"This was during the 1870’s and just about everything around where the Siddely’s lived was rural. Aside from a few farms, the only other structure was a Grange Hall.
"I was courting Althea Siddely when I first met Gregory Rimpau. It was only a brief encounter. Althea and I were…
…in the parlor in the Siddelys’ farmhouse. Althea and I were chatting and viewing old daguerreotypes her mother had collected, when Mr. Siddely came into the house with Rimpau.
“Mr. Siddely asked Althea and me to come with them—he said he wanted Rimpau to show us some of the silver work he had done. We went out to his wagon and saw some candlesticks, flatware, and picture frames Rimpau had made.”
“It sounds as if Siddely interrupted your tryst deliberately,” I say, half jokingly.
“I found out later that that is exactly what he intended to do. Rimpau later told Althea and me that he sensed that the site where she and I were sitting, was targeted by some evil force and he persuaded Siddely to interrupt us.”
“Did you find any evidence of that at that ‘site’?” I ask.
“All we saw when we returned, were three small scorch marks on a goose-down pillow on the settee,” says Leo. “But later we found something outside that baffled us.”
“What was it?” asks Joan Breastly.
“An 1804 silver dollar. Since we knew that Rimpau was a silversmith, and the coin was already 80 years old, we took it to him and said we hadn’t seen it before his visit. Althea found it barely visible, under the porch—and nobody else in the family knew anything about it.
“As it turned out, ‘Ggrvmp’ already had an 1804 dollar coin. The only other one he ever saw—and there have been only thirteen of them known to exist—had been owned by Alfred Smedley, the original owner of the land the Morpheus was built on. Rimpau bid on the coin at an auction after Smedley’s death. Phileas Sikes-Potter also bid on the coin. Both men were outbid.”
“By whom?” I ask.
“We never knew the man’s name, but Rimpau described him to his mother later on. The man was husky, and had a red beard and mustache, a baldpate, square eyeglasses, and a large pipe. She recognized the description but she didn’t know the name either.”
“So it is possible that the man with the pipe had something to do with the scorch marks on the pillow,” says Alice.
“It is,” replies Leo. “Rimpau’s mother had seen such a man at various places throughout the West Indies. She believed he was into black magic himself and, for reasons never made clear, he had a grudge against the Jacobs and Siddely families.
“Last of all, Hezekiah Siddely, pretty well up in years by now, caught a trespasser on his land. It seems the man—the same one who’d outbid Rimpau and Phileas Sikes-Potter for the silver dollar—was poking around behind the henhouse, obviously not in quest of chickens. Old Man Siddely overpowered the man and punched him in the jaw. Somehow Siddely happened to say ‘yellow fox’ and the intruder fled in terror. He never returned to the Siddely farm.”
I remember the Yellow Fox pins we wear now, and the German electronics firm—Gelbenfuchs—that manufactured the equipment Threshold has used.
“Did Phileas Sikes-Potter or the man with the pipe have anything to do with the Grange Hall?” asks Alice.
“I’m not sure,” says Leo, “but they may in fact have financed its construction. No matter—they showed up in the Hall from time to time but everyone else shied away from them. They were outcasts.”
“You know, we may want to ask Red Nicholas about this one,” says Jeanette. I figure this is easy for her, being related to the Luglios; Red always gives her straight answers: Jeanette has charmed him since the first time he saw her.
“Well, we can talk to him later today,” Joan says. “I want to go down there with you, Jeanette, and with Alice and ______. We’ve just about circumscribed Threshold now, but we may get info from Red about the pipe-smoking man who left scorch marks.”
Leo now goes his way. Alice and I discuss plans for Lorna’s wedding; three bridesmaids, all of whom probably speak with a Scottish burr as strong as Jock’s or Lorna’s, will arrive this afternoon from the Sacramento area.
“Come on,” says Jeanette, taking my hand. “You’ll have time to rehearse with us for the pieces we’ll play at the wedding.”
“All right,” I say with a wink, “but I’m not doing anything else with you.” 
“Oh, knock it off!” says Jeanette, her voice sliding into a loud horselaugh. Alice smirks; she knows I’m referring to her drummer Jerry, my alter ego in a sense, who, along with Johnny, humps Jeanette all the time.
Now April Blonda, in ill-fitting white blouse and snug faded blue jeans, comes into the room. She shows Ms. Breastly her DXM ring, which I suppose Sol Feldman made for her. Joan knows about April’s wings.
“And I want you to know now who the other member of our group is, who has grown wings recently,” says the 14-year-old Miss Blonda.
“Is it Susan Bradley?” I ask.
“No,” says April, “but it is one of us kids who have been in the Morpheus all this time. Come on in!”
And into the room comes the kid who has the newest pair of wings. It’s…
Doris Sharp–and she’s not very happy about it.
“Why did this happen to me?” she says with disgust. “Punk rockers can’t have fairy wings! Looking like Tinkerbell will destroy my cred in nothing flat!”
“Well, they’re not really fairy wings,” April explains.
“Are you kidding? Look at them!” an upset Doris shouts as pulls her flannel shirt down so her shoulders–and the top of her wings–are exposed. “I look I should be flitting about in a ball gown exchanging little kids’ baby teeth for quarters.”
“Look, regardless of what they look like, they are not fairy wings,” counsels Alice. “In fact, you should think of yourself as lucky to have them.”
“Why’s that?” Doris asks with a sarcastic tone.
"Well, for one thing, you can now…
“…go rock-climbing, or even mountain-climbing, with the wings as a backup safety system. I understand you quit an outdoors club recently because you had some difficulty holding onto rock surfaces as well as the others did.”
“Well, that’s true,” says Doris.
Jack and Eloise now come into the room. Eloise greets her second daughter; she’s delighted that Doris has the wings, even though the 22-year-old girl isn’t all that happy about it.
“At least Alice can cloud people’s minds, so they don’t see her wings,” Doris pouts.
“Don’t feel bad about it, dear,” says Eloise, who is used to sundry complaints from her fifteen kids, particularly the often-morose Doris. “As for clouding the mind—you know your father and I can do that for you…”
“Yeah, Mom, I know—but I’m 22! I mean, I’m old enough that I shouldn’t have to rely on you for things like that!”
“You rely on us for food, clothing, and shelter, Doris,” Eloise points out. “And remember that last time you had your period, and you went to George’s frat house to pick him up? And you forgot your napkin?”
“What about it?” asks Doris, obviously feeling slight embarrassment.
“Well, none of the guys there said anything about it even when your white slacks got stained—not even George!”
“You mean—?” asks Doris.
