the fruit crashing through the roof.”
“I suppose your yowling was also part of the plan,” I ask Buster.
“Bingo,” Buster responds. “Don’t ask how, but I had the sense something was about to happen to you and Alice while you were both in bed. So, I started making noise outside the bedroom door knowing at least one of you would get out of bed and not be a target.”
“Well thank you both for saving our lives,” Alice gratefully says.
“Just part of the job,” answers Buster.
We hear footsteps so Buster stops talking. It’s Paul. He tells us…
Professor Fields and Bob Long are at the door. Apparently they have some really big news, to paraphrase Ed Sullivan.
Buster saunters over to the picture window after pausing at a large magazine on a table, with McArthur’s quote “I Shall Return.” He carefully steps on the quote with all four feet, to communicate this to us. Fred excuses himself and returns to the Sharps’ mansion to do butler stuff; he’ll probably be back.
Bob Long and Walter Fields sit down in the den with Alice and me.
Bob, holding a large portfolio, says, “We obtained a search warrant for Lemoyne’s villa in Piedmont. In the process of searching we located a large box of documents, in a false bottom of a drawer, mentioning every one of his minions, including Pula Kinlai, Carol Cott, Kurt Todd, Dr. Marston, Crimson, and Kimerra.”
That rings a bell. The last two were Marston’s minions when I was abducted to the bughouse. Bob shows me two photos like “Wanted” posters. For Crimson the text includes “alias Douglas W. Grover”; for Kimerra it says “alias Cyril O. Yates.”
I say, “That’s Crimson and Kimerra all right!” Well, now Grover/Crimson will face a Judge nobody can corrupt; the California judicial system will go after the others soon enough.
I ask, “What’s going to happen to Carol Cott and Kurt Todd?”
“As the FAA told you, he can keep quiet or squeal on Lemoyne. And, as with Lemoyne and the treadles [now he speaks directly to Alice], your parents can sue him and his pilot for the damage done. I don’t doubt that the insurance company investigators will press this; they’ve already begun working with us cops on it.”
Alice and I are a little happier about this; we have sat together and are clasping hands again. And I sense that when our visitors have finished for the moment, and left, she wants to do more than just sit together…
“How about Carol Cott–the one who phoned me–and Kinlai?” Alice asks Bob. “The last we heard he was still laid up and unconscious.”
Just before Bob prepares to answer, Salbert knocks on the den door. He comes in and greets us, and Buster slips into the room and picks a chair first, in true feline single-mindedness. Salbert and Buster sit on opposite sides of Sergeant Bob Long and lawyer Walter Fields. We sense they are about to tell us something about themselves before giving us the lowdown on Cott and Kinlai–and the ambience is similar to that when Buster commented on my window-washing and Fred Moreland showed us he does things beside buttle for the Sharps.
Professor Fields speaks.
“What you have to do is view everything as sort of a big wheel,” the Professor explains. “With the hub apparently being Sikes-Potter. Lemoyne and his flunkies were just one of the spokes.”
Professor Fields seems to be addressing me in particular since I’m not as familiar with the details as everybody else in the room.
He goes on. “Lemoyne and Sikes-Potter had a symbiotic relationship: Lemoyne would help finance Sikes-Potter’s scientific research and Sikes-Potter would kick back to him some of the ‘goodies’ that came out of said research.”
"You said Lemoyne was one of the ‘spokes’ to the Sikes-Potter wheel, " I say. “That means there are others.”
“Correct,” Professor Fields answers. “And everyone of them is just as–or even more dangerous–than Lemoyne. You have no idea what these people might do. And the fact they have access to Sikes-Potter’s research is even more worrisome.”
Just when I thought I had a reason to start feeling good again.
Just then, Sgt. Bob Long speaks up and says…
“As you probably guessed, Walter and I are members of the DXM League ourselves. I went through the police ranks in the regular manner, and Walter is fully licensed and qualified to teach at the college and plead cases before all courts in California, but we have another special talent.”
“What is that?” Alice asks.
Bob shows us. He fixes his eyes on a small picture hanging on the wall above the futon. It shakes a bit then falls onto the mattress. Then Walter does likewise, causing all the water from a small fishbowl to flow upward out of the bowl into a nearby empty glass vase, fish and all. The fish don’t seem to react. (Both vessels are on a narrow shelf high above Buster’s reach.)
