"Nothing." Jim quickly set the crowbar back in the corner, hoping he didn't look as guilty as he felt. "Where do you hide your tape measure?"

Jonah reached into the toolbox and pulled out a Stanley fifty-footer. "Right where it's always been." He motioned toward the door. "We'd better go. The women are waiting."

"Sure."

Jim led the way to the front door, thinking of what a jerk he was for still feeling uneasy. His mother had told him Jonah had been home all night, and the crowbar was clean. What more did he want?

Nothing. Except that the crowbar had been too clean. Every other tool in the garage was layered with a fine winter's coat of dust… except the crowbar. Its hexagonal shaft had been dirt and oil free, as if someone had taken a Brillo pad to it within the last couple of days.

He decided not to think about it.

4

Carol sat in the front seat and watched the Hanley mansion peek over the high stone wall as Jim unlocked the wrought-iron front gate. Its pickets were eight feet high, with an ornate torsade along the bottom and wickedly pointed atop. Beyond the gate was the house, and it was beautiful. She had never dreamed that she would someday live in a place like this. As Jim got back in and pulled into the driveway, she saw the whole house in all its splendor and it took her breath away again, just as it had yesterday.

"Oh, it's beautiful!" Emma cried from the backseat.

Jonah sat next to Emma and said nothing, but then Carol never expected to hear much from Jonah. She drank in the sight of the big, three-storied mix of Italianate and Second Empire features nestled amid its pines and willows, the long Island Sound gleaming behind it.

The shingles were cream-colored, the wood trim and the mansard roof a deep brown. A square, five-story tower rose over the center of the front porch. There were ornate dormer windows on the third floor and bay windows on the sides, all leaded with fruit and flower designs. A fanlight window arched over the front door.

Carol led them up the three steps to the front porch. To the right was a wicker swing settee, hung on chains, and wicker chairs to the left. The slim glass sidelights on either side of the front door were etched with graceful cranes and delicately arched reeds.

Emma stood back on the driveway, staring.

"Come on, Ma," Jim said.

"Don't you worry about me. I'll be there, strangling along behind as usual."

Carol gave Jim a look.

"I won't say a word," he whispered.

Beyond the heavy oak front door was a narrow front hall cluttered with floor lamps and plants on pedestal tables. Carol had spent a good part of yesterday watering each thirsty vine and frond. On the right, the staircase ran up and toward the rear, its flowered runner held down by a series of brass rods fastened to the base of each riser. On the left was a combination mirror-hat rack-umbrella stand of intricately carved walnut.

"Take a look at the front parlor," she said, leading them to the right.

"Oh, my!" said Emma, stopping at the threshold. It's so… so…"

"Busy is the word, I think," Jim said.

"A true Victorian home is very busy," Carol said.

She had concluded from her explorations that Hanley had spared no effort or expense in returning the mansion to its former glory. And it was busy. The wallpaper was striped, the carpet was flowered, the lamps were tassled, each chair was layered with lace antimacassars, and each corner supported a plant on a multitiered whatnot. The bay window was a jungle of plants. The walls were festooned with paintings and old photos. On every available surface—littering the tops of the tables, the organ, and the mantle over the Carrara marble fireplace—were cards and boxes and knickknacks and souvenirs. A maid's nightmare.

"I declare, this place would wear my feather duster to the nub in no time!" Emma said.

"Let me show you the downstairs library, Dad," Jim said.

"Downstairs? You mean there's more than one?"

"Two. The upstairs one is a sort of science library. But the downstairs one is bigger."

"Who'd want more than one?" Jonah said, following Jim back into the hall.

"Wait till you see the stereo."

"And wait till you see the kitchen," Carol told Emma.

"Dear me, I hope it's not as, uh, authentic as the parlor," Emma said.

Carol laughed, leading her down the hall. "Not even close!"

The kitchen was large, with an electric double oven, a huge refrigerator, and a freezer. The floor here was partly tile, partly pine planking, and dominating its center was a massive six-foot rectangular oak table with paw feet.

Carol and Emma met up with Jim and Jonah in the living room which sported colorful stained-glass windows.

"Who'd ever thought our son would own this place ! " Emma said, clutching Jonah's arm. "And this is only the first floor!"

"That's what I'd like to talk to you two about," Jim said. "I want to share my inheritance with you."

Carol watched Emma's eyes widen.

"Oh, Jimmy—"

"No, I mean it," Jim said, cutting her off. "I can never repay you for the life you've given me, but I want to see you two live in comfort without worrying about layoffs and property taxes and things like that. I want to give you a million dollars."

As Emma began to cry, Carol put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. She and Jim had discussed this last night. He had wanted her approval, and she had encouraged him. She only wished her own parents were alive to share some of the bounty.

Jim said, "Dad, you can quit your job and just take it easy, if you like."

Jonah stared at them both for a moment, then spoke in his slow, South-tinted voice.

"That's very generous, son, and it will sure be nice not having to worry about being laid off, but I believe I'll keep working. A man's got to work."

"At least you can get a more sedimentary job," Emma said.

"That's sedentary, Ma."

"That's what I said. One where he can sit down more and not work so hard."

"For the time being, I'll stick with what I'm doing at the plant," Jonah said firmly. "That is, if none of you objects."

Carol felt a twinge of resentment at the sarcasm in his voice, but that was quickly overcome by the revulsion of knowing what Jonah's job was, and realizing that he liked it too much even to think of quitting it.

Seven

Saturday, March 2

1

Nicky's bishop and queen were laying a trap for his king, but Bill thought he saw a way out. He moved his remaining knight onto a square that posed a potential threat to Nicky's queen.

"Your move."

"Don't rush me," the ten-year-old said. "This is going to take some thinking."

Five days since that ghastly incident on Monday night. A deep breath still gave Bill a stab of pain where he had been kicked in the ribs, but he was able to function, and the slip-on-the-ice story had been accepted by everyone. His body was slowly healing, but his mind, his soul—he wasn't sure they would ever recover.

carnage IN the village the Daily News had said. Six bodies—four clustered mid-block, and two more, one at each end of the block—all killed by a single crushing blow to the skull. The police were laying it off to a "hippie drug war" because of all the speed they had found on the victims.

Victims! The irony of it! We were almost their victims! And what they got was probably right in line with what they had planned for us!

Still, it didn't sit right. Even though he knew he could tell the police nothing that would help them solve the case, it felt wrong to be hiding his involvement. He firmly believed that everything in life should be open, honest, and aboveboard. An impossible ideal, he knew, one the world would laugh at, but one by which he struggled to live his life.