“Yes,” says Eloise. “Your father and I knew you’d gone out to the frat house without your Modess. We clouded the guys’ minds so they wouldn’t see what was staining your slacks. Even George didn’t notice it.”
“Doris,” Jack adds, “Do you remember Frank Lentini?”
“Oh, yes, I do,” she says. She now just sits there and mulls this over.
Eloise explains to us. “Lentini was a boy in Sicily who had three legs. He pitied himself for this, and then he visited an institution for disabled children. Some were blind, some were deaf-mute, some lacked limbs. He saw how they had overcome these deficiencies, and he never again complained about having three legs.”
Jack now has his arms around his daughter.
“Remember too, honey,” he says, “when you were little, your mother and I always put the cookie jar on a high shelf in a cabinet in the pantry, and we told Armand to make sure you didn’t climb up to get to it. Now, with your wings, you can fly up and get cookies whenever you want!”
“Oh, Daddy!” says Doris, crying and laughing at the same time.
Eloise tells Alice and me, “This is easier than saying, for example, that Hermione and Winifred perform their police duties just fine, without their wings interfering.”
“Well, this seems to be what parenting is all about,” I say, knowing how Eloise and Jack have managed to rear their large brood.
“It’s a demanding role,” agrees Eloise, “but Jack and I rise to the occasion.” I couldn’t agree more.
Doris now sits quietly with her parents. She looks so much like her mother…
“Well,” says Ms. Breastly, “this afternoon I want Alice, _______, Jeanette, Leo, Eloise, and Dr. Clouse to accompany me on a visit to Red Nicholas. We should be able to get information from him about the pipe-smoking redbeard and the book of incantations Rimpau’s mother used; I believe we can use these things to identify and locate the remaining people in charge of Threshold. Do you have any commitments before then?”
“Well,” says Alice, “I’m going with Lorna, Dr. Clouse, Sylvia, Jane Bradley, and Harriet McKenna to get things we need for Lorna’s wedding. And we’re supposed to meet Lorna’s bridesmaids at the Amtrak station.”
“I’ll go with you,” says Jerry Britton. This is a good idea, I think, since he and I have essentially switched identities.
”Meanwhile,” says Jeanette, “We have rehearsing of our own to do for the wedding. _____, let’s get together with Johnny and Phil on the stage. We’ll see you later, Alice, Eloise…” The others leave, after I get a hug and kiss from Alice. 
I meet Jeanette and Messrs. Goss and Ramírez on the stage, with The Cigar Band’s equipment set up.
Lorraine Adler and George Stanhouse, among others, watch from the seats. I sit at Jerry’s drumset and check out the hardware he shelled out $1500 for—including the nickel silver high-hat.
Jeanette says, “Let’s start with ‘Stairway to Heaven.’”
I put the sheet music in place and give the downbeat. As we start, with Johnny and Jeanette singing, and Jeanette and Phil strumming, I notice an unusual inscription on the lower half of the high-hat.
You shall know Brahma.
I stop the downbeat and, for a few seconds, ponder to whom the inscription is directed and what it means. Unfortunately, my mind blanks as I contemplate both questions.
“Beat please,” Johnny requests.
“Oh … sorry,” I say as I resume the downbeat. As I do, I again think about the inscription. Has Jerry ever noticed it? If he has, is it something that has meaning to only him? Why does it mention Brahma? Is Jerry interested in Hinduism?
“Hey, what happened to the drums?” Johnny shouts at me.
I was so lost in thought, I stopped drumming.
“Excuse me,” I say. “I just have a lot on my mind.”
“We can do this later if you want,” Jeanette suggests,
“Oh no, that’s okay,” I explain. "But before we start back in again, I was wondering if…
“…Jerry has been interested in eastern religion?”
“How far east?” Phil asks.
“Well, specifically, Hinduism.”
“Jerry took some college courses in comparative religion. For the record, he’s a Mormon.”
“Oh,” I say.
I give the downbeat again and stick to the drumming. We get all the way through “Stairway to Heaven” just fine.
“You’re quite good at the drums, _______,” says Jeanette.
“Thanks,” I say. “I’d played the drums occasionally for a combo in college—do any of you remember the Russian River Rats?”
The others laugh.
“Didn’t they have a bass player named Al Lemon?” asks bassist Phil.
“You know, I think they did,” I say. Then I ask myself: Didn’t he have his name legally changed to Al Lemon?
“Oh—I almost forgot,” says Johnny. “I guess I’ve been distracted myself—weren’t we supposed to play the processional and recessional wedding marches?”
“Hell, yes!” says Phil. He passes out sheet music for the processional.
We play it, and, as with “Stairway to Heaven,” we do just fine. We go through it three times and it comes out perfect all three. It’s the same with the recessional.
When we finish with the third playing of the recessional, I say, “I can almost hear Cousin Tilly hollering ‘Here they come!,’ with George Bailey and Mary Hatch coming out to Ernie’s taxi in the pouring rain, with Eustace snapping pictures and Ma Bailey and Mrs. Hatch crying with Annie looking on.”
The others laugh again.
“Lorna also asked us to play ‘Loch Lomond’ and ‘The Blue Bells of Scotland,’ says Jeanette.
We do, and the renditions are uneventful.
“This is amazing!” I say, as I note that we’ve done the songs well enough to make recordings.
Jeanette, who is obviously wearing nothing but a pink flannel dress and white pumps, turns and asks me, “_______, what’s your major in college?”
“Law,” I answer. “And Ms. Breastly would like to assign me to work in the law office the DXM hired.”
“Well, you could probably succeed as a drummer! After that initial distraction, you handled the sticks just fine!”
“Thanks!” I say. I sense myself blushing, not just because of Jeanette’s sexy presence, but because I continue with, “The singing and strumming ain’t half bad either.”
The others react to the compliment.
“Now,” says Jeanette, Jock asked us to include another song: ‘Give Peace a Chance’ by the Plastic Ono Band.”
“That’s an unusual choice to play at a wedding,” I say. “I guess Jock has been attuned to events in the Middle East.”
“He is,” says Phil, “but some of his friends liked the Plastic Ono Band and John Lennon. We got Father Abromowitz to clear the song. He didn’t object.”
“That’s good,” I say, as Johnny hands out the sheet music.
I read it through. The percussion part is quite heavy—in the recording it sounded as if they were lifting one end of a desk and letting it hit the floor to get a stomping effect, so I know I’ll be hitting the “floor tom”—the forward bass drum—quite heavily.
I give the downbeat. The sheet music requires all the musicians to speak, so I know The Cigar Band would never smoke while playing it.