Alice and I are astonished. “You know psychokinesis!” I say.
“That’s right,” Bob says. “Like Scott Baio in Zapped! But don’t worry, Alice–I don’t use it the way Baio’s character did.” Apparently he expected that Alice would worry that he would undress her with this force. :eek:
“The force has come in handy when I want to disarm a suspect who is too far away, or is across a street, or whatever. I just cause his weapon to fall out of his hand, then we get the drop on him. What’s he going to tell a judge–that someone ‘thought’ the gun or knife away from him? And he usually isn’t looking at my eyes!”
Now Walter speaks about more mundane matters.
"Carol Cott is in custody since Winifred collared her at the finance company. She hasn’t named anyone else she may work with and insisted on a public defender. That must mean she won’t depend on Lemoyne or Yates, or whomever, to get her off.
"Pula Kinlai hasn’t improved much since he was brought in. His family was contacted; they apparently know nothing about Lemoyne and made their own arrangements to pay for his treatment, so far as him being in the jail ward won’t do it. He’s still not coherent enough to be formally booked.
“Rita Waterford pled guilty to the shooting charges but since she identified Lemoyne we will deal leniently with her. She may know about some of these other people we haven’t identified yet. She has agreed to cooperate fully.
As for Gwen Berry, she is not the only person we’ve collared–I know Jock Dumfries arrested her–but she is the only such person without a criminal record. The health department found no trace of dangerous chemicals in R. Kane’s store and allowed it to reopen right away. We’re preparing to dismiss the charges against Gwen in the interests of justice.”
“That may explain partly why Gwen has not been bitter,” Alice comments.
“And there is another serious matter. Financing. Running an operation like Sikes-Potter did took a lot of money…”
“You can bet that Lemoyne certainly contributes to that,” I mutter.
"Ah, but probably not much longer. The odds are now that he will face a multitude of federal and state charges, and ______ and your Dad [Walter faces Alice now] can sue Lemoyne for damages relating to the treadles–stubbing the toe, damaging property with surveillance equipment, and so on.
“And then there’s the Norton Medical Building [the one that collapsed with Tigner inside]. There were about 150 other medical and dental offices in that building besides Tigner’s, and these people have started to prepare a class-action suit against Lemoyne–personally, since his company is defunct–for damages. [Sparr and Beach had been managing the assets since Kinlai’s accident.] I don’t know exactly what his personal fortune is, but the suit apparently asks $45 million in damages and I doubt he has much more money than that. And a lot of public opinion is welling up, especially in Livermore and Lodi, against him. He may figure that even if he did try another plea-bargaining ploy, or an insanity plea, the outraged public would deal with him themselves!”
“So the operation has lost, or will lose soon, its financial backing,” I comment.
“Perhaps,” answers Walter. “But it isn’t an absolute. And I don’t know who the lawyer is representing the building’s tenants. In any case,” he tells Alice and me, “Just keep your eyes open and be sensible. And remember this week you’ll be going to the federal court in San Francisco to give the depositions for the FBI and the Postal Inspector. I have your appointment time and I’ll meet you there.”
Fields is in a better frame of mind now, and so are the rest of us. In a fit of whimsy, he psychokinetically opens the door to leave the room; Bob Long, now off-duty, is going home to get some sleep. Salbert stays at the house for other reasons, but he and Buster file out into the living room. Just at that time Stan and Louise Brown, and Joe and Jane Bradley, arrive, along with the insurance adjuster, so Alice and I leave the room ourselves to assist in Alice’s bedroom as needed.
We stay there only a short time, and Stan and Joe get to work while the adjuster talks to Paul and Eda; also, Louise and Jane visit with them. She has a copy of the police report Hermione and Bob prepared early that morning.
Alice and I go out to the secret bedroom, to get some needed rest and get away from the intrigue stuff for a while. She puts the Portishead CD on and gives me a wink–and shows her expanding pupils–as she uses the wings to push her sweatshirt off…
and you can imagine what happens next. (Although I will state that it was the first time I’ve experienced it aerially.)
Afterwards, we relax in bed. Apropos of nothing, I tell Alice that when I looked the word sidhe up in a dictionary, it said it was a Gaelic word that described supernatural beings like fairies and the hills they inhabit.
