Oliver? I looked at him dumbfounded. "You've what?" I asked.

"I've solved the mystery!" he repeated. "It all came to me - like a flash when ... Oh, did Mrs., ah, Balrymple ..."

"Oliver!" I snapped. "Forget Mrs. Balrymple! When - and how - did you solve the mystery?"

"But it was when Mrs. Balrymple was telling me about her tea pot," Oliver complained. "I remembered about the fight. That's when it all made sense but you mustn't tell anyone! That's why I had to go to Dallas."

It might make sense to him - it didn't to me. "You said something about 'antiques'," I responded.

"Yeah - that was because I didn't want anyone to know Why! I had to see a Lawyer! You remember Glenn Ashworth ..." his voice grew conspiratorial.

"Yes, I remember him." He had moved to the metropolis several years ago. Then I remembered the connection - when Oliver had first started, Mr. Ashworth had handled the legal business ... on a trade basis. "But why a lawyer?" I asked.

"To defend Steven!" he responded. "In case the police catch him!"

"Steven?" I wasn't sure I'd heard him correctly. "You mean Steven McCoy? Why? Are you talking about the fight Steven had with Jarvis?"

"I told you," he complained, "I solved the mystery!"

"And you think Steven did it?" Trying to find out what Oliver thought was like carrying water in a sieve - just when you thought you had something, it would all leak away.

"Of course - it's obvious! He's the only one who could have done it!" Oliver was spilling everything. "Jarvis was threatening to close the Craft Compound. To build one of those 'Treasure Galleons'," he made the name an epithet. "And he was demanding a cut of Steven's business, too!"

I couldn't tell which Oliver thought was worse - closing the Compound, building a Treasure Galleon or demanding a percentage. "Any of us had a motive, Oliver," I reminded him. "That doesn't mean that we're all guilty! If you're going by motive, Oliver, you have the best motive of all."

"I do?" he blinked. "Oh ... I hadn't thought of that ... But, Daisy, I know I didn't do it! Beside, I'd never use the kiln - that's Steven's kiln!" If I hadn't already decided on Oliver's innocence, that would have been the point where I would have crossed him off the list. "It couldn't have been anyone else, Daisy. Nobody would touch Steven's kiln ..."

"You're sure of that?" was the only thing I could think of to say.

"Of course," Oliver assured me., "You know how Steven hates for anybody to mess around with his equipment. Besides, Steven really hated that piece! Everybody knew that!"

It was my turn to blink! "What piece?"

"The one he hit Jarvis over the head with," Oliver explained patiently. "You know Steven never did like that coke-bottle sculpture ... He called it a ... Well, anyway," Oliver blushed, "he didn't like it at all. I've heard him threaten to smash it before."

"Why hadn't he?" I wondered.

"Oh," Oliver blushed again, "it's ... you know Yolana, that pretty little girl with the big afro that's always hanging around?" I nodded. "Well, any how it's hers and Steven ... well, he's, er ..."

"Sleeping with her?" I suggested.

Oliver blushed even deeper. "I don't know about sleeping ..."

"Then why would he break it?" I asked.

"Oh, that. But I told you ..."

"No you didn't, Oliver. What?"

"The fight! Yolana and Steven had a big fight last week! That's why!"

"I see," I tried to recap the conversation. "Now, when you were talking to Mrs. Balrymple, you solved the mystery. Then you went to Dallas to hire Mr. Ashworth to defend Steven for the murder of Mr. J. D. Jarvis. Now," I asked, "there's just one more point - why did talking to Mrs. Balrymple give you the solution?"

"It was because of the teapot," Oliver explained patiently. "I knew Steven would never have broken that bottle. Then, when Mrs. Balrymple was telling me about her teapot, I remembered the fight between Steven and Yolana and it was obvious."

Outside Oliver's window, the mariachi band was playing 'Spanish Nights', right on schedule. "There's just one thing, Oliver," I reminded him. "Steven hasn't been arrested for anything and I didn't know we were expecting that he would be."