We get under way. I never heard lead-guitar or bass parts for the song, but it has them anyway.
The song has, of course, a lively, heavy beat. Jeanette sways vigorously to the rhythm, with her buttocks and breasts shimmying with every beat of the floor tom. And her deep sultry voice adds to the effect. I sense myself getting hard! :eek:
Near the end, Jeanette’s wild motion makes me shoot my wad! :o I miss a beat, in the very last bar, but I needn’t worry: Phil and Johnny did the same thing—at the same time! 
Just as we finish—and Jeanette, used to this, gives Phil, Johnny, and me black terry towels to tie around our waists and hide the stains—Alice and the others return, with three women who must be Lorna’s bridesmaids. Jerry, of course, comes in; he sees the terry towel I wear and nods: this has happened to him countless times.
I know in a little while, Joan Breastly will summon Jeanette and me, and a few others, to visit Red Nicholas.
Jeanette speaks to Alice, who turns to face me and titters. Meanwhile, I chat with Jerry, about things like Jeanette’s sensuous shimmying—and the inscription on the high-hat.
“So you saw that, eh?” he asks. “And I bet you played all those pieces flawlessly, huh? Well, I’ll explain about that.”
“I bought the drum set from Mehta’s Music–a music store over by the university that’s owned by an Indian immigrant named Satyajit Mehta,” Jerry explains.
“Same first name as the film director?” I reply.
“I guess,” he answers. “I’m not too familiar with Indian movies. Anyway, I’ve been buying stuff from this guy for years and we have a pretty good business relationship. So, when I needed new drums, I went to Satyajit about six months ago and had him put together a special customized set.”
“Where does that inscription about Brahma fit in?” I ask.
“Well, when I picked up my new set, I noticed the inscription on the high hat and asked Satyajit what it meant,” begins Jerry. “He said that shortly after I ordered the drum set, he started having dreams where he saw me, in his words, ‘get to know’ the Hindu god Brahma. Because of this, he felt strangely compelled to add the inscription ‘You shall know Brahma.’”
“That’s weird,” I comment.
“Yes,” Jerry agrees, “especially considering that I’m not Hindu and, in all the time I’ve known Satyajit, we have never discussed anything having to do with his or my religion. The whole business with the Brahma inscription just came out of nowhere.”
“Has he said anything else related to the inscription since you got the drum set?” I inquire.
“Nope,” he answers. “We discussed anything having to do with religion–just like it was before. However, I have noticed one thing.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“I’ve played every piece without error,” Jerry says. “And it’s not just me. As you might have noticed when you were on the drums, other people who’ve used my set have also put on performances that Gene Krupa would’ve envied. I don’t know the exact reason why, but I’m not complaining.”
“Curious, very curious,” I state. "By the way, I was wondering…
“…what religious affiliation your partners have.”
“Phil is Catholic, but he doesn’t talk about it much—he doesn’t go to masses often, ever since a priest argued with him about smoking. He attended parochial school as a child, and his left-handedness was suppressed until his parents sent their attorney to the school to read the nuns the riot act.
“Johnny doesn’t follow religion at all; his parents were Baptists—perhaps not too many of them in Union, New Jersey. The Gosses got sick and tired of the Elmer Gantry they had for a minister, and abandoned the church before Johnny was born.
“Jeanette grew up in Southern California, and her parents attended an Episcopalian church in Redondo Beach. To see this bosomy Amazon with the immodest clothing you’d scarcely think that she came from a proper Episcopalian family, or that everyone else in her family, except her older brother Nate, was small and slight. She did, however, bear a strong facial resemblance to her paternal grandmother. When she moved up to this region and started dating you, she quit going to church.”
“How long has Jeanette been using those black towels?” I ask, changing the subject.
Jerry chortles. “We’ve used the towels, or leather aprons, ever since we started the combo,” he says. “Jeanette knows how sexy she looks and she exploits that to the fullest. She’s made the three of us ejaculate almost since day one.”
“You and Johnny must have maintained your relationship with her for quite a while,” I say. “In fact, ironically, it was her brother Nate who told me about that—while he was still hostile toward me.”
Jerry smiles. “Don’t be too hard on Nate. He just felt the need to protect his little sister, and he didn’t understand what you did, or rather didn’t, want from her. When you broke off the relationship he went into a deep funk—he blamed himself.”
“And now Nate is seeing Rita Waterford.”
“Yes, and they’re doing just fine. In fact, I sense that they’ve been considering getting married.”
“That’s really nice, Jerry,” I say. “Rita’s been through the wringer, and she deserves something better.”
“Back to the drumset,” says Jerry, “Mehta did some other customizing.”
“Go on.”
“Other than the inscription he put on the high hat, he didn’t make any other religious references at all. But he stamped a serial number on the drumheads facing me—that is, the audience doesn’t see them. This was different from the usual serial embossed on the shell.”
“What is the serial number?” I ask. I didn’t take the time to look at it while I was playing.”
“529.”
If Jerry didn’t have a DXM affiliation—I confirmed with Jeanette, of course, that the fancy rings the combo wears were ordered for them by James Parker and made by Sol Feldman—I might be startled by the appearance of 529, the square of 23, on Jerry’s drums.
“Oh—and I also saw a small black binder hanging from a chain fastened to the snare-drum support. It looked like a ‘little black book.’ Did Mehta put that in too?”
“No, that was my idea,” Britton answers. “And it isn’t a ‘little black book’—nor is it a record of how many times Johnny and I have screwed Jeanette. But we’ll get to it another time.”
Eloise now calls us into the spacious conference room.
I smell the delightful aromas of traditional Thanksgiving dishes—roast turkey with stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy (Armand’s family recipe), succotash, cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie. Lupe, Samantha, Thalia, Eda—and Johnny Goss—have cooked a meal for us with flair, and now we’re served.
Alice and I sit down, side by side as usual. Across from us are Daniel and Hermione; The Cigar Band sits to my right. Nearby at the table are Gwen, Amy, and the other vegans among us. I also sense the ghostly presence of Leo, Alexander, Luigi, Thurlow, and Ulrica. Buster and Duke are present, with dishes of turkey and stuffing, and bowls of cream.
“Are you going to serve Marie Barone’s tofu turkey to Gwen and the others?” I ask Thalia. Everyone laughs.
“No, the Barones ate that up,” answers Thalia with a whimsical twinkle in her eye. “We have a more tasty substitute to give to our non-meat-eaters.”