“Yes, I know,” she says.
“Don’t you think it’s kind of ironic,” I comment. “That Lemoyne thinks you are some sort of supernatural Irish being when, in fact, you’re English?”
“Mildly,” Alice says. “One strand of my family tree goes back to Cornwall and another comes from Wales–those are both traditionally Celtic parts of Britain. The sidhe are a part of Celtic mythology. So, except for the fact that–to the best of my knowledge–I don’t seem to have any supernatural powers beyond flight, Lemoyne might be partially right.”
“And he might be totally insane,” I add.
“Well, not insane enough not to be convicted,” Alice comments. “Let’s hope he doesn’t start babbling about the sidhe being out to get him at the arraignment.”
“I trust Fields knows what to do,” I state. "And that reminds me, were you aware that–
Suddenly, we hear a thunk at the door–like something’s hit it. We quickly put on enough clothes to be presentable and open the door where we find…
Buster jumping against the door. Eveyrone else is occupied elsewhere, and when we open the door he tells us we have visitors.
We go out front. There is Gwen, along with Lena and Amy; and a group I recognize as The Cigar Band. Jeanette, as imposing as ever, wears an oversize sweater and red jeans. Jeanette, Jeremy, Johnny, and Phil don’t have their instruments here, and are not smoking.
We go inside, just as the others return, including the adjuster, Harriet McKenna, who is finished. She leaves, and I notice Lena giving her an admiring look as she exits. 
We all introduce ourselves.
Stan and Joe, now with their wives, tell us the temporary repairs are finished. Paul says Alice had “an agricultural drop delivery,” which should satisfy the other visitors.
Buster sits on the coffee table. From his posture, eyes, and purring, I sense he is telling Alice and me, seated together, it’s all right now. We start talking about rehearsals and organization…
Jane asks Jeanette, who is even larger and bustier, “Do you sing?”
“Yes, I do,” answers Jeanette, in a contralto register even lower than Jane’s.
“I had suggested to Gwen that we might organize a foursome–a singing quartet, with you and a friend of mine, Sally Mears, another contralto.” Knowing how Sally herself looks, I can imagine what this quartet will look like on stage…
Jeanette seems to be flirting with me; I pretty much ignore it, and notice that Alice is not pleased with it. I keep an arm around Alice’s waist.
Then Buster hops off the table. The visitors had cooed when they saw him, but now he jumps over to the telephone, and points his tail at a picture of Fred the Cockatoo on a magazine cover nearby, about Baretta.
Lena says, “That’s cute! Kitty wants to use the phone!”
Buster looks at her as if to say, “Lena, you are an airhead!”
Alice and I know what he means by his posture. We excuse ourselves and go into the den, with Buster following, and Alice takes her cell phone to call Fred Moreland at the mansion. I close the door behind us. We sit down; Buster jumps up on my lap. I gently pet him.
“The things you go through as a cat,” he sighs. “Oh well, better they should coo at me than throw things.”
Now he changes mood a little. “I think it’s not a catastrophe, but you will want to contact Fred now–apparently he has important information.”
So Alice calls and reaches Fred.
However, I can only hear Alice’s part of the phone conversation. For the most part, the news she’s hearing seems positive since she smiles as she listens to what Fred is saying. At the end, she tells Fred we’ll do something for him, says we’ll seem him soon, and hangs up.
“Fred said that they when they arrested your cousin, they got the mole,” Alice tells me. “He also said something interesting about Lemoyne and the Astoria Column. It seems as though around 1988, there was a drive to raise funds to renovate the column in which people donated $1,000 to ‘buy’ a step inside. Lemoyne is listed as a ‘buyer’ of seven steps in the column for $7,000.”
“That’s interesting,” I say. “But we already knew Lemoyne was connected with the column in some way.”
“Yes, but that’s not all,” Alice continues. “When they started work on renovating the column in 1995, Lemoyne kept hanging around the site and closely watching the work. He did this despite the fact he had nothing to do with actual renovation plans, the contractors who did the job, nor the suppliers of building materials. The extent of his involvement was only the $7,000 he donated.”
“So, maybe he had too much time on his hands,” I said.