"Well, gee, Daisy," Oliver didn't seem to think that I understood. "I thought I'd better do something before they catch him. I mean, after he does all this for us ... protecting the purity of the craft business and all ... he deserves a good lawyer. The best. Besides, I wanted to do something nice for him!"

"Why Dallas? Why didn't you call your local lawyer - the one you've been spending so much time with lately?"

"Oh! I didn't think of that!"

"I see. Tell me, have you told Steven this?" I asked.

"Of course not!" Oliver was astonished at my question. "I wouldn't want to embarrass him. That's what I wanted to ask you about, Daisy."

I was at the blink point again. "What did you want to ask me about?"

"About Steven," Oliver was being patient again. "I wanted to do something nice for him ... to reward him. I can't give him a metal. People might suspect!"

"Yes, I suppose so," I agreed. "What did you have in mind?" I was envisioning Oliver calling a Tenants' Meeting to hold a presentation ceremony to honor Steven.

"Daisy, do you think that it would embarrass him if I didn't charge him any rent?" Oliver's voice was plaintive. "Just for a year or two?"

"I see," I temporized. "Uh, look Oliver, why don't you wait a little while ... There's no point in rushing into things. Besides," I had a flash of brilliance, "it might make Steven nervous if he knew that you knew. This would hardly be a good time to upset him ..." I stopped suggestively.

"Of course, Daisy! You're absolutely right!" Oliver was ecstatic. "There is one thing, Daisy ..?" Oliver added a puzzled note.

"What is it, Oliver?"

"Daisy," Oliver was looking through the window. "Why is there a band playing in the courtyard?"

"Look, Oliver," I moved to the door, "I'll explain later, okay?" I opened the door and admitted the sounds of 'La Paloma' from outside the Leather Tree. I also admitted a tall gentleman dressed in a tan three-piece suit.

He nodded slightly as he passed me. "Mister Fulton?" he addressed Oliver. "Mister Oliver Fulton?"

"Sorry but, if you'd wait in my shop, this is a private meeting." Oliver was peeved.

"Not now it isn't," the man replied. "Mr. Fulton, you are under arrest. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you do not have an attorney or, if you can not afford one, the court will appoint an attorney to represent you. Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?"

"What . . ?" Oliver's jaw hung open.

"I asked if you understood your rights as defined by the Supreme Court in the Miranda decision?" the man repeated.

"Excuse me," I interrupted, "but ... just who are you! I don't believe that you have the right to just bust in here - this is private property - and start pushing people around ..." Then I saw the two uniformed officers standing outside.

"Feldman, Homicide," he flipped open a leather folder to reveal a card and badge. "Who are you?" His other hand was maintaining a firm grip on Oliver's arm.

"Unless you have a warrant for my arrest, I don't think that I will answer that but I do think that you had better answer mine," I had no difficulty putting a chill in my voice.

"Excuse me, ma'm," he turned to the officers waiting outside. "I've read him his rights, take him to the station - I'll be down after a while. Now," he returned to me after passing Oliver to the waiting policemen. "Ma'm, we had a tip that Mr. Fulton had reappeared, Judge Slater issued a bench warrant, we've made the arrest. For the moment, he will be held in custody as a material witness. Is that satisfactory?"

"But why are you arresting him now?" I asked. "Do you think that he's guilty of murdering Jarvis?"

"Ma'm - since you won't tell me your name - flight is strong presumptive evidence of guilt. At least," he added, "the Judge thought it was worth a bench warrant."

"But he was only going ..." I shut up.

"If you have evidence pertaining to the solution of a murder case," he instructed me, "it is your duty to assist the police. Precisely where was Mr. Fulton going?"

"Sorry, I'm standing mute. If you have no further questions, . . I held the door open pointedly.

"Yes, ma'm, if you'll excuse me. I suppose I'll have to ask Mr. Fulton." It was quite an exit line.

I returned to Jonathan's shop ... and resisted the temptation to reach for the bottle of sherry.