We dig in, but after a few minutes Joan Breastly steps up to the dais in the middle of the room, and asks for our attention. She wears a tan flannel dress and brown pumps—and I comment to Alice that perhaps Jeanette has influenced her. Alice shushes me.
“A few announcements,” Joan begins. “First, we’re going to visit Red Nicholas this afternoon to ask him about the pipe-smoking redbeard who bid successfully on the 1804 silver dollar, that was later found outside the Rimpaus’ house—half-hidden under the porch.”
Daniel makes a smart remark (Hermione glowers at him impatiently):
“Are we also going to ask him about how he spent the first Thanksgiving with the pilgrims?”
Despite Daniel’s weak crack, Joan continues with her announcements. I pay partial attention as I dip a piece of turkey in the cranberry sauce with my fork and stick it in my mouth.
“Second, after that, we are going to open up the old lockbox we found at the high school and find out once and for all why Threshold was so hot to get it,” she states. “I’m hoping that when we talk to Red, he’ll finally tell us what might be inside.”
I wondered when they were finally going to get to the lockbox.
“Finally, there’s a car in the parking lot with its lights on,” Joan says. "It’s a late model…
“…Yo Yo MAAAAA!!”
They all stopped what their doing to look at Joan. This promised to be very odd, indeed, seeing as how she herself looked very confused by what she had just said.
At that exact moment from the ceiling dropped a large, crude paper-mache apple on a thick hemp rope. It was large and a bright green that looked rather realistic when one really thought about it. Joan grabbed a fork and brandished it like a weapon, stabbing at the apple as the others sat in stunned silence.
“Joan… ?” Daniel asked hesitantly and tilted his head. Joan screamed a blood-curdling scream and stabbed a few times more, plunging her fork into the apple violently, jumping away!
The others ducked as she called out, " The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out!", and she ran out of the room.
The apple, with the silver fork stuck into its side twisted on the rope and they began to hear a muffled clawing, scuffling sound. A huge pink worm poked its slimey eyeless head out a second later and everyone screamed in fright, running from the room in a mad dash!
Joan was nowhere to be seen but she could definitely be heard. She kept chiming out, “The worms! Crawl! IN! The worms! CRAWL! OUT!!” and the entire place was chaos! Daniel couldn’t find any of the others and he began to cry!
Alice and I stand off to the side, away from the doorway. Our whole group—including Buster and Duke—stands outside in the hallway.
Then the ghosts appear. Leo hovers in front of us.
“Nothing is affected in the room except for that apple,” he says. “It’s lying on the floor near the dais. Nothing has come into or out of the apple since you all ran out of the room.”
Then Fred appears—I hadn’t noticed him. He approaches the doorway and looks around. He says, “Nothing is going on that I can perceive. Oh—I think I’d better use this.”
He takes a copy of What to Say from his coat pocket and turns to a page. He speaks an incantation indistinctly.
Joan has been writhing on the floor in the hall, and we’ve been afraid to approach her. But now Fred opens his jacket, showing his Yellow Fox pin. We all follow suit; everyone present—including the children—have them.
Suddenly Joan quits writhing. She sighs loudly and passes out. Dr. Clouse brings her medical bag and examines Joan.
“She’s going to be all right,” Laura says. “This looks like another Threshold attack.”
It must be. Joan’s tense appearance fades and she regains consciousness. She sits on the floor and, after some hesitation, she stands up and stretches. We all gather around her. Lupe goes to the kitchen and gets her a glass of water. I bring a chair; Ms. Breastly sits down.
“Thanks, all of you,” she says, with a slight weariness in her voice. “Well, it looks like Threshold is still after us.
“Oh—I think I better continue concerning the car in the lot. Does anyone own a late-model silver-gray Lexus with a Major-League Baseball emblem on a side window?”
We all are silent. We look around at each other. Nobody present owns such a car. (My Lexus, of course, is green.)
“What lot is it in?” asks Alice.
“The public lot you enter between the Morpheus and the Starbucks,” Joan says. “I saw it just before I came inside.”
Hermione and Winifred go outside.
A few minutes later, they return, hustling a man of average stature and wearing a black business suit down the hall toward us. He’s handcuffed behind his back.
“He was still in the car,” says Winifred. “He had this book with him.” Winfred holds, hanging from a cord (so as not to spoil fingerprints), a book titled Twenty-four Smelt Recipes.
“We’ve already Mirandized him,” says Hermione.
“Why?” I ask. “Granted he may have engineered the apple attack on Joan Breastly, but what crime has he committed that you’d actually be able to charge him with under California law?”
“10851 CVC.”
“What’s that?” asks Daniel.
“That’s grand-theft auto, you dolt!” says Hermione, annoyed that her husband, who knows what line of work she’s in, would not know the statute relating to auto theft, from the California Vehicle Code.
“So you ran a make on the plates?” Alice asks her sister-in-law.
“No,” says Hermione. “The car didn’t have plates. We called the VIN in and it matched that of a car that had just been stolen from a new-car showroom!”
The man says nothing. “We’ve called for a black-and-white unit to take him in,” says Winifred. “I’m going in with the officers who arrive.”
A few minutes later, two uniformed policemen appear. They exchange ID’s and information with Hermione and Winifred and take the intruder away.
Suddenly we get a telepathic message from James Parker.
We’ll keep an eye on that man. I don’t know his name offhand, but he appears to be a Threshold kingpin. DXM operatives will watch him until he’s ensconced in San Quentin.
I shake my head. “A Threshold ‘official’ is a car thief. I guess it takes all kinds.”
“Indeed it does,” says Joan, fully recovered. “It’s a sad commentary that their most honorable minion is Coach Hades.”
We want to return to our dinner. Little Jack Sharp II faces the apple in the room—and it suddenly rolls out to the doorway and hops upward into a trash can. We see the worm, and Mary Blonda brings in a Mason jar with a perforated lid. Jack helps her get the worm into the jar, and Mary goes and puts it out of the way—out in the private lot, where Artie and the others on duty can keep an eye on it until Mary can examine it.
Loora and Pete use sorcery to return the room and the food to the way it was just before Joan’s apple attack. They give an “all clear,” and we all sit back down. The rest of the dinner is uneventful.
Then Joan, Alice, Jeanette, Jane Bradley, Dr. Clouse, George Sharp, Tim Werdin, and I dress to go visit Red Nicholas. Jack Sharp II comes along, in the care of his Uncle George.
“Little Jack has learned psychokinesis,” says George.
“I know,” says Joan Breastly. “Eloise and Professor Fields imbued him with the ability.”