“Well he had enough time to get into trouble,” she goes on. “One evening, after construction had stopped for the day, somebody reported trespassers on the site of the Astoria Column. When police arrived at the scene, they noticed some people had broke into the column but that they were gone. In a search of the area, Lemoyne and some other men were picked up and taken into custody. However, they were released in the morning and no charges were ever pressed. After that, Lemoyne was never seen around the construction site again.”
“That is curious,” I comment. “Did Fred say anything else about the column?”
“No, but he does want to see that sheet of paper Gwen stole from Lemoyne,” she says. “He also wants us to pick up an old vinyl record for him at a place in the university district called ‘Meek’s.’ He ordered and paid for it in advance and has already told the record store we’ll be picking it up for him.”
“What record is it?” I ask while putting on my coat and checking to see that sheet of paper is in my possession.
“‘The Otis Redding Story.’” Alice says as we walk toward the door.
“Keep your eyes open,” Buster says. “Don’t ask me why but I think somebody’s going to try to do something to you guys soon.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“I can’t think of anything specific,” the feline answers. “I just have a vague sense that something’s going to happen. It was the same feeling I had just before the kumquat crashed through the roof.”
I sigh. “Thanks Buster,” I say. “We’ll be vigilant.”
We open the door and step out of the den. Alice tells me…
“We’ll take my car. And we’ll go this evening. There’s construction on Wallace Street, so it’ll be easier to get there and back after dark.”
So we decide to wait to go over to Meek’s until after dinner.
During the day, we discuss the plans for the performance with Gwen and the others from Prester John’s Aunt, along with Lorna, The Cigar Band, and Jane and Louise. Louise, interestingly enough, brought her banjo with her; we rarely get to see anyone play one left-handed. Gwen and Lena are fascinated–they can’t imagine how to handle such a banjo. They probably never heard of Jimi Hendrix.
Then Jane does her stuff, singing Tammy Wynette songs in her low register. Jeanette, for one, is impressed with Jane’s versatility and this points something out to me as well as any potential male onlooker–how it is possible for a large, very beautiful woman to have talent and versatility.
Then Alice, Gwen, Lena, and Amy set up as Prester John’s Aunt. Though they haven’t rehearsed, they show considerable ability, playing a soft rock song, something classical, and stuff my parents likely would have listened to. I think this is going to be some performance.
Evening comes. We prepare to go to Meek’s, and Buster is in the living room with Paul, Eda, and Arthur, along with our visitors. Buster gives us a look that says, Be careful…
We get to the area and Alice finds the item(s) she wants at Meek’s. But as we are on our way to the car, most of the street lighting on Wallace Street blinks out.
“Damn,” says Alice. “That construction [part of Wallace Street is still torn up] has screwed the lighting up.”
“Wait in the store. I’ll go get the car.” I am concerned for her safety and I don’t think it’s wise for her to walk along a dark street to get to the car, parked around the corner on Siddely.
So I walk to the car but I don’t notice that Alice is concerned herself and follows me.
“Gotcha!”
The light is just enough for me to make out the likeness of Victor Lemoyne in front of me. Although he is 68 he is not a “fat capitalist”; he is in fact quite trim and could easily subdue a younger person. I turn and run, although I know I’m in the dark. I’m not used to running–but I get an idea. And I don’t stop to ask him how he got out of federal custody.
He is gaining on me as I continue down the dark street. I sure don’t have time to uncover my wings. But I get an idea. I turn the corner onto Bascombe Street, and run across a parking lot. I stop near a wall, and suddenly turn to the side.
Lemoyne doesn’t see me turn, but bumps slightly into the wall. I hear the sound of paper rustling.
“I’ll get you, ______—you and that bitch Alice for interfering…” Then I hear his hands slapping at paper.
“Damn! Where are you? Get this goddamn paper away!” He starts tearing it.
Right then I see the faint form of Salbert as a skeleton. He uses ASL to tell me, Lemoyne’s hour of reckoning has come.
“Get this damned paper away! This crap–”
The lights come on. Lemoyne is in the parking lot for the VFW post. He is standing at a wall with a “United We Stand” poster on it, with the American Flag superimposed, and pictures of the World Trade Center tragedy along with New York firefighters and policemen. He has started tearing this poster down. I step over to him before he realizes what he has done.
