Lucy didn't waste time with denials or pretended ignorance. She just took a deep breath, then said faintly: "Who's 'we'?"

My admiration for this gallant child shot up another ten points. "Just Jonathan and me," I assured her. "He's a good friend, don't worry. There is somebody else who knows about ... the asylum business and your grandfather's part in it but I think we can keep the police from finding out. If you'll let us help . . ?"

The girl took a shuddering breath of relief. For a moment, I thought she was going to cry - Lord knows she was entitled - but she controlled herself. "Mrs. Carson ... What did happen out at the lake? Grandmother won't tell me anything!"

I told her about the visit to Roland Smith, my reasons for the visit, Jonathan's inopportune phone call, . . and what David had learned. "I guess that going to see Smith was a lousy idea," I apologized. "Still, he has kept quiet so far. But don't you think we'd better pool our information and try to get to the bottom of this business?"

Lucy spread her hands helplessly. "But I don't have any information. I don't know anything." Again, her voice broke and, again, she controlled herself. "Grandmother called me that morning. She said that she had to run away from the police and for me not to worry . . ! I made her tell me where she was calling from - it was a filling station out by the lake. I went out and drove around till I found her. She was hitch-hiking." A product of private schools and deep carpets, Lucy looked as thought this were the final enormity. "And she wouldn't say anything. She just ... sort of ... wrinkles up into a shell. You know what I mean?"

I nodded.

"All she'd say," Lucy continued, "was that a priest told her it was a sin to listen to her voices but she'd done it again and the police were after her for it."

"So, you brought her back here? She's been hiding here in the apartment?" It was obvious once I'd realized their relationship. Who else would Mrs. Arriola have turned to ... or at least called? And where else would Lucy have hidden her?

"She ... I disguised her as a maid ... so that she could move around." Naturally, everyone in the building would be strangers - new residents - and nobody thinks twice about the maid/housekeeper. The purloined letter technique was nothing new ... but it still worked. But what about Oliver? He must have known - he'd been spending a lot of time with Lucy and he knew Mrs. Arriola ... No, Oliver would never have told anyone ... not even me!

Lucy added bitterly: "It was all I could think of. Hitch-hiking - that's ridiculous. And the police might have been watching buses and planes. And I was afraid that if I stayed away from town long enough to drive her somewhere, the police would get suspicious about me and check and find her. They'd already finished going over the apartment and they'd said I could start renting the other spaces. I thought she might be safe here."

"Is that why you've been avoiding everybody?"

She nodded. "I'm sorry but I didn't know what else to do. I didn't want people coming here and maybe seeing her. And I was afraid to be gone much, either, in case the police or somebody got in."

"Have you got any kind of a plan?"

Lucy smiled an unfunny smile. "Not really. I'd hoped the police would catch the real murderer by now and they'd forget about her. If they don't pretty soon, I guess I'll take the chance of driving her somewhere. But the trouble is, I don't have any cash and I won't have until some of Grandfather's affairs are settled." Suddenly her eyes widened. "Listen, Mrs. Carson! The police aren't watching you . . !"

"No," I answered firmly. "I am not taking any fugitives cross country. Unless it's an absolutely last resort ... Damnit, Lucy, don't you realize your grandmother's an important witness?"

She looked scared. "You're not going to the police . . ?"

I sighed. "No, but the things you know and the things she knows ..." And the things Oliver Fulton knows, I added silently to myself. "The police may not be able to find the murderer without those facts. And none of you dare to tell them everything. That means we're going to have to try and sort some things out ourselves and then we'll have something helpful to tell them."

Eventually, I would have to come up with something to help David out with his editor, too, but I thought it better not to mention that fact to Lucy right now.

She smiled faintly. "But I told you, I don't know anything."

I sipped my brandy Alexander - which was too sweet. "I'll bet you do though. First, what about the voices? Did she tell you about them?"

Lucy nodded. "Oh, yes. On Monday. She wanted me to help her find a fortune teller. She thought maybe ..."

"I know what she thought. So, what did you do?"

"Nothing. I ... I didn't think it was a very good idea. When I asked Ronnie - that's what we were talking about when Granddaddy thought Ronnie was flirting with me - he said there weren't any good ones in Brazos City. And then - well, the murder happened, so it didn't matter anymore."