"Is he guilty?" Jonathan asked. He'd seen everything through his windows.

"Of course not!" I snapped. "It was because he took off to Dallas! 'Flight is strong presumptive evidence'," I quoted.

"All right," Jonathan was calm. "Visiting the station won't hurt him. I've already called Oliver's attorney - who will probably," he added, "be there before Oliver arrives. Now, you were going to explain about the band . . ?"

Dear Jonathan, the one stable point in a changing world. "You're right," I agreed. "I wasn't thinking. Oh, has David called in?"

"He should be over at the apartments now. Were you planning to tell him about this?"

"No! I most definitely am not!" I replied. "But, I am ... Just a moment, then I'll explain."

I moved to the phone and called Lucy's apartment. Two rings, hang up, then dial again.

Lucy answered. "Yes?"

"It's me, Daisy. Is David there?"

"Yes, is everything all right?"

"Yes, everything's fine," I assured her. "Put David on the line, please."

She did - David was less calm. I repeated my assurances. "Look, David, would you like to call the paper and have your friend, Ms ... ah, Jo, come down and take a few pictures? ... No, I can't explain right now. Oh, she'll have to be discreet - no press card in her hat ... No, I suppose she doesn't. Look, could you tell her to, uh, act like a tourist or something ... What? ... Sure, put her on."

Mrs. Arriola's voice came over the phone. She sounded excited. "Yes," I replied, "I understand. You can hear the music. Good! Can you tell me what tune? ..." I scrabbled for my purse and a pencil. "La Ave de Plata, it that right? ... Excellent! You can still hear the voices? ... Good! Have you heard anything else? ... A what? ... A clanking sound? ... No, that's all right. If you hear any more, write them down. I'll talk to you in a little while, okay? Oh, let me talk to Lucy, please."

Lucy came back on the line. "I'm in a hurry," I told her. "There's just one thing I need to know ... Yes, tell me, can you hear the band playing? ... Never mind 'what band', can you hear any music? Spanish music? ... No? You're sure? ... Wonderful! I'll explain later." I was making that promise awfully frequently today.

"Jonathan," I hung the phone up and turned to him. "How is your Spanish? Oh, never mind!" I crossed to the door and stuck my head out. The band was playing 'Silver Bird' at the north end of the courtyard.

"Daisy, are you all right?" I felt Jonathan's hand on my arm. Funny, it seemed to be shaking ... No, it was me that was shaking. I let him guide me toward the sofa and sat down. I'd been so afraid that I might be wrong.

"Here, drink this," Jonathan was holding out a glass. "This is beginning to be a habit," he was saying severely. "I suppose that I'll have to apply for a liquor license. Now, would you please explain just exactly what in the name of Beelzebub is going on here!"

This time, I did. All of it. The band, the letter, Oliver's arrest, even Oliver's theory ... "So, you see," I finished, "he went to Dallas to try to protect Steven and, now, they've arrested him!"

"Daisy, I have known you for several years now," Jonathan was speaking slowly and carefully. "May I say that this is, possibly, your most outrageous stunt yet. A simple electronic device known as ..."

I interrupted him. "And everyone would have seen everything, right? Then where would we be?"

"You think that that is inconspicuous?" Jonathan's voice rose a full octave as he gestured toward the costumed band in the courtyard.

"Of course not," I explained carefully, "but ... I did have to tell you!"

"With the inference that you are crediting me with being more intelligent that the murderer," Jonathan filled in the blanks without modesty. "For that small courtesy, I thank you." He was silent for a moment, then, "I suppose that you're right. That does seem to explain most everything. Then, it was just Roland's misfortune ..."

"Absolutely! If he hadn't had the pacemaker ..."

"Or, if the pacemaker hadn't reacted to the electromagnet ..."

"Oh! Jonathan, there is one point that needs to be checked! It will just take a minute." I went to the phone again.

No answer! Something was wrong! Then I remembered. I dialed again, two rings, hung up, then dialed again.