“Hey, Mr. Lemoyne, I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes now.” Then I notice that Alice is standing with me, along with Salbert, in human form.
He turns to me in confusion. “W-What do you mean?”
“Look at the poster,” says Alice. “Then look behind you.”
Lemoyne, puzzled, looks at the poster he has been tearing. Then he looks around–and comes face-to-face with dozens of angry veterans, along with a couple of local policemen. One is Sergeant Bob Long. Alice, Salbert, and I step back. This is going to be an exciting scene. :eek:
Sergeant Long tells him, “Well, Mr. Lemoyne, you’d better give yourself up right now–unless you want these veterans to take care of you.”
Lemoyne turns white as a sheet. He’s licked and he knows it. He sighs and holds his wrists out for Bob to handcuff him. The veterans cheer and applaud. The other policeman escorts Lemoyne to the squad car.
Alice and I stand together, with Salbert nearby. “He was assisted in escaping by John McGowan,” Bob says. Alice appears angry; I hold her close. "Now McGowan is under arrest for helping a federal prisoner escape. Bob now says, “I’ll walk you back to your car. My partner will follow on the street until you get there.”
We do so; Alice gets behind the wheel; Salbert and I get in the car. We wave to Bob as we head back to her place.
When we get there the visitors are about to leave; we see them off. But they are staying in a nearby motel and will return in the morning.
“Should we tell anyone about this?” I ask Alice and Salbert as we get out of the car.
“What do you think?” they answer in unison. Salbert goes his way and we go inside. Alice and I go into the den; she takes her purchases from Meek’s and sets them on the sideboard. She and I strip to our underwear and lie together, in a close embrace, on the futon.
The next morning we tend to other matters:
namely, delivering Fred’s album (which is more like a box set) to the Sharp house and also having him take a look at the paper Gwen stole from Lemoyne.
On the way over, Alice sees the need to stop at a pharmacy to pick up some sundries. After parallel parking the car at the bottom of a hill, we start to cross the street to the drug store.
I hear a cell phone ring. I answer it and hear a familiar voice say, “You better get out of the street and duck into the building nearest to you.”
I glance behind me and see a craft store. I then hear a rumbling noise coming from the direction of the hill. Without a nanosecond’s hesitation, I grab Alice’s hand and pull her out of the street.
“Who was that and what are you doing?” she asks.
“I think it was Salbert and I have to buy some yarn,” I answer as we rush into the craft store.
The rumbling noise grows louder. Alice and I turn and look out the craft store window and see a cantelope the size of a dump truck roll down the street. We were just seconds from being squished.
Alice and I step out of the store and watch the melon continue to rumble down the street. It narrowly misses some cars along the way before the cantelope…
…rolls into a marshy sump at the end of the street with a very loud squish that sounds both nauseating and funny.
But Alice isn’t laughing, and neither am I. We look around. Nobody is in sight as we slip our tops down, take wing, and speed out to the cantaloupe embedded in the ground at the sump. As it happens, Alice has her Minolta and snaps pictures.
“Have you ever seen a cantaloupe like this–other than its size?”
“No, never,” I answer. “Cantaloupes are sort of silver and beige. This has the cantaloupe’s texture, and the pith plug [where it was connected to the plant]–but I’ve never seen one with red texture on indigo!”
“Remember what you did to the colored fruit in the dorm?” Alice asks.
“You’re right,” I answer. “I wonder if we can still reach Tom Smothers…”
We’ve flown around to a level area where we won’t be in the path of giant, miscolored fruit, and I reach Tom Smothers’ agent. As luck would have it, the agent tells me that the samurai sword I left in the limousine is at his office in this city. We walk a few blocks over; I present identification and get the sword, which is in a suitable scabbard. I modify my belt to fasten the scabbard to it and we go on our way.
“Well, we had subdued the purple orange and its cohorts,” I comment as we return to our original site, the pharmacy.
I call Professor Fields and give him the lowdown. He asks us to stay in the pharmacy for about an hour. That’s good; Alice remembers she had to pick up a prescription for Buster, who has started spitting up hairballs and she’d like to nip that in the bud.