We ride the elevator to the sub-basement, and lift the grate—George, Tim, and I. We set it into a locked clamp some 20 feet away, and Leo and Fred stay behind to guard it. Just as we descend, the ghostly Alexander Lemoyne joins us.
Red is comfortably dressed in checkered shirt, tan shorts, beach sandals, and an old straw hat. He has extensively renovated the “Hellmouth.” It looks a lot like a prosperous little farm in Hawaii. Red greets us accompanied by Al the Alien and Mike the Morlock, similarly dressed and affable.
Joan Breastly steps forward, accompanied by Jeanette and Jane Bradley, who, of course, have hit it off well with the aged recluse. Ms. Breastly, businesslike but eminently tactful, gets right to the heart of the matter.
“Mr. Nicholas, we’d like to ask you what you know about a certain man who successfully bid on an 1804 silver dollar at an auction sometime in the 1870’s or 1880’s,” she states.
“There were a lot of men who bid on 1804 silver dollars at auctions during the 1870’s and 1880’s,” Red replies. “Can you be more specific?”
“At the auction in question, this man bid against Gregory Rimpau and Phileas Sikes-Potter–two people you know quite well.”
“Yes, I do know those men. Or knew them. They’re probably quite dead by now.”
“Well, right now they’re not the people we’re concerned about. The man in question was husky and bald with a red beard and mustache. He also wore square eyeglasses and smoked a large pipe.”
I notice a large grin appear on Red’s face as Joan describes the successful bidder.
“Did you know him?” Joan asks.
Red chuckes and says, “Yes, I did. In fact, we were quite close for a time.”
“Was he a relative?” I ask.
“Oh, hello _____,” Red says to me. “How’s Jerry’s body working out for you?”
“No problems so far,” I answer before I suddenly realize Red sees right through my disguise. “Hey! How did you know it was really me?”
“Let’s just say I’m quite aware of everything that’s going on,” he says. “Now, as for the man you asked about, he was not a relative in the sense he was an uncle, brother, or cousin.”
“What was his name?” Joan asks.
“Noah Crisdel. By the way, do you know anything else about him?”
“This man who you say was named Noah Crisdel was caught trespassing on the property of Hezekiah Siddely. According to the story, he was poking around the henhouse where he was overpowered by Siddely and punched in the jaw.”
“Reeeally,” Red drawls. “And did Crisdel flee in terror when Mr. Siddely said ‘yellow fox’?”
“Yes, he did,” Joan answers. “How did you know about this incident?”
“Well, as I said, this man and I were quite close. We even thought alike. You could almost say he was like my doppleganger. Oh _____, I forgot to mention. Congratulations to you and Alice about your pending nuptials.”
“Thank you,” I reply.
“Things must be really going incredibly well between you and Alice,” Red comments. “Could you say it’s almost perfect.”
“I guess you could.”
“It must be really amazing knowing a woman like Alice. I wager it’s like a fantasy come to life for you.”
“Well, sometimes I think it is.”
“Do you also sometimes think that it’s a dream? Are you afraid that you’ll suddenly wake up from it and realize Alice wasn’t real?”
“Uh … no,” I stammer. Red’s conversation is taking an strangely unsettling turn.
“You know, when I was watching that large television, I came across a motion picture that featured an actress that looked just like Alice.” Red says. "Now, what was her name? Oh, yes. Now I know. It was–
“Mr. Nicholas, will you please get back to the matter of Noah Crisdel?” a peeved Joan interrupts. “In particular, what happened to him?”
“Sorry about the digression,” Red apologizes. “I eventually parted with Mr. Crisdel after he started to develope a mind of his own. I lost track of him after I was imprisoned down here in the Morpheus sub-basement. (Being an opium haze will do that to you.) However, I do vaguely recall one story I heard about him.”
“What was that?” I ask.
"It seems Mr. Crisdel…
“…was—well, not so much jealous—but heartsick about Leo’s mortal-years courtship of Althea Siddely and Priscilla Troutdale. He spent the next several years scouring the area for a woman to court, who would appeal to him as much as Althea and Priscilla appealed to Leo.”
“Did Crisdel ever find such a woman?” Alice asks.
“Yes, he did. He met a businesslike woman, in San Francisco, named Alexandra Deptuch—”
“That’s my great-great-grandmother’s name!” exclaims the ghost Alexander Lemoyne.
“Yes,” says Red, recognizing the young specter immediately. “Crisdel married Ms. Deptuch and they had a happy life until they both died, both well into their nineties—but I’m sure that’s not what you have come to ask about.”
Alexander smiles slightly.
“Red,” says Joan, “We’ve come concerning two matters involving Noah Crisdel—primarily a book of incantations used by Gregory Rimpau’s mother, and, to a lesser extent, the Grange Hall that used to exist in this area.”
Red smiles. “So far as I know the Grange Hall building is still standing—although it’s likely used for something else now, the way the area has been urbanized—it may even be a private residence. It was a square two-story pale green frame structure that would probably be near the north end of the _______ city limits.”
Now Jeanette steps forward, with Ms. Breastly’s approval. She looks particularly fetching in her sexy “white hunter” getup, complete with pith helmet. Her cleavage is bare.
“What about that book of incantations in the stone urn?” she asks. “Leo and the other ghosts say it’s still buried forty feet down where the Siddely farm was.”
“Leo and the other ghosts are right,” says Nicholas. “Rimpau’s mother wrote the book, and she printed and bound it herself. She titled it Two Hunnerd Thirty Incantashuns You Cant Not Do Wifout—she was not a good speller,” Red says as he hands us a slip of paper on which he has written the title as “Madame Zoozoo” wrote it, “but like Daisy Ashford writing The Young Visiters, Mrs. Rimpau didn’t care much about spelling. I got a peek at the book before ‘Ggrvmp’ had it buried. He used spices and such to preserve it.”
Now Red sees George Sharp standing with his nephew, Jack II.
“That’s quite a handsome little boy, George,” says Red. “He resembles you, but I don’t think he’s your own kid!”
We all laugh, including Al and Mike.
“No,” the boy says. “George is my uncle. My Dad’s name is Andrew.”
“He plays the piano and he knows psychokinesis,” George says proudly.
“I can also use the PlayStation in Grandpa’s office, Mr. Nicholas,” Jack says.
“Is your Grandpa Jack Sharp?” Red asks.
“Yes, Sir,” says the boy.
Ms. Breastly continues.
“Red, I guess we have all the information we need from you concerning the Rimpau family’s incantations book,” Joan says. “Do you know anything about a lockbox belonging to anyone named Smedley?”