David answered, "Yes?"

"Daisy," I replied. "Look, there's something ... Yes, I was calling - I forgot. There's something that needs to be checked, do you know who Mrs. Balrymple's insurance company is? ... No? Can you find out? ... Good, I want you to call them and find out ..."

After I finished giving him his instructions, I looked around for Jonathan. The shop was empty.

Then I noticed the open door. I hurried through and found Jonathan valiantly attempting to cope with two of my customers. His gratitude was visible as I relieved him.

It never rains but it pours. For the next hour, a steady stream of customers occupied my attentions. Sometimes it's annoying how business interferes with business.

Between customers, I called the other tenants to invite them to attend a meeting that evening. "Yes, this evening at seven - Oliver's office. It's important!" I was wondering if Oliver could be there.

When the rush let up, I glanced at my watch - eleven-forty-five. It seemed like so much later. I locked the door, found the bag with 'Out to Lunch' lettered on it and stuck it in the window. Crossing to Jonathan's shop, I invited him to join me for lunch.

Lucy's apartment would have been ideal ... but it was on the second floor - no elevator. "I think we might prevail on The Shed for a bit of privacy," Jonathan suggested. "Shall we ask Lucy and David to join us?"

"Yes," I agreed, "I think we have some planning to do."

The Shed occupied the corner of the Compound next to my shop but had it's main entrance facing the street outside. The interior layout had been dictated by joining together what had originally been the motel office, private living quarters and a small take-out restaurant. The resulting conglomeration of rooms included a small room at the back which was often used for private parties. A phone call reserved the room for our use.

Mrs. Arriola stayed in the apartment - there was no point in her joining Oliver in the local bastille.

David had obtained the information we needed. "I checked with Mid-Continental Insurance," he informed me. "I told you that my contacts with the department were useful. Mid-Continental had requested a copy of their investigation but it took a little persuasion to convince the local agent to co-operate. I hope this pays off. Do you have any idea when I can have that story?"

"If you'll give me the facts, David," I answered, "you should have your story in time for tomorrow's morning edition."

"Okay, slave driver. Just remember, we have a two AM deadline. Okay, okay," he responded as I bounced a roll off his head, "the insurance checks - the furs were covered, here's the amounts." He passed me a slip. "Remember that stupid feature I did on fur trapping? If you're right then all that work has finally counted for something." He consulted his notes. "Sorry, nothing on the jewelry. The teapot was insured - the value had been set by an appraiser - it's straight, no hocus-pocus."

"Then that's one more suspect eliminated," Jonathan confirmed. "Daisy, you're right. Everything seems to check but ... how do we prove it?"

"I thought you'd never ask. Here's my plan ..." I proceeded to detail instructions for Lucy and David.

When I was finished, Jonathan raised a point for consideration. "What about Mrs. Arriola? Should she stay in the apartment alone? I think it might be better if she waited at your house ..."

Jonathan was right. David and Lucy would drive her there. It would also give Lucy a chance to explain - her Spanish was fine. Oliver was safe where he was, Mrs. Arriola would be safe at my house, that left Jonathan, Lucy, David and myself. David could look after Lucy - if I was right, she was the second most important witness against the murderer. Jonathan ... well, we'd just have to protect each other. Now that I knew who ... or thought I did ... I didn't think we were in too much danger.

Jonathan and I returned to the Compound. I let him call Mrs. Balrymple - I thought he might have more luck convincing her. I hoped that her 'influential friends' were ... both 'friends' and 'influential' ... especially her connection with Chief Rankin.

I called Mr. Mangan and imposed a second time. There wasn't any real difficulty in persuading him to assist me. Mr. Mangan was almost as curious as I was plus the fact that he was highly amused. He agreed to come to the Compound at six and bring the equipment needed.

David had brought me Mrs. Arriola's list. I read it again, 'Cielito Lindo', 'La Ave de Plata' and 'Tres Monedas'. 'La Ave de Plata' was underlined twice. The other two had the notation 'tenue' - 'faint'. Everything checked - everything! There wasn't much else now except waiting.