An hour passes and Fields meets us in the drugstore. “McGowan was the last of Lemoyne’s accomplices, and now he’s in federal custody. I’m not sure who or what sent that cantaloupe [Fields drove by the sump on his way out] but we’d do well to get to the source, which is most likely at the top of the slope.”
We exit the store and, sure enough, we see a red onion about 30 feet across bounding down the street, also miraculously avoiding people and cars. Alice and I step to the side, wait until nobody can see us, and take wing again, ascending more than 40 feet up. Fields gets in his car, parked across the street. He fixes the approaching onion with his psychokinetic stare, in such a way as to cause it to return to its source. He starts his car and goes after it. Alice and I watch Fields’ car; he catches up to the onion, which has bounded back up the hill to a small bungalow that looks like an abandoned fast-food stand.
He parks there, still in psychokinetic mode. Alice and I land and we see a slight, skinny man with a red beard standing near the approaching huge red onion. We fly again around behind him, and Professor Fields causes the onion to stop stock-still. I get a hammerlock on the redbeard and Alice draws my sword.
I quickly slice the onion in two, and it returns to normal size.
Alice asks the man, “How would you like to end up like that?” He trembles and surrenders. “Or maybe you’d like to face some people at the VFW,” she continues. I take my cell phone and call the police. The onion, now ordinary size, just lies there and I toss it into a streetside trash can.
“No! I was paid to do it,” the man says. Then a police car approaches, and I tell the driver that the man was rolling dangerous missiles down the street at us. We’re sure there are plenty of witnesses to the bounding giant cantaloupe, and even to the red onion.
While the cops handcuff and Mirandize the man, and Professor Fields speaks to the officers, I slip away long enough to take wing yet again and speed down to the sump. I take Alice’s camera, and prepare to snap one more picture. But the cantaloupe is now normal size and color, too. I get a shot and return, discreetly hiding my wings and giving Alice back the camera.
The cops drive off with the little bearded man, now under arrest. Other people had approached the officers and saud they saw him rolling “giant balls” down the street, and the cops got statements and names and addresses.
Now we go with Professor Fields to his car. In it we see Salbert–and Buster–who says, “Never mind how I got here.”
“Your point is well taken,” I tell Salbert. “Lemoyne is going to be put away, but there are still people who mean us harm.”
“You know,” says Salbert, “I have a feeling that’s over for a while. Just a hunch…granted that cantaloupe and that onion may not be a ‘last gasp,’ but this time Walter stopped some other plot before it could really start. That bearded guy can name names, or keep quiet and take the rap himself. Recovering the samurai sword was a good idea.”
Professor Fields now speaks up. “Remember, tomorrow you have to get to the federal court to give depositions–you know, about Lemoyne’s poisoned letters…”
That’s right. “How does the procedure go?”
“Judge Cantrell will be there, with two U. S. prosecutors. Lemoyne himself will not be present when you testify. I know some of the prosecutors–they’re dedicated and serious. You’ll be sworn in and they will question you, much as in a regular trial. Then Lemoyne’s counsel will cross-examine you.”
I sign. “I’d just as soon not face that slimy Paul Newsome.”
“Oh, he won’t be there,” says Fields. “He had a family emergency in Boston. Erika Thallwood–that giddy young woman–and a recent law-school graduate who just got admitted to the bar will be there. Larkin Gingerich. Lemoyne had to pick someone to replace Newsome, and he had to do it quick. Gingerich has never had any contact with Lemoyne or his minions.”
“I hope that is an advantage to us,” says Alice.
We get back to Alice’s car. No more produce rolling down the street. Buster walked back to Alice’s car with us and we return to the Terwilligers’.
Alice and I prepare for our trip to San Francisco, as well as our classes for the semester. She also continues preparations with Prester John’s Aunt, while I continue to noodle around on the Internet, and visit with The Cigar Band and Jane and Louise.
Buster literally takes his medicine. With only Alice and me in the den at the time, Buster thanks Alice for the medication. Then he hops up on her lap again and we discuss the incident on the street.
“Who do you suppose paid that guy?” I ask.
“Who knows? If it wasn’t Lemoyne it could be some minion of That Faction–someone who could, for all we know, have been acting on orders issued him before your mirror-and-mystic incident in the desert valley.”
“That’s quite possible,” comments Alice with a sigh.