I felt slightly boggled. "What do you mean, it didn't matter?"

Lucy was calmer now and, obviously, pursuing her own thoughts. "Well," she said absently, "Grandmother wanted to know who was going to be murdered ... and when, so she could warn then. And then Granddaddy . . was, so it was too late to warn him."

The conversation seemed to have taken some turn I had missed. "But weren't you curious to know where the voices came from?"

Lucy's thought were still elsewhere. "Um, didn't you know? Mi Abuelita's - Grandmother's a witch." My skepticism must have shown on my face. She suddenly burst out: "Oh! Are you going to be just as bad as the rest of them? Dismiss something without even thinking about it! Have you read any of the laboratory evidence about ESP? Doctor Rhine's reports?"

I had to confess I had not.

"But you sell crystal balls and Tarot cards!" Abruptly Lucy jumped up and began pacing back and forth on the white carpet. "Everybody plays with these ideas. Psychic, ESP, if it's a toy, it's all right. If it's a party game, that's all right. If it's dull little cards and statistics and computers like Doctor Rhine's work, that's all right. But if it's a poor old women who really has the talent and makes true predictions, that's not all right. She has to be crazy!"

The girl wheeled to face me. "I said my grandmother's a witch and I meant it. A witch is somebody who can really do these things that everybody else just talks about. And what's going on now is a witch hunt. The police are hunting her for no other reason than because she was once sentenced to a lunatic asylum for practicing witchcraft!"

Lucy was on the verge of hysteria but I had to admit she had a good point. "Well, don't shout it all over the building," I said.

She took a deep breath and controlled herself once again. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Carson. It's just ..."

"I know," I said. "I hadn't thought about it that way. I'm sorry but ... is it really so desperate? You'll have money now, you can hire lawyers ... or take her to your famous Dr. Rhine and get her some credentials."

Lucy sighed and sank back down on the couch. "Maybe I will - when this is all over. But I don't even dare hint to my lawyer about it right now. And there's no way I could stop them locking her up at least temporarily and shooting her full of all kinds of drugs ..." She shuddered. "Grandmother survived it once but they didn't use drugs so much then. And it was still a terrible experience for her. It left some awful scars ..."

"It must have," I said gently. "How did you ever manage to get back in touch with her?"

She smiled faintly, remembering. "It was that article in the Handcrafters Newsletter. I've been trying to trace her for years - behind Granddaddy's back. I even studied Spanish in school so ... so I could talk to her. I was just six when it happened ... Of course, I didn't know anything about the . . the asylum. He just told me she was sick, you know, like you'd tell a child. Then, when I got old enough to really ask questions, he just refused to talk about her. I'd tried writing various places but I didn't even know how to spell her name." She finished her drink. "Anyway, she saw a copy of the Newsletter at the Needle and Haystack and wrote me at school."

"That would have been, what, about two years ago?" I couldn't remember the date on the article.

"No, more like three and a half. I was ... awfully glad to get her letter. At spring break, our vacation, I told Granddaddy I was going to visit friends and flew out to meet her. And ... you know ... it was just like all those years had never happened. I walked in that awful little apartment of hers and it smelled just like her kitchen back home in Fort Worth."

... Which would have been the last real home this girl had known. I said nothing.

"Anyway," she went on, "I tried to give her money but she wouldn't take it. Because, of course, it came from my allowance, from Granddaddy. I told her, after all these years, I thought they ought to patch up their quarrel - whatever it was. I guess I was pretty persistent about that because she finally broke down and told me about ... the asylum and everything."

I was hating Jarvis, posthumously, just from hearing this story but Lucy's face was serene. "How did you ... feel about it?" I ventured.

"I still thought they ought to patch it up. He'd made a terrible mistake but he could have helped her and made up for it. And ... we were all the family any of us had."

Hastily looking away, I resolved to take as many fugitives as far across country as I had to. "Then ... What did you do then?"

"Well, we just visited that week. I rented a car and drove her out to eat and things. And I visited around the Compound - I'm sorry," Lucy grinned, "I never did stop in at your shop. Anyway, that's when I met Ronnie. He wasn't married then and I guess we did flirt a little. Then I went back to school and Grandmother and I wrote letters.