This was all done 'between customers'. The publicity of last week was still bringing larger than normal crowds. Murder was for good business. A short respite had allowed me to check with Jonathan - just long enough for him to tell me that Mrs. Balrymple had agreed ... and that she had called back to confirm the arrangements. "The hardest part," he informed me, "was keeping her from coming right down. I told her to come at seven but I'll give you odds that she'll be here by six-thirty ..."

"No bet," I replied and hurried back to take care of another customer - who bought a terra-cotta chicken pot and a set of canisters.

* * *

It was nearly three when Oliver reappeared in the company of an older gentleman who introduced himself as Percival Lovell. "Mr. Bell contacted me," he explained, "and quite rightly, too. I was able to secure Mr. Fulton's release with only minimal difficulty."

"Outrageous," Oliver was complaining, "absolutely outrageous. They didn't say I couldn't leave the city. I'm going to sue them. It's a violation of my constitutional rights!"

"Excuse me, Mr. Fulton," Mr. Lovell interrupted him. "I would like to speak with Mrs. Carson a moment." He turned to face me. "I believe that you were a witness to Mr. Jarvis' - the deceased's - refusal to accept payment?"

I was. Why?"

"I have advised Mr. Fulton," he informed me, "that there is a strong possibility that he has a definite civil suit against the estate of the deceased. While the contract between the two parties may have a certain 'legal' validity, it is certainly not equitable and ..."

"Excuse me," I interrupted him and reached for my purse. "This might put a different light on things." I showed him the contract which Lucy had given me.

Mr. Lovell took his time reading the contract before he offering any comment. "Ahem, yes, this does appear to alter matters. Mr. Fulton," he addressed Oliver, "if you will come by my office tomorrow, I would like to check a few points before advising you whether to sign this but it certainly appears to protect your interests. If there is nothing else at the moment - "

"Huh, sure," Oliver was scanning the contract before returning it to the attorney. "Gee," he finished, "that Lucy sure is something ..."

"We're having a Tenants' Meeting tonight, Oliver," I informed him. "At seven. Will you be there?"

"Huh, oh, sure, Daisy, sure. I'll try." He seemed to be in a different world.

"Lucy will be here," I hazarded a guess.

"Lucy? Oh, yeah, I'll be there." He wandered out. Now, if he could just manage not to be run over by a car ... or something.

I told Jonathan that I'd be back in just a moment, then went out to look for Charlie. I found him in the maintenance room busy straightening the frame of a bicycle.

"Is it worth it?" I asked pointing at the bent frame clamped in a bench vise.

"Not really, Miz Carson, but Miz Endicott's nephew left it in the driveway. I said as how I'd try to straighten it up a bit. Don't know as how I'm doin much good ... Can I help you, Miz Carson?"

"Yes, you can, Charlie." His eyes brightened at the request. "I'd like you to go to dinner now, Charlie, and then come back. I'll need you to keep an eye of things for a while this evening - we'll have some people coming by."

"If it matters, Miz Carson, I can have the Shed fix me a sandwich and I can eat it right here."

"Perfect," I agreed. "Look, if you need to leave - for any reason - give me a call at the shop first, okay?" He nodded. "One other thing, please don't tell anyone that I asked you to stay here, anyone, okay?"

"Whatever you say, Miz Carson," his brow wrinkled. "Something's happening, ain't it?"

"I'll explain later, Charlie. I'll explain later." I left Charlie and returned to my shop. Four o'clock and the next few hours were likely to be the longest I'd ever spend.

* * *

At five-thirty, I locked my shop and crossed to Jonathan's. While I watched through the windows, Jonathan wheeled his way across the courtyard. Once he was inside the maintenance room, he would conveniently have a mechanical breakdown while Charlie was locking the gates. My vantage point would - just barely - allow me a view of his white hair through the door.

I hoped he'd remember to park in a position to prevent the courtyard door from closing.