“Smedley?” asks Red blankly. “I believe I heard of a man named Alfred Smedley who first owned this land after statehood, and a young man named Jared Smedley who, I believe, sold the land to the senior Jack Sharp—”
“Jared Smedley,” I say grimly, “died several months ago at the age of 80.”
“Pity,” says Red glumly. “I met him once when he was a youth. And the banks around here didn’t use lockboxes for many years, to my knowledge; I don’t think I can help you with that. Do you know where the box is?”
“Oh, we have it,” Alice says. “Our League located it at the high school.”
“And do you know who owns the land where the stone urn is buried?”
“Stan Brown owns it,” I say. “He bought it for a song from Victor Lemoyne several years ago.” Red nods.
“Well, all you have to do now is exhume that urn and you’ll have Madame Zoozoo’s collection of ‘incantashuns.’”
“One thing more,” says Jane Bradley. She wears khaki shorts and blouse that fit her impressive proportions; she is even more dramatically cantilevered than Jeanette, or Sally Mears.
“What did Crisdel have to do with the Grange Hall? I understand he and Phileas Sikes-Potter financed its building…”
“They did,” says Red. “But the Grangers all avoided them. A rumor had spread that the two men were homosexual lovers and the Victorian-raised farm folk shunned such people. So far as I know, the rumors are not true. Oh—before I forget, I think I heard you’re going to another wedding soon.”
“We are,” says Alice. “My friend Lorna McManus is marrying a man named Jock Dumfries, from the Outer Hebrides.”
“I was there once, in the early 1890s,” says Red. “I believe I met the Dumfries family.”
We’re about done now with our questioning of Nicholas, and we don’t mind his digressions much, but we do have a purpose here.
Joan says, with a tinge of impatience in her voice, “Nicholas, we’d like you to tell us, before we leave, what, if anything, you may know about Crisdel and the Grange Hall.”
Red contritely obliges.
“Along with me, Crisdel designed the interior of the Grange Hall,” he states. “Both of us–so to speak–were amateur architects and we had some unique ideas on what the inside of the building should look like.”
“What type of ideas?” Joan asks.
“Well, it’s kind of hard to explain,” Red says coyly. “Let’s just say that we wanted the design of the interior to be conducive to certain things that I, Crisdel, and others did there–things a lot different than those done by the Grangers.”
“So you and Crisdel, in addition to designing the building’s interior, used the Grange Hall for some type of secret activities?”
“Correct,” he answers.
“Didn’t the Grangers object?” I ask.
“Not really,” Red says. “They might have been a little disturbed by the layout of the inside but they weren’t able to discern the reason why it was designed like it was. The building served their functions and they were mostly content with it. However, if the building still stands, I think you if you go inside it, you’d certainly would be able to identify what else it was used for.”
“If we do find the building and do go inside, would there be any dangers to watch out for?” Joan asks.
Red grins and says…
“The last time I was in there, there were rooms on the second floor that had weak floorboards,” he says. “But that was in 1910. A lot can happen in ninety-odd years.”
“Anything else?” I ask.
“There’s a rumor that the place was haunted, at the time,” says Red. “A few French-Canadian fur trappers, who had sought beaver and other fur-bearing critters near the Russian River and the Columbia and also tried their luck in the Sacramento River area, stopped there—someone got in trouble for operating a brothel in the back rooms on the first floor. The local legend is that a French-Canadian fur trapper named Edouard Belmar was killed in a gunfight in 1908, over one of the ‘ladies of the evening,’ and his ghost supposedly still haunts the Grange Hall.”
We all pause and think this over. I look around at our group and all seem to be lost in thought.
“I sense that nobody present knows of such a thing, Red,” I say. “And you think this Belmar may still be there?”
“He might, I suppose,” says Nicholas. “But then again, that was ninety-five years ago—who knows if the ghost did exist or even showed up there?”
“We’ll have to be able to locate the building first,” Alice says.
“Well, the last time I was there, paved streets had just been built in the area,” says Red. “The building was at the southeast corner of Templeton Street, which runs roughly east-west, and Krelman Avenue, the cross street. That’s the best I can give you for coordinates.”
“That’s easy to check,” I tell Alice. “We might go to the office James Erdmann used to occupy, again. Even if we can’t get in, we can locate that intersection on an ordinary street map.”
“Red, can you tell us any more about that fur trapper, in case his shade might still be present in the Grange Hall building?” Joan asks.
“Well, I understand he never spoke English. If you do meet him you’ll have to speak French or know sign language—Claudia might go along with you.”
“Belmar was deaf?” Alice asks.
No, but his wife Thérèse was,” says Red. “Granted he was unwise to go to a prostitute when he was married, but that deaf wife of his never suffered—Belmar acted as if he couldn’t do enough for her.”
“I guess we’ll have to deal with the current occupant, whoever that may be, on our own—the mortal occupant, that is,” says Alice.
“Well, after 1910, when Crisdel, Sikes-Potter, and I no longer appeared in the Hall, the Grangers tended to thin out,” Red says. “But those who stayed on were dedicated enough to maintain it. I remember six names: Hezekiah Siddely, Junior; Max Brier; Orval Prendergast; Richard O’Rourke; Ernest Taft; and Curt Fitzsimmons. Their families ran the largest farms in this part of central California at the time, and owned much of the non-farm land too. It’s a fair guess that members of the families still live in the vicinity.”
“Winifred goes on patrol in the north part of town three days a week,” says Alice. “She’s had that duty for four or five years now. If anyone still occupies a pale-green two-story frame house at Templeton and Krelman, Winifred would probably know about it.”
“And what would we look for if we do go inside?” I ask.
“Any sign of Crisdel’s presence,” Red says. “Specifically, the upstairs bathroom has a cabinet—not the medicine cabinet—with a false wall in the back. Crisdel borrowed a large ruby from me and apparently left it there, along with his own book of incantations. He and Madame Zoozoo were rivals in a sense.”
“Okay, I guess that’s enough,” says Joan. “We’ll ask Stan and Louise to arrange with Leo to locate and dig up that stone urn. And Alice, ask Winifred to come out here and tell us what she can about the Grange Hall. Thank you, Mr. Nicholas.”
“Give Jock and Lorna my regards,” says Red as we depart. We bid Red, Mike, and Al goodbye and leave the Hellmouth. George, Tim, and I put the grate back. With Fred—only a large bandage on his neck remains as a reminder of Duke’s crazy attack—we return to the seats. Rehearsals continue.
As it happens, Winifred and Hermione come in just then. They’ve been on duty, on a split shift. They are still in uniform when we meet with them; Joan knows them, of course. She asks Winifred, Alice, Fred, Stan Brown, Jeanette, and me to go with her into Jack’s office, where she explains to Winifred and Stan what she wants each of them to do.