"Then, last summer, Ronnie came to New York for a craft show and came to see me at Granddaddy's house. He told Granddaddy about Mr. Fulton looking for financing to restore these apartments and ... I'm afraid I made a mistake."

"What do you mean?"

"I talked Granddaddy into doing it," she said simply. "He'd invested in apartments before and I'd helped him supervise the renovations. I knew it would mean coming here for a while and I still hoped that ... Well, that I could get him and Grandmother together." She looked at me appealingly. "But I promise, Mrs. Carson, I had no idea Granddaddy would do what he did. Waste money on the contractors and then foreclose ..! He'd never done anything like that before."

"How familiar are you with your grandfather's business practices?" I asked carefully.

She grimaced. "Not enough, that's for sure. Oh, like I told you that night in the courtyard, I knew what people said - about the fencing and cutting himself in for a percentage on smaller businesses. Granddaddy told me it was just envious gossip and I guess I ... wanted to believe him. But all the apartment deals I'd helped him with before were legitimate - I do know that!"

"I wonder what made him change his habits this time?"

She shook her head. "I can't imagine. Except, things aren't straightened out yet but I've talked to his lawyers long distance and they say all the money's kind of tied up right now, so maybe he got in a bind."

"What about this mysterious person who actually put up the money for Oliver's mortgage?" I asked. "Could he have wanted the mortgage foreclosed?"

Lucy thought a moment. "That could be. I don't know who it was though. I've already asked the lawyers - they don't know."

I had a terrible thought. "Who has the say-so on the foreclosure now? You or the backer? Oliver thought you did ..."

"I do," she assured me. "That's why I was asking the lawyers. They said that it was some funny kind of limited partnership contract and ... Well, the money is simply paid to an account in a Houston bank. Where it goes from there, we have no way to tell. But, as it is, all I have to do is pay the backer so much every quarter - that's out of Oliver's mortgage payments. Oliver was a week late paying Granddaddy but the mortgage is by the month. The quarterly payment hadn't come due yet - those are still up to date. Oh, excuse me a minute."

She left the room, then returned a few minutes later with a several-page legal document. "Here," she said, "would you give this to Oliver? I had a lawyer here in Brazos City draw this up. It's a new mortgage that gives him a three-month grace period if he ever has to be late again. That's just to protect him in case anything should happen to me. I've already signed it."

"I'm surprised you took the time to do this with everything else going on," I said as I took the document and put it in my purse.

Lucy smiled faintly. "I like doing business and legal stuff. It takes your mind off ... Anyway, Oliver's sweet and, after what Granddaddy tried to pull, I thought maybe I'd better do this to show Oliver he can trust me. Oh, there is one thing - " she paused a moment, "That isn't perfectly legal until Granddaddy's estate is settled but, even so, it does carry legal status - I mean, if something happened to me, the probate would take that document into account and honor it until my estate were settled."

I didn't understand the ins and outs of what she was talking about but it was obvious that she did. "Now," I said as she sat back down, "would you mind telling me everything you can remember about the ... night your grandfather was killed. I heard that you told the police that Mr. Jarvis had a phone call just before he left the apartment. Do you know who was calling?"

She shook her head helplessly. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Carson, but I really don't know. The phone rang and Granddaddy answered it. When we're alone together and there's a call, usually I answer it and kind of ... secretary for him. I started to get up but he said no, he would. They talked ... Oh, maybe a couple of minutes. Not very long. All Granddaddy said was things like 'yes', 'no' and 'all right'. Then he told me to stay here and he left." It was evident that Lucy had been over this several times with the police since she anticipated my next question. "He seemed ... sort of uptight - but it wasn't like he was afraid of anything. Just irritated - like it was something distasteful - like one time in Chula Vista when the sewers backed up and flooded the Treasure Galleon ..."

"And that was about seven?"

She nodded. "Yes, I'm sure about that because ... I wondered if I'd have time to sneak out and see Grandmother again while he was gone. But it was already nearly time to leave for the airport and, since he hadn't said anything about changing the reservations, I figured he'd be back in a few minutes. Granddaddy always liked to get to the airport early."

"Do you have any idea why your grandfather had changed his mind?"