Everything seemed normal as I watched the other tenants leaving. Charlie returned to his post, fiddled with the chair a moment, then Jonathan made his exit. My car was already gone - I hoped - Lucy should have taken it earlier.

By my reckoning, there was nobody left in the Compound. All the lights were out and Oliver was the only regular whom I hadn't seen leave. But then he might have left earlier. The phone rang in my shop. I crossed through the darkness to answer it. It rang twice, then stopped. Then it rang again. I hadn't suggested that but I was glad that someone had thought of it.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Daisy? David here." I recognized the voice. "Is it safe to come in?"

"Yes," I agreed. "I'll meet you." My own shop was feeling silent and spooky. I unlocked the door, relocked it and hurried across the dark courtyard to the maintenance room - the only doorway still lit. Charlie's rugged face looked positively beautiful when I entered.

"Miz Carson," he greeted me. "Is everything okay?"

"It's fine, Charlie, everything's fine. We should have some people arriving shortly."

My prediction was confirmed as the outside door opened and David entered. "Mr. Mangan is waiting," he informed me. "Shall I tell him to come in?"

"Definitely," I agreed. "Who else is here?"

"Everyone," David answered. "We're all curious. I'll bring them in." David disappeared, then reappeared momentarily with Lucy, Mrs. Arriola and Mr. Mangan.

"Mrs. Carson," Mrs. Arriola addressed me, "the ghost, he is very strong here. What is he doing here - not the apartment?"

"Come with me," I suggested. "We'll go fix some tea while the ghost hunters work. I don't think that they'll be needing us." Mr. Mangan was unlimbering a strange radio with a large loop on top. He looked up and nodded before returning to his deliberations.

Somehow it didn't seem as dark going back across the courtyard. Mrs. Arriola had conquered her 'ghost' and her strength made me feel much safer. Which was a fine state of affairs when I was supposed to be protecting her.

Inside my shop, with the lights on, it seemed so silly to have been feeling so jittery. I was preparing a cup of tea when Mrs. Arriola grabbed my arm, "Madre de dios!" She was excited. "Se acabaron! The voices, they stop! They not say anything!"

"Thank heavens," I breathed, "thank heavens!"

Mrs. Arriola was - my Spanish did not extend to the content but, by the tone, she was busily offering a heartfelt prayer. A loud knock on the door sent me to open it - expecting David and company.

It wasn't ... but Jonathan would have won his bet. It was Mrs. Balrymple. "Come in," I invited her. "I'm glad you could come." I surprised myself - I meant it.

"You have found my furs then, Mrs. Carson," her statement was a question.

"My exact message, Mrs. Balrymple," I corrected her, "was that I thought that I could explain what had happened to them - I did not say that I knew where they were. However, I believe that we will be able to settle the question of recovery. If I understand correctly, they were insured?"

"Yes, certainly they were," she confirmed. "I did as you requested, Mrs. Carson, on the understanding that my furs would be recovered."

I had to spend a few minutes convincing Mrs. Balrymple to be patient, finally persuading her that I would not answer her questions until the Tenants' Meeting.

A few minutes later, we were joined by the rest of the party: David and Mr. Mangan with Jonathan bringing up the rear. They were accompanied by Lucy and Oliver - which surprised me; first, because I hadn't been sure that Oliver would appear and, second, because he and Lucy were holding hands.

Mr. Mangan offered me a cassette tape recorder with a small package held to it with strapping tape. "Here's your famous ghost," he offered with a half-twitch of his long mouth. "I heard part of it but I don't speak Spanish. Would you like me to play it now?"

"No," I instructed. "I think that we'd better wait until the rest of the people are here." I looked at the clock - 6:30. It shouldn't be long. "Why don't we go over to your office, Oliver. There's more room there."

Oliver blinked once or twice before he realized that he and Lucy were not alone. "Yeah, sure. Oh, Daisy," he gave me a puzzled look, "why are we having a Tenants' Meeting?"