“The boy is growing at twenty times the normal speed,” he said. “An old hoodlum just popped in to promise us he’d keep silent in return for scones. Mr. Snuggly has uncovered bad doings at the hotel. And I still need to clear my name of these bogus theft charges, which draw attention to Midnight, and therefore to all this other shit that should remain secret.”

“That’s a good summary,” Fiji said brightly.

Olivia said, “Let’s get back to the part where you were freezing someone.”

“Bertha, the maid,” Manfred said helpfully. “And then you and I run up the stairs, Olivia, and we search the study lickety-split. We find the jewelry, we call the police, and it’s all over.”

“Except we have to explain to the police how we knew where to search.” Olivia had gotten up to pace back and forth in the limited space. At every turn, she fixed her eyes scornfully on a glass dolphin or a stained-glass rainbow. “And the maid can tell the police that Fiji did something to paralyze her.”

“Okay,” said Fiji. “So . . . we go when she’s not there. Right after she leaves work.”

“No one will be there to answer the door,” Manfred said. “Lewis lives in the pool house. Even if Lewis is in the house and decides to open the door, he knows me. And if you froze him, he’d squawk till the cows come home.”

“We’re talking ourselves into believing this is impossible.” Fiji’s generous mouth skewed to one side as she thought.

“Too bad Lemuel’s not here,” Manfred said. “He could hypnotize Lewis into showing the police where the jewelry’s hidden after we find it.”

“Yeah, because that’s what Lem lives for, to make your life easier,” Olivia snapped. “For your information, Lem can’t do that.”

Taken aback by her vehemence, Manfred stared at her. “I’m sorry,” he said, wondering what he was apologizing for. But he knew it didn’t make any difference, that just saying the words was important. He braced himself for another scathing remark, but to his astonishment, Olivia relaxed.

“I’m just missing him,” she said, not looking at either of them.

Apologies are contagious, Manfred noted. He also observed that both he and Fiji were a little embarrassed at Olivia’s moment of tenderness. He considered patting Olivia on the shoulder, but he felt he might lose his arm if he did—or even worse, somehow, he feared she might be grateful.

Just then, Fiji’s pocket made a squealing sound, and they all looked down at it, Fiji included. She pulled out her phone and said, “Hello?” Suddenly, she flushed from her throat to her eyes. “Oh, hi,” she said, and turned her back on Olivia and Manfred to walk briskly down the hall to her kitchen. They could still hear her, but she had the illusion of privacy, Manfred figured.

“Yeah, I had a good time, too,” she was saying, and Olivia raised her eyebrows. She glanced over at the pawnshop and back to Manfred. He shook his head vigorously. Whoever her caller was, it wasn’t Bobo Winthrop, which would have been wonderful.

“I’m pretty sure he would have told me,” Manfred whispered.

“What’s he futzing around for?” Olivia hissed. “She’s not gonna wait forever! A woman has needs!”

“Okay, I can do that,” Fiji was saying. “Then I’ll look forward to it. Sure, seafood is fine.” Her voice got louder as she apparently began walking back to the shop from the kitchen. “See you then.” And she was punching the “end” button on her phone as she rejoined them.

“Who’s the guy?” Olivia said. “Anyone we know?” Manfred admired Olivia’s perfectly light tone.

“You remember the bouncer at the Cartoon Saloon?”

“From when we all went there? Sure. The good-looking guy?”

“Yeah.” Fiji seemed a little proud of that. “So, I called him after a couple of weeks, because I was tired of staying at home.” That last was added a little defiantly. “And we’ve been going out from time to time.”

“Bouncers get nights off?” Manfred had no idea what a professional bouncer could expect in the way of downtime, but he felt he had to say something.

“He has a day job as an EMT during the week, and he’s a bouncer on weekends,” Fiji said. “We’re going to Little Fishes in Marthasville tomorrow night. And a movie.” She took a deep breath. “Back to the original problem. Sorry for the interruption.”

“If I were in an action movie,” Manfred said, after a long pause, “I’d put some of that plastic explosive on the door of the Goldthorpe house, blow it up, race in dodging bullets, and sweep all of the books out of the shelves in the library, so the first thing the police saw when they came in would be all the missing stuff.”

“I have no idea where to get plastique, I have no idea how to use it, I don’t know who would be shooting at you since no one’s living in the house, and we aren’t sure that the library is actually full of books, or that the jewelry is in one.” Olivia stood up. “If I had to check all the books, I’d pick an atlas first, because of the ‘world’ reference. This is getting us nowhere. I’m going to go walk and think.” She left.

“Ahhhh . . . okay,” Manfred said. He stretched and rotated, feeling stiff physically and full of cobwebs mentally. “When I come up with a plan, I’ll get back with you, Fiji. Thanks for letting us brainstorm here, even if nothing came of it . . . yet.”

Fiji, who had settled back into the office chair, didn’t budge. “All right. I’ll think about it, too. Maybe I’ll come up with something.”

“That would be great,” Manfred said. “What’s bad for me turns out to be bad for Midnight, too. Have a good time on your date.”

She nodded, and Mr. Snuggly appeared to jump into her lap and curl up in a contented golden ball. She scratched behind his ears. He began purring, loud enough for the sound to reach Manfred. For once, Mr. Snuggly sounded like an absolutely normal cat.

Manfred crossed the porch and walked down the flagstone path to the sidewalk. He was glad to leave Fiji’s shop because he was disappointed they hadn’t made a plan. As he crossed Witch Light Road, he admitted to himself that he was also dismayed that Olivia was not acting like Olivia ought to act—tough, callous, decisive. Fiji was behaving in a confusing way, too; they all knew (except the man most concerned) that for years she had carried a huge flaming torch for Bobo Winthrop, who regarded the witch as his best buddy. Yet she was going out with the bouncer, whom Manfred remembered as a very tough guy.

To cap off Manfred’s unsettled feeling, when he stopped at the end of his driveway to open his mailbox, he found a bill from Magdalena Orta Powell. He opened it and winced when he saw the bottom line. He sat down at his computer to work with renewed dedication. If I ever have to go to court over this, he thought, I might as well forget ever buying a new car. Or my own house. He wondered what Magdalena’s house looked like. Perhaps the plumbing was made of gold.

Manfred reminded himself that while his car was humble, it was paid for, that he didn’t need a house, and that adding a room to the lawyer’s house was better than being in jail.

Much better.

Joe went farther on his morning run than he’d ever gone. He enjoyed the quiet time for thinking, not that there was exactly a cacophony in Midnight or that Chuy’s conversation was not welcome. But sometimes the solitude of running was just what he needed. This morning, with the sun already blazing on his back, Joe was thinking of their little Peke, Rasta, and of all Rasta’s health problems. The dog was getting older, and Joe knew there would be hard times ahead. He and Chuy had not aged, or at least not that Joe could perceive, in many, many, years.