She looked uncertain. "Er, changed his mind? About what?"

"About foreclosing, of course."

Lucy frowned, puzzled. "You mean he'd decided not to?"

"But ... you called me!" I sputtered. "And Jonathan and ..."

"Mrs. Carson," she replied defensively. "I don't know what you're talking about."

As Jonathan would say, 'assume nothing' ... I tried to remember the exact sound of the voice on the telephone - the voice which had claimed to be Lucy Jarvis ... and, just then, naturally, Lucy's own phone rang.

Lucy got up to answer it, said "Yes, she's right here," and beckoned me over, biting her lip thoughtfully.

"Daisy?" Jonathan's voice revealed his suppressed agitation but, this time, he'd learned his lesson. "May I speak freely?"

"Just a minute." I turned to Lucy. "Are there any extensions on this phone?"

She stared at me. "No. What in the world . . ?"

"Go ahead," I said to Jonathan.

"You'd better get back to the shop as fast as possible," he told me. "All hell, to put it mildly, seems to be breaking loose here. The police have been here," Jonathan's voice continued hurriedly, "David's on his way and Mrs. Balrymple is here now. She says ..."

I heard a shrill voice in the background, sounds of the handset knocking against wood and then Mrs. Balrymple's pseudo-cultured tones came clearly from the receiver. "Mrs. Carson, I have still received no cooperation from the tenants concerning my stolen furs ..."

"Mrs. Balrymple," I assured her softly, "believe me, if I had any idea where your furs were, I would be only too glad to tell you exactly what you could do ..."

I slammed the phone down and said several words of the type that Charlie Ruggles wouldn't listen to. Then I turned back to Lucy and apologized: "I . . I'm sorry. There's trouble at the Compound ... I don't know what but I think I'd better get back. Look, I'll call you later. Okay?" I didn't wait for her agreement.

When I got back across to the Compound, Mrs. Balrymple was leaving ... and very pointedly ignoring my approach.

I didn't press our acquaintance. When I reached the 'Book and Candle', David was approaching from the street. We entered together.

Unexpectedly, Jonathan was alone. I'd expected at least a small crowd. "Your 'friend', Mrs. Balrymple," he greeted me, "is planning a full scale invasion of the Craft Compound. Since Lieutenant Murphrey, whom you may recall, had dropped by to ask a few questions ..."

I tuned Jonathan out for a moment. When he begins describing the number of hooves belonging to the horse that he rode in on, you know that he's upset. Jonathan - not the horse. After he rambled for a few moments, I began listening again.

"... explained to her that she could not bring her private Gestapo to search the premises without permission. I suppose," he added sarcastically, "that she thinks I have concealed her mink coats in a closet hollowed out inside a copy of Field's Three Years In Texas."

The book he mentioned couldn't conceal a rabbit's foot. I ignored the rest. "You mentioned the police?"

"I did. It seems that an anonymous telephone caller had informed the police that one Mr. Emilio Rodriguez might be currently found in this vicinity. Since the authorities are interested in having Mr. Rodriguez answer a few questions ..."

The phone rang. Jonathan reached for the receiver with one hand and passed the other vertically across his forehead in the universal gesture of the ultimate disgust with everything.

A moment later, he passed the handset to David. "Huh?" David was saying. "Who?" Wagging his eyebrows, he motioned me to fetch his notebook and get on the extension.

I did. I didn't recognize the excited young female voice on the other end of the line but, in the background, I could hear the clattering of typewriters and, faintly, someone answering another phone with 'City Gazette - may I help you?' "... first right turn after the Acme Wrecking Yard," the female voice was saying to David.

"Just a minute," he replied, then cupped the phone with his hand. "You know Roland Smith, don't you?" he asked me. I nodded. Then "Know how to find his place?" I nodded to that also.

"Never mind," David returned to the phone. "I've got someone here who knows the way - but what happened?"

"We don't know," the girl's voice was plaintive. "We just got this anonymous call and the guy sounded awful shook. All he'd say was that this Roland Smith was dead and ..."

Seeing the expression on my face, David demanded: "And . . ?"

"Well, it doesn't make any sense. The guy just kept on saying 'somebody rattled his cage ...'"