In fact, Alice and I had had a strong sense of relief–something we had not felt since the Ice Age incident on the campus. It may have been an unidentifiable something that was silently pestering us all this time, and not connected to Lemoyne at all. It’s a feeling of relief I felt last when that Trailer Zone incident ended.
“Just the same, watch yourselves,” comments Buster. “Better safe than sorry.”
He jumps off Alice’s lap and goes in the kitchen to meow at Eda for some more liver.
“Well, we need all the good news we can get,” Alice says. We return to her room, which now shows few signs of the kumquat drop–even the bed is back to normal. She gets the guns out to clean them; I go out to the shed and put an edge on the samurai sword, and give it a nice polish. Of course, the sword and our firearms will have to be packed when we travel to San Francisco.
Then Eda comes into the room. “Your frield Salbert–that prospector–left a small package for you.” I thank her and we open it. It’s two empty pumpkin cans.
“What an odd gift!” says Alice.
There’s a note.
"Take these cans with you when you go to the federal court. Just keep them in your tote bags, in Ziploc bags. Whatever the fruit plot may be, these–and your own awareness and wings–with protect you. Just be sensible and keep the cans and other items ready–and keep your cell phones charged.
“Signed, Charles Salbert.”
I shrug. “Well, what can we lose? Hey, he knows what’s going on…” We also plug our cell phones into their chargers.
“One more thing,” adds Alice. “I have just today received e-mails from most of my worldwide contacts–and they’ll be helping us now too.”
The day’s tasks over, we strip and get in bed to enjoy each other.
We have a good night’s sleep and prepare to get to the Ninth Circuit Court in San Francisco.
As we go downstairs to breakfast, Alice says, “We never got that piece of paper over to Fred did we?”
She’s right. Every time we’ve tried to do it, we get sidetracked by something unexpected.
“With our depositions in San Francisco this morning, we won’t have time to drop them off today,” I state. “You have a multi-function center attached to your computer. If the Sharps have a fax, we could try to fax it to him.”
“I’ll call and find out,” Alice says as she reaches for her cell phone and starts punching in the Sharp’s number.
Alice asks for and gets Fred on the line. She asks Fred if the Sharps have a fax machine and, judging from her smile, the answer is “yes.” She scribbles the fax number on a post-it note, hands it to me, thanks Fred, and hangs up.
“We can fax Lemoyne’s paper to him now,” she tells me. “Fred also says our depositions should go smoothly if we don’t let ourselves worry too much.”
“What? Me worry?” I say as I rush downstairs and go into Alice’s library where the computer and fax is.
I quickly dash off a cover sheet and put the two pieces of paper in the fax machine. I punch in the Sharp’s number and, after a few rings, hear the irritating screech that indicates I’ve gotten through.
When the first sheet of paper begins to move through the machine, I look over and notice Buster is sitting by the window. His tail is twitching frantically and he’s intensely concentrating on what’s outside. I glance out and see a robin almost right up against the glass. I look around to get a better view and see more than a dozen other robins close by–a whole flock in fact. Apparently, Spring’s come early.
Both sheets of paper have gone through the machine and have been successfully transmitted. I pick up the sheets and head for the kitchen via the living room. It’s there that I look out the window so I can get a complete panorama of the backyard. When I do, however, I stop and do a double take. Outside, in addition to the robins, are whole flocks of crows, ravens, starlings, barn owls, seagulls, pigeons, and blue jays. Not making a sound and barely moving, they all just sit or perch on the gutters, branches, bushes, telephone wires, and lawn furniture in and around the yard.
I walk into the kitchen. Alice is sitting at the table drinking tea and eating a scone.
“Ever see the movie The Birds?” I ask her.
“I did when I was around eight,” she answers. “Scared the crap out of me though. I could never get past the scene where the birds attack the kids on their way home from school. I still can’t now.”
“Then I suggest you don’t look out in the back yard,” I tell her.
“What do you mean?” she says getting up from the table. “What’s out there?”
Before I can stop her, Alice goes out into the living room and looks out the window. She stops dead in her tracks and audibly gasps.
“I told you not to look,” I say.
“It’s the end of the world,” says someone impersonating an “old salt” voice. I look over at where the voice comes from and see Buster enter the room from the den.
