For an instant, The Owl thought of the blood that had dripped onto the street when the dog bit him. DNA. It concerned him that it was the first time he'd ever left physical evidence behind-except, of course, for his symbol, but over the years everyone everywhere had missed that. In a way he'd been disappointed by their stupidity, but in another way he'd been glad. If the deaths of all those women were linked, it would make it harder for him to continue. If he chose to continue after Laura and Jean.

Even if Jean realized the spot on her sleeve was blood, she wouldn't have any idea where it had come from and how she had come in contact with it. Besides, no detective, not even Sherlock Holmes, would connect a spot on the sleeve of an honoree of Stonecroft Academy with blood found in the street twenty miles away.

Never in a million years, The Owl thought, dismissing the idea as absurd.

From the moment she met Sam Deegan, Jean understood why Alice had spoken so highly of him. She liked his looks: a strong face enhanced by clear dark blue eyes. She also liked the warmth of his smile and his firm handshake.

"I told Sam about Lily and about the fax you received yesterday," Alice said, her voice low.

"There's been another one," Jean whispered. " Alice, I'm so frightened for Lily. I almost couldn't make myself come down to dinner. It's been so hard to try to make conversation when I don't know what may be happening to her."

Before Alice could reply, Jean felt a tug on her sleeve as a cheery voice cried, "Jean Sheridan. My, how happy I am to see you! You used to baby-sit for my kids when you were thirteen."

Jean managed a smile. "Oh, Mrs. Rhodeen, it's so good to see you again."

"Jean, people want to talk to you," Sam said. "Alice and I will go over and get a table in the cocktail lounge. Join us as soon as you can."

It was fifteen minutes before she could break away from the local people who had attended the dinner and who remembered her growing up or who had read her books and wanted to talk to her about them. But at last she was with Alice and Sam at a corner table where they could speak without being overheard.

As they sipped the champagne Sam had ordered, she told them about the flower and note she had found in the cemetery. "The rose couldn't have been there long," she said nervously. "It almost has to have been put there by someone in the reunion group who knew I was going to West Point and was sure I'd stop at Reed's grave. But why is he or she playing this game? Why these vague threats? Why not come out with the reason for being in touch with me now?"

"May I be in touch with you now?" Mark Fleischman asked pleasantly. He was standing at the empty chair beside her, a glass in his hand.

"I was looking to ask you to have a nightcap, Jean," he explained. "I couldn't find you, then I spotted you over here."

He saw the hesitation on the faces of the people at the table, and acknowledged to himself that he had expected it. He had been perfectly aware that they were in a serious discussion, but he wanted to know whom Jean was with and what they were talking about.

"Of course, join us," Jean said, trying to sound welcoming. How much did he overhear? she wondered as she introduced him to Alice and Sam.

"Mark Fleischman," Sam said. "Dr. Mark Fleischman. I've seen your program and like it very much. You give darn good advice. I especially admire the way you handle teenagers. When they're your guests, you have a way of letting them vent their feelings and feel comfortable about doing it. If more kids opened up and got decent advice, they would realize they were not alone and their problems wouldn't seem so overwhelming."

Jean watched as Mark Fleischman's face brightened with a pleased smile at the obvious sincerity of Sam Deegan's praise.

He was so quiet as a kid, she thought. He was always so shy. I never would have guessed that he'd end up a television personality. Was Gordon right that Mark became a psychiatrist specializing in adolescents because of his own problem after his brother's death?

"I know you grew up here, Mark. Do you still have family in town?" Alice Sommers asked.

"My father. He's never moved from the old homestead. Retired, but does a lot of traveling, I gather."

Jean was startled. "At dinner, Gordon and I were talking about the fact that none of us has roots here anymore."

"I don't have roots here, Jean," Mark said quietly. "I haven't been in touch with my father in years. Although he clearly must realize from all the publicity about this reunion and the fact that I'm here as one of the honorees, I haven't heard from him."

He caught the note of bitterness that had crept into his voice, and was ashamed of it. What made me open up like that to two perfect strangers and to Jeannie Sheridan? he wondered. I'm supposed to be the listener. "Tall, lanky, cheerful, funny, and wise, Dr. Mark Fleischman" was how they introduced him on TV.

"Perhaps your father is out of town," Alice suggested softly.

"If he is, then he's wasting a lot of electricity. His lights were on last night." Mark shrugged, then smiled. "I am sorry. I didn't mean to pour out my soul. I came barging over here because I wanted to congratulate Jean on her remarks at the podium. She was sweet and natural and thankfully made up for the antics of a couple of our fellow honorees."

"And so did you," Alice Sommers said heartily. "I thought Robby Brent was absolutely out of order and that Gordon Amory and Carter Stewart sounded downright bitter. But if you're going to congratulate Jeannie, be sure to mention how lovely she looks."

"I seriously doubt that with Laura up there, anybody noticed me," Jean said, but she realized how pleased she was by Mark's unexpected compliment.

"I'm sure everyone noticed you and would agree you look lovely," Mark said as he stood up. "I also wanted to be sure to tell you that it's been good to see you again, Jeannie, in case we don't get a chance to visit tomorrow. I'll go to Alison's memorial service, but I may not be able to stay for the brunch."

He smiled at Alice Sommers and extended his hand to Sam Deegan. "I've enjoyed meeting you. Now I see a couple of people I want to catch in case I miss them in the morning." With long strides he was across the room.

"That man is very attractive, Jean," Alice Sommers said emphatically. "And it's obvious that he has an eye for you."

But that may not be the only reason he dropped by, Sam Deegan thought. He'd been watching us from the bar. He wanted to know what we were talking about.

I wonder why it was so important to him.

The Owl was almost out of the cage. He was separating from it. He could always tell when total separation was taking place. His own kind, gentle self-the person he might have become under different circumstances-began to recede. He heard and saw himself smiling and joking and accepting the kisses on the cheek from some of the women in the reunion group.

And then he slipped away. He could feel the velvety softness of his plumage when, twenty minutes later, he sat in the car waiting for Laura. He watched as she slipped out the back entrance of the hotel, taking care to look around and avoid running into anyone. She had even been smart enough to wear a hooded raincoat over her gown.

Then she was at the car door, opening it. She slid onto the seat beside him. "Take me away, honey," she said laughing. "Isn't this fun?"