“Winifred,” Joan begins, “Alice tells me that you patrol the north part of town around the vicinity of Templeton and Krelman.”
“Yes, I do,” Winifred replies. “I cover that neighborhood every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.”
“Well, we were wondering if you’ve ever noticed a pale-green two-story frame building on the corner of Templeton and Krelman.”
“Yes, I have.”
“What’s in there?”
“There’s a bar on the first floor.”
"Well, that’s interesting. What’s the bar called (and, by the way, did you know it used to be an old Grange Hall)?
“The Old Grange Hall Bar & Grill.”
“Oh, well, I guess you probably did know then. Anyway, have you ever been in the Old Grange Hall Bar & Grill?”
“Quite a few times. It’s a blue collar/old man’s bar.”
“You said the bar was on the first floor,” I state. “What’s on the second floor?”
“There used to be some apartments,” Winifred answers. “It’s now office space. I’m not sure if any of it has been leased out though.”
“We were wondering if you could do something for us,” Joan tells Winifred. "Since the Old Grange Hall Bar is part of your patrol, we’d like you to…
“…find out if we would have access to the various rooms.”
“Well, since they are offices, that isn’t too likely,” says Winifred with a shrug.
Stan Brown speaks up. “Well, you might talk to the building manager, who is also the janitor,” Stan says. “The owners, who live down in San Ysidro, hired him. There are businesses operating in the offices upstairs, but the manager knows all the proprietors and he should be able to arrange with Officer Terwilliger here for us to explore the offices during off-hours.”
“That’s good, Mr. Brown,” says Joan. “What offices occupy the second floor?”
“There’s A&B Tax Service; the guy is also a notary. There’s a restaurant supply broker named Jason Eccles; a theatrical agent office, Holmes & Alton; a computer repair business run by a technician named Larry Gutiérrez; and one other—called “J&J Pie Shop.” I don’t know what kind of business that is, and frankly I’m suspicious of it.”
“What’s the manager’s name?” asks Joan. “We’ll want to contact him as soon as possible.”
“Randolph Short,” says Stan. I react to the name.
“Is he—no, I think I’m right!” I say. “That’s Olivia Short’s Dad!”
“I believe he is,” says Winifred. “I’ve met her with her parents a few times.”
“Now that makes it easier, hopefully,” says Joan. “We may be able to reach him through his daughter.”
“Well, I have his business card—or rather the bar’s, with his name on it.” Stan hands Joan a card; she hands it to me. Alice and I read it.
“It mentions Randolph Short as manager and Zack Peters as bartender,” Alice says. “It gives the address of the Old Grange Hall Bar and Grill as 2346 North Krelman. But the card doesn’t mention the other businesses.”
“Short has a separate set of cards for each business,” Stan explains. “The bar cards are the only ones Short gave me. When I did remodeling in the building recently, the other businesses hadn’t had cards printed yet.”
“You’ve obviously been in the building more recently than I have, Mr. Brown,” says Winifred.
“Yes,” says Stan. “I was in there last week to replace rotten floorboards in the upstairs hallway—Randolph said the computer technician complained that he nearly fell through the floor one day about two weeks ago, risking injury and damage to the hardware he was carrying.”
“Well,” says Joan, “Mr. Short should make it easy for us to explore the old Grange Hall, except for the ‘pie shop’—and I too am suspicious of that.”
“Well,” says Winifred, shrugging again, “if the people there are uncooperative we can’t do a thing about it unless we get a search warrant.”
“We may need the help of Leo or Luigi Luglio on this one,” says Fred.
“Now, on to the lot near the site of the Siddely outhouse,” says Joan.
“I know about that,” says Winifred. “After the Siddely farm was abandoned and sold, that parcel of land too was subdivided. Stan’s lot is at 9223 Siddely Street, halfway between Steiner Street and Douglas Place.”
“And since Lemoyne sold the land to Stan for a nominal price there may be things buried there we don’t know about,” says Fred.
“Well, he sold me the land less than two years ago,” says Stan. “I’ve been occupied elsewhere, and besides, the area doesn’t seem to be much in demand for housing right now. I’ve not had much incentive to develop the lot. If Lemoyne booby-trapped it I can always take it up with my lawyer.”
“Well, since we’ll ask a ghost to probe the ground when we go out there after the Rimpau urn, we’ll know whether there’s anything else below ground besides the urn and a supply of Siddely poop,” says Joan.
We laugh.
But now Leo and Luigi, who have apparently been present unnoticed for a little while, appear and speak.
“Luigi and I have been listening; we just wanted to wait until we had something to contribute,” says the bearded ghost. “I just came back from a quick trip to Dearborn, Michigan, to investigate a rare appearance of the Ford Convertible Hardtop.”
“Let me know if you see a Kaiser Frazier, Leo,” says Jeanette. We laugh again.
“Leo,” says Alice, “Olivia Short’s dad is the caretaker for the old Grange Hall building. We’re looking for a book of incantations and a Red Nicholas ruby left there many years ago by Noah Crisdel. We’d like you to find out what is in the ‘J&J Pie Shop’ upstairs, and look in the building for a second-floor bathroom cabinet with a false back wall.”
“I get it,” says Leo. “Oh—I know about Belmar. I think I can talk to him, if he’s there.”
“You speak French?” asks Alice.
“We ghosts can speak any language—but, like Tom Smothers in that 60s sitcom, we’re just not supposed to use bad words.”
Joan ignores this, and turns now to Luigi.
“Signore Luglio, we’d like you to tell us what’s buried on Stan Brown’s bare lot at 9223 Siddely, west of Douglas Place.”
Luigi nods. “I know about that—I’ve been out that way lots of times. I used to visit the Siddelys during my mortal years.” Luigi now scowls. “I’m glad Stan here owns the lot now—Lemoyne called me a ‘Dago.’ That’s worse than exploring the ground where an outhouse used to be!”
Now Alice, Fred, Jeanette, and I, with Leo hovering above, meet Olivia Short in the lounge, with her boyfriend Carl Sharp. Buster joins us. We explain to Olivia what we would like her Dad to help us with.
“I don’t see why he can’t,” she says as she takes her cell phone out of her purse. “I’ll call him right now and ask him.”
While she does this, I notice Buster sniffing around the baseboard near the refrigerator. I bend down to find out what he’s caught the scent of.
“Smell anything interesting?” I ask.
“Definitely,” the cat whispers. “Some rodents have been here.”
