Lily’s last view of Mr. Monk was of him standing in the doorway to the Sarah Elliott room, hunched in on himself, looking like he’d just lost all his money in a poker game. The museum had run just fine before Sarah Elliott’s paintings had arrived, and it would do so after they went away.

When they were walking down the stone steps of the museum, Savich on one side of Lily, her arm resting heavily on his, Sherlock on the other, Savich said, not looking at her, “I was wondering if Tennyson would be obstructive when we called him up. To be honest, if it had been you, Lily-by yourself on the phone-he would have been, no doubt in my mind about that. But he couldn’t this time, not with two of us federal agents and one of them your brother.”

He stopped abruptly, turned, and grasped Lily’s shoulders in his big hands. “I’m not pleased with you, Lily. You should have let Sherlock and me take care of all this. I’ll bet you pulled your stitches and now your belly aches like you’ve been punched.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said, “Dillon’s right. You look like you’re ready to fall over.”

Lily smiled down at her sister-in-law-small, fine-boned, all that incredible curly red hair, and the sweetest smile-who could take down a guy three times her size. And she played the piano beautifully. She’d known from the moment they’d first met at her and Dillon’s wedding that Sherlock’s love for Dillon was steady and absolute. Beth had been three years old at the time, so excited to see her uncle Dillon, and so proud of her new patent-leather shoes. Lily swallowed, got herself together. She said, “Do you know that you and Dillon could finish each other’s sentences? Now, don’t fret, either of you. I am feeling a bit on the shaky side, but I can hold on until we get back to the inn.” She hugged him tight, then stepped back. “You know what, Dillon? I’ve decided that I’m going to check into my own credit card situation.”

“What does that mean?”

Lily just smiled. He helped her into the backseat, gently placed the pillow over her stomach, and fastened her seat belt. She lightly touched her fingertips to his cheek. “I’m glad you came to the museum. I don’t think I had enough money to pay for a taxi back to the B-and-B.”

Savich shook his head at her as he slipped his hand beneath the seat belt to make sure it wouldn’t press too hard against her middle, got in the driver’s seat, and drove off.

“Now then, Lily,” Sherlock said, turning in her seat. “You can’t put it off any longer. Dillon will want to hear all about this, too. I want you to tell us about the mugger who attacked you on that empty bus this morning. No more than two hours ago.”

Savich nearly drove into a fire hydrant.

• They were eating lunch in a small Mexican restaurant, The Toasted Taco, on Chambers Street, just down the block from The Mermaid’s Tail, Lily having decided she was starving more than she was aching.

“Good salsa,” Lily said and dipped in another tortilla chip and stuffed it in her mouth. “That’s a sure sign that the food will be okay. Goodness, I don’t think I’ve ever been so hungry in my life.”

Savich said, “Talk.”

She’d told them about the bus driver who had explained to her that the bus was empty because of the big burying and was having a fine time chair-dancing while he drove, headphones turned up high, and about the young man with three earrings in his left ear, the switchblade that was sharp and silver and nearly went into her heart.

Savich blew out a big breath, picked up a tortilla chip, and absently chewed on it. “I suppose it’s occurred to you it may not have been a mugger.”

“He talked like one, maybe, I’m not sure since I’ve never been mugged before. Then he ruined it by pulling this switchblade knife. One thing I’m absolutely sure of-there was death in his eyes. And you know what? I knew all the way to my stomach lining that it was the end of the line. But then I went after him, Dillon, wrecked him good-all the moves you taught me. I could hear your voice telling me things, ‘Make yourself as small as possible,’ stuff like that. I hammered him-my hand a tight fist and whap! Then I hammered him hard against his chest, then polished him off by slamming my palm against his ear. Unfortunately, he got himself together and jumped off the bus, got away. Hey, I smashed him, Dillon, really smashed him.”

She looked so proud of herself that Dillon wanted to hug her until she squeaked, but he was still too scared. She could have been killed so very easily.

He cleared his throat. “Did you call the police?”

Lily shook her head. “To be honest, all I wanted to do was get back to the B-and-B. Then I thought of the paintings and got to the museum as fast as I could. Why don’t you think it was a mugger?”

Savich was still shaking with reaction. “I’m upset about this, Lily, really upset. He most certainly wasn’t a mugger. Listen, an empty bus, a guy starts with a throwaway line about taking your wallet to keep things real calm, then he brings out the knife? A mugger? No, Lily, I don’t think so.”

“The question is,” Sherlock said, chewing on a chip that she’d liberally dipped in salsa, her right hand near her glass of iced tea, “who found him, got him up to speed and moving so fast? You told Tennyson just last night that you were leaving him. Talk about fast action-that really surprises me. Tennyson, his father, whoever else is involved in this-they’re not pros, yet they got this guy after you very quickly. He must have been watching the B-and-B, then followed you to the art supply shop, got ahead of you and on the bus at the next stop. It was well planned, well executed, except, thank God, he failed.”

“Yeah, they didn’t know what Dillon had taught me.” She actually rubbed her hands together, realized she’d gotten salsa all over herself, and laughed. “Can we have another basket of chips?” she called out to the young Mexican waitress, then, “I saved myself, Dillon, and it felt really good.”

Savich understood then, of course. Her life had been out of control for so very long, but no longer. He patted her back. “I wonder if it would help to check hospitals. Did you hurt him that bad?”

“Maybe. Good idea, I didn’t think of that.”

“He’s paid to think of things like that,” Sherlock said and got out her cell phone. She looked up at them after a moment, “We’ve got a lot of possibilities here.”

Savich said, “You know, I was going to call the cops. But now that I think about it, I don’t think the local constabulary is what we need just yet. What I want is Clark Hoyt from the FBI field office right here in Eureka. If he knows the local cops, thinks they could help with this, then we can bring them into it. But for the time being, let’s use our own guys.”

Sherlock said, as she dialed information, “Great idea, Dillon. I’m sure glad they opened up this field office last year. The one in Portland wouldn’t be able to help us with much. Clark can get all the hospitals checked in no time. Now, Lily, tell me where you hit this guy. Be as specific as you can.”

“Yeah, I can do that, and then hand me a napkin so I can draw the guy for you.”