I felt my nose to see if anything was left. Hard to tell from here, but there seemed to he a nub under the ick. It hurt enough to be my nose. I shook some more cobwebs and knelt. "You shouldn't ought to run up on a guy like that."

She made noises like she was trying to heave up her stockings. I scooped her up and headed for home, caveman Garrett bringing home the goodies

She felt like a real treat, curled in my arms. It was hard to tell by eyeball in the available light. Curious morCartha cruised around as I climbed the steps, kicked the door, and hollered They didn't bother me. I felt the Dead Man touch me, just to make sure it wasn't somebody trying to get past Dean disguised as a freshly slaughtered side of beef.

Dean opened the door after peeking through the spyhohe. He looked at the girl. "Got lucky again, eh?" He stepped aside

I took her into the small front room, put her down on the daybed "See what you can do while I clean up." I sketched what had happened. He gave me one of his better looks of exasperation.

"You missed supper."

"I ate out. At Morley's. Get a light in here so we can see. I'll be back in a minute." I left him and dashed upstairs faster than a wounded snail. After I washed my face and rechecked it for missing parts, I put on clean clothes and scooted downstairs and stuck my head into the Dead Man's room "Company, Smiley."

I am aware of that, Garrett. Try to restrain your animal urges. She may be of some help, though I cannot get anything yet. She is too frightened and confused.

"Restrain myself? I'm a paragon of restraint. I'm the guy they invented the word for. I've never burned the house down around you."

It was one of those rare times when he didn't try to get in the last word. Chalk one up in the history books. Might not happen again in my lifetime. She knows something, Garrett.

Hell. Score one for him. That was worse than one of his standard digs. It was tone rather than words. He was accusing me of goofing off.

I stomped into the small front room.

Dean was bent over the woman, blocking her from view, talking softly. I paused, looked at him with an affection I'd never show to his face. He had been the luckiest find of my life. He did everything around the house that I hated, cooked like an angel, put in absurd hours, and more often than not was as emotionally involved in my cases as I was. I couldn't ask for much more but maybe a little less lip and a little more enthusiasm about keeping the Dead Man clean.

If he has a failing, it's his disapproval of my work habits. Dean believes in work for its own sake, as a tonic for the soul.

I coughed gently to let him know I was there. He didn't hear. Was he going deaf? Maybe. He had to be pushing seventy, though he wouldn't admit it.

"How is she, Dean? Settled down any?"

He tossed a glower over his shoulder "Some. No thanks to you."

"I should let somebody run up on me and maybe change the shape of my head?" I was getting irritable. Can't understand why. My face hurt? My head ached? My shoulder throbbed? My legs were cramping from all the walking and running? That's no excuse I was headed for despair mode, where you keep on fighting the fight but you've decided it isn't worth it. You just can't stop.

Facts don't bother Dean much. He's still fifteen years old inside. He never stopped believing in the kind of magic kids carry around inside them before reality beats them down. He gave me another look at his glower. He was on a roll. He said, "Give me a couple more minutes I'll go report, then,'' I went and told the Dead Man about my excursion into that world where Dean's brand of magic has died

He had no direct comment. Go meet the girl. Chuckle. You will be surprised.

The Dead Man scores his points. I was surprised.

She was gorgeous. Luscious. I'd had my suspicions, of course. I'd carried her in and there's nothing wrong with my sense of touch. But there hadn't been light enough to reveal all that red hair.

Yeah. She was a ringer for the gal who'd told the Baron Stonecipher story, who was a ringer for the naked gal. This one with a difference. This one had an air of innocence "It's raining redheads, Dean."

He grunted. Like he didn't care.

She was sitting up now, no longer green around the gills. She looked at me. Green eyes. Again. Gorgeous big naive green eyes. Lips like I only dream about. Freckles

Down, boy.

I gaped. Dean gave me the evil eye. I said, "We need a name for this case. Maybe call it Too Many Redheads.

"Mr. Garrett?" Who! That voice! Like the last redhead's voice, but with added bells and promises whatever

"That's me. Garrett Ferocious dragon fighter and unwitting stomper of damsels in distress. And that's on my good days."

She looked puzzled

"Sorry. It's been a rough day. I'm on edge Let's start over. I promise not to sock you it you promise not to run up behind me in the dark. In the street, anyway." We could put the Dead Man to sleep and run Dean off and she could chase me all ever the house if she wanted. I wouldn't try too hard to get away In the interest of science, of course. To see how closely she compared with my nudist visitor, say.

She smiled. The freckles on her cheeks danced. That almost made my day worthwhile.

Almost.

"Dean explained," she said. Funny how he gets on a first-name basis so fast. "I should apologize. That wasn't smart. I'm not used to the city." She stood. My eyes bugged. Her movements were unpretentious and unaffected and I had to grind my teeth to keep from howling and whistling. She was a natural heart-stopper. Wherever she came from, she'd been wasted on them there. They'd been dumb enough to let her get away. Send more of her kind to TunFaire. Take our minds off poverty and war and despair. Talk about your bread and circuses. This gal was a three-ringer all by herself.

She stuck out a hand. It wasn't half as big as mine. I took it. It was a chock full of warmth and life—which reminded me that Tinnie almost wasn't. That brought me back to earth. She said, "I'm Carla Lindo Ramada, Mr. Garrett. I came here from..."

Oh boy "Hold it. Let me guess. The castle of Baron Stonecipher in the Harnadan Mountains. Where you're a chambermaid. The baron sent you after a guy named Holme Blaine who kyped a book from a witch called the Serpent."

Her jaw dropped.

Outside, overhead, the morCartha started up. The racket was so close and so loud it sounded like they were using my roof for landings and takeoffs I told Dean, "They're going to make themselves unpopular if they keep that up."

The redhead realized her pretty little mouth was open, so she closed it, but it sagged open again. She stood there like a goldfish gulping air.

I asked, "Was I close"

"How did you... ?"

I wanted to brag about what a great investigator I was. No point exaggerating, though. "Take it easy. I'm not a psychic." He was in the other room. "You're at least the second gorgeous redhead named Carla Ramada who turned up today. You want me to find the book, right?"

"Carla Lindo Ramada," she said. Apparently that was important. "But... How... ?"

"I don't know." There wasn't any doubt in my mind that this wasn't the woman who had been here earlier. I was pretty sure she wasn't the naked woman, either. I couldn't tell you what it was. A subtle clue of some kind. I had only minimal reservations about her being the real Carla Lindo Ramada. She wore the name more comfortably.

Her face went through the changes, all of them fetching. I was thinking the thing to do was get her. Out of town before she started riots because there was only two or three of her to go around—then I finally started wondering how come there were two or three. Or were there four or five? Was there a whole legion of her out there? Did redheads grow on trees in the Hamadan? Gods, get me into the forestry racket.