“All those birds!” an alarmed Alice exclaims. “What are they doing here?”
For some unexplained reason, we both look at Buster.
“Don’t look at me,” he says. “I haven’t killed a bird in over two years and Eda took that away from me the second she saw me with it. So don’t think the feathered denizens of the animal kingdom are here to see me for some sort of payback.”
“We weren’t,” Alice says. “It’s just that you’re a cat and cats do have a tendency to knock off at least a few birds every so often.”
“Well, I think I’m an exception to the rule,” the tomcat replies.
“We still don’t know why all those birds are out in the yard,” I say. “And why are they so silent and still? I’m afraid to go out there.”
“So am I,” Alice says. “But we can’t let ourselves be trapped.”
She reaches for her cell phone and begins to dial. I ask her who she’s calling.
Alice says…
“…Mark Blonda.” Mary’s brother.
“I thought he was an entomologist,” I say.
“Well, he’s an ornithologist too.” Then Alice listens.
“Hello?..oh, hello, Mark. Yes, this is Alice…listen, Mark, we have dozens of ominous birds out back…yes, I do…I remember the scenes in The Birds…you did? How many times?..Well, what should I do?..Yes, I’m sure it does…oh, all right…very well, I’ll set it that way…how much time?..and if they should return? …Hmmm…yes, I can do that…very well…thanks very much! Goodbye, Mark. Say hi to Mary for me.” Even I blush when she says “Mary”; Mark’s sister seems to charm a great many people she meets.
Alice hangs up and has me go with her into the bedroom. “Let’s go to the tower controls–that keypad near the closet.”
I’m puzzled. She has controls for the tower in here?
We go over to the keypad. She pushes “ULTRASONIC,” “WHISTLE,” and “TWO HOURS AUTOMATIC.”
“What does this have to do with the tower?” I ask.
"Alice answers, “In colonial times the American Indians didn’t use scarecrows to fend off birds from their crops. They mounted whistles in trees; the whistles would pick up breezes and startle the birds. Didn’t you read about that in American History?”
“Yes, I did–I forgot.” :o
Then she throws the “ON” switch. We look out the back window. All the birds suddenly take flight and disappear over the horizon.
Then we go to her computer room; she tinkers for a few minutes with the hardware and software, and prepares a Zip disk she then pops into the video camera control in the room. “The camera is now connected to the tower control. If any large concentration of birds should return, the controls will sense them, and pause 30 seconds before sounding the ultrasonic alarm again for two more hours. And so on.”
Alice and I high-five each other before we drive to San Francisco. We can identify the source of the birds after we return.
On the way, among other things, I ask, "What did Mark Blonda say when you asked him how many times he saw The Birds?"
“Ten times,” says Alice. :eek:
I remember the spoof in Mad: “The Birds is coming! And good grammar in advertising has went!”
Professor Fields meets us at the circuit court. We go to the chambers of Judge Isidore Cantrell; meeting us are Lemoyne’s lawyers, Larkin Gingerich, a former college football player who is a jock through and through, and the scatterbrained Erika Thallwood, tall and thin. The prosecutors are James Winthrop, a man looking to be in his seventies, almost; and Paula Desmond, a pudgy but prim black woman. Fields is there with Edmond Bartholomew, to present an amicus curiae brief. The judge opens the proceedings; he looks sour but is a serious, dedicated man. And there is a bailiff present.
I am called to testify first. I am sworn in, and Ms. Desmond asks me about the poisoned letters, the packages, the scene with Howie Albert and the sword, and Bob Long’s statements to me. I only tell what I saw myself. Mr. Winthrop presents Long’s police report, along with a sworn declaration by the dorm concierge.
Now it’s time for the cross-examination. Ms. Desmond turns to the slightly distracted Ms. Thallwood and says politely, “Your witness!” Lemoyne’s lawyers look to me as if they don’t know which end of a law book to hold, let alone how to conduct a cross-examination!
Ms. Thallwood, with all the poise and dignity of Goldie Hawn on Laugh-In, approaches. I see Judge Cantrell watching, out of the corner of my eye; this suggests she’d better pay attention to what she’s doing…
[Mary Blonda’s brother is Mark Smith, not Blonda!
Mary’s married name is Blonda!
Mea culpa… :o
Now back to our story… :D]