“Mice?” I guess.
“Nope.”
“Not rats, I hope?”
“Not rats, either. It doesn’t seem to come from one of the usual disease-ridden vermin that infest old buildings.”
“What kind is it?”
“I’m really not sure. But I do know there were a lot of them here not long ago. Also, I know I’ve smelled this type of rodent before. I just can’t seem to pinpoint exactly what type of rodent it is.”
Our conversation is interrupted by Parker’s sudden appearance in the lounge. He looks upset.
“Somebody–or something–has stolen the lockbox!” he announces.
Gasps erupt throughout the room.
“When did you find this out?” Fred asks.
“About ten minutes ago,” Parker answers. “It was being guarded in the manager’s office and, somehow, something slipped in and took it.”
“Why do you say something took the lockbox?” I inquire.
“Because we locked it in the coat closet and had an armed guard sitting in front of the door,” an exasperated Parker replies. “Yet, when we opened up the closet a short time ago, the lockbox was gone and a wooden panel on the floor about 10” by 6" had been removed. There is no way any human being could’ve got in there and stolen it."
“Take me to the manager’s office,” Buster requests. “I want to take a sniff of the closet. I have a theory on what could’ve taken the lockbox.”
So, with Buster leading the way, Alice, Fred, Jeanette, Parker, and I hurry down the manager’s office where…
…we see the spot on the closet floor where the lockbox had been. Alice summons Hermione, who has been in the lounge. Hermione brings her fingerprint kit.
“I don’t think you’ll find fingerprints here, Hermione, but you’re welcome to try,” says Buster.
“All right, Smartie,” says Hermione, kneeling on the floor near the closet, “what do you think stole the box?”
“Squirrels,” says Buster. “Probably big, well-trained squirrels, if such a thing is possible. I’ve seen the larger squirrels only from a distance—through the big picture window at home. I bet some of them were here.”
“Just the same,” says Hermione, “I want to check the floor and the surrounding walls.”
A moment later, two cops, apparently summoned by Jack or Eloise, appear. They exchange IDs with Hermione and Winifred.
“We’ll have to ask all of you to leave this office. We’re going to spray the ninhydrant chemical on these walls to raise prints,” one cop says. “You should be able to come back in at this time tomorrow when we photograph whatever prints we raise.” We all nod.
We all return to the lounge as we hear the buzz of the ninhydrant-paint sprayer.
“Incidentally,” says Parker, “That was not a cheap aluminum lockbox—it’s tempered steel. Stealing the box is half the battle. The other half is getting it open.”
“Hey, it’s easy to break it open with a crowbar or similar tool,” Olivia says.
“Yes, but considering the fragile contents, that would be foolish, Miss Short,” says Parker. It contains, among other things, precious stones and glass baubles with critical messages etched on them. If you want to steal plates you don’t smash a china cabinet open with a mattock.”
Now Thurlow Skagg and Ulrica Werdin appear in the lounge. The other cops are still in the manager’s office.
“We know you took pictures of that box when it was dug up from beneath Hades’ office—” says Ulrica.
“Elwood did that, Ms. Werdin,” interrupts Alice.
“Well, whoever.” In fact, Parker now produces prints of Elwood’s pictures.
“We’ll put all the ghosts in the neighborhood—there are hundreds of us around here—on the trail of the box,” says Ulrica. “We should locate it within a few hours—assuming it hasn’t already been shipped to Australia or someplace via Federal Express!”
Alice and I try our ESP to locate the box. All we can find out is that it is still in the neighborhood—and still unopened and undamaged.
“What kind of lock did Smedley fit to the box?” I ask.
“He had a puzzle-lock put on it,” Parker says. He shows us a photo, an 8x10 blowup of the bottom of the box. It reads, in raised letters on the metal, “TO OPEN BOX WITHOUT DAMAGING CONTENTS,” and then a cryptogram of about seventy-five lines follows.
“Smedley talked the bank manager into accepting the box,” says Parker. “Smedley could open it with ease, but the manager—who had himself been a cryptologist in the military—took three months to crack the code and figure out how to open the lid!”
“Well, I don’t think the average squirrel can read, knowing their mental limitations as I do,” says Buster.
“Well, I don’t think they can open a metal lockbox, knowing their physical limitations as I do,” I reply. “Let alone utilize its contents. So there are obviously humans behind this.”
“Well,” says Alice, “Right now that’s all we can do about the theft of the lockbox. Olivia, we’ll want to have your Dad let us into the Grange Hall building, including the J&J Pie Shop.”
Olivia smirks. “They only let Dad in there on Tuesdays to clean up, anyway,” she says, obviously as suspicious of that business as the rest of us are.
Now one of the cops, holding a large camera, approaches Eloise, who stands with us.
“Ms. Sharp, just before my partner started the ninhydrant spraying, I saw this and photographed it.” He holds a small thing much like a peanut.
“What is it?” I ask.
“A cherry pit,” says the cop.
“You know,” says Olivia, who apparently knows both of the uniformed officers personally, “Dad says he’s seen cherry pits like this occasionally at the Grange Hall building. He has showed me some. There may be a connection with the J&J Pie Shop—and you’ll get that warrant Winifred mentioned.”
“J&J?” asks the photographer policeman. “We’ve been suspicious about that place too. I know Winifred Terwilliger and I’ll arrange to secure a warrant to search the place, Miss Short, if your father’s information suffices.” Now Winifred and Hermione speak to the photographer privately.
Alice, clinging to me, says, “Well, it appears we can kill two birds with one stone, as you say. What about the Rimpau urn?”
“Luigi Luglio already went out to Siddely Street,” I say sotto voce. “Ulrica told me about it a little while ago.”
“Good,” says Alice. “Once Luigi pinpoints the location of the buried urn, we can go out there with Stan and Louise to dig it up.”
The cops are all finished now. They put do-not-cross tape across the doorway to the theater manager’s office (Not Jack Sharp’s office). They say something else to Winifred and then leave. They’ll return tomorrow, of course, to photograph what appears on the ninhydrant-treated surfaces.
In the lounge, we’re just about to discuss the squirrels and the cherry pit, when Elwood staggers in, escorted by Artie. He looks like he’s been in a fight—and won. His clothes are slightly torn and he has a few cuts and bruises. Dr. Clouse appears and treats him. He is cheerful despite his battered, tired appearance.
“I know where the lockbox is,” he says. “I just can’t get to it myself.”
Hermione takes out her handy-talkie, perhaps to call the cops who just left.
“Tell us what you found, Elwood,” she says.” Don’t leave anything out.”
He obliges.