1

A jumble of emotions and thoughts jostled each other in Garreth's head:

Admiration . . . That's a really convincing make-up job.

Relief . . . I don't have to go to Acapulco after all.

Anxiety . . . Oh, lord, we're in the middle of her mother's living room; 1 can't arrest her here.

Concern . . . This is going to make the department short for the weekend.

Dismay . . . So soon? I thought I wouldn't be dealing with her until after Christmas. I don't want to leave here yet.

Apprehension . . . What will happen to me now, when she's in custody and my reason for living is gone?

From somewhere beyond the mindstorm, Mrs. Bieber's delighted voice reached him. "Isn't this nice? Mada got tired of Acapulco and decided to come home. We picked her up at the airport in Hays this morning."

"Not tired, Mama," Lane said. "I was there with a friend who had a terrible accident and I just couldn't enjoy it any longer." The middle-aged mask smiled at Garreth. "Mama says you're from San Francisco. Are you the same Garreth Mikaelian the papers were calling Lazarus?"

"Accident? You didn't say anything about that before," Mrs. Bieber said.

"I didn't want to spoil Thanksgiving, Mama. My mother has been telling me something about you, Mr. Mikaelian," Lane said lightly. "It's a very interesting story, but also a little puzzling. Baumen is a long way from San Francisco. How did you happen to come here?"

He took off his glasses and met her eyes. "Good police work."

"What kind of accident?" Mrs. Bieber asked.

Lane shrugged. "He was found at the bottom of the cliff with his neck broken and throat torn out. The police said he must have been attacked by some dogs and fell over the cliff trying to escape from them."

Garreth reached automatically for his own throat, for the now almost-­indistinguishable lines of scarring.

"He?" Mrs. Bieber's forehead furrowed in distress. "You were there with a—I'm sorry," she said as Lane started to frown. "I just can't imagine you as part of this modern morality. I'm so sorry about your friend. Are you all right?"

Satiated, Garreth thought angrily. Replete. She had come home to wait for Acapulco to cool.

"I'm fine, Mama. He wasn't a close friend, and there was nothing improprietous." She smiled at her mother without taking her eyes from Garreth. "Men don't have wild affairs with women my age. I shared a room with his teen­age grandaughter in order to help him chaperon her. So you've decided to settle here because it's a pleasant change from the city, my mother tells me. But you're still a policeman."

The mockery underlying the pleasant tone irritated Garreth. He said evenly, "It's what I know how to do best, enforce the law." See what she made of that.

Her eyes flared red.

Mrs. Bieber glanced from him to her daughter, her forehead furrowed, obviously sensing the tension between them but unable to understand the reason for it. In a determinedly cheerful tone, she said, "Why don't you two sit down and get acquainted while I go make tea. Garreth doesn't drink coffee, either."

She left the room.

Garreth took off his jacket but continued to stand, eyeing Lane.

She broke the silence first, raising her brows and laughing. With the sound of it he seemed to see through the mask to the ever-young face beneath. "You amaze and delight me, Inspector. I've been looking forward to our next meeting, but I confess I never expected it to be here. Tell me, how did you find your way?"

He blinked, nonplussed. She looked forward to their next meeting? What made her think there would be one? "I'll tell you all about it on the way back to San Francisco."

Lane turned away, walking in a wide arc toward a widow, where she peered out into the night, toying with the jaw-high collar of her turtleneck. "Ah. So that's the reason for your remark just now about enforcing the law. You came to arrest me."

The arc took her well around a crucifix on the wall, Garreth noticed. "Hunting killers is my job and you killed Mossman and Adair. You tried to kill me."

She whirled. "No, Inspector; I did not try to kill you. If I'd wanted you dead, rest assured you would have been found with your neck broken.

So it had not been a mere oversight. "Why didn't—" he began.

"Tell me, how do you propose to take me back?"

He frowned. How did she think? "There's a warrant for your arrest. Extradition will be arranged and you'll—"

She hissed, interrupting him. "Are you really so dense? I mean, how will you take me back? By what means do you propose to force me to accompany you and remain confined: rosestem handcuffs? A cell with garlic on the bars? May I remind you that anything used against me hurts you equally, if you can even convince your law enforcement colleagues to agree to such nonsense."

The words echoed uncomfortably through his head. It had not even occurred to him there would be problems with taking her back and jailing her. Even given his concentration on finding her, how could he have been so blind, so unforesighted. Dumb, tunnel-visioned flatfoot. There must be a way to handle her, though. He could not just let her walk away.

The crucifix caught his eyes. "Maybe I can drape a rosary around your wrists."

Lane's pupils dilated. "Superstition," she said smoothly.

But Garreth watched her breathing quicken and pupils dilate. Superstition, yes, since crosses and holy water did not bother him, but superstition still affected those who believed in it . . . and the look of this house told him she had been brought up in the bosom of the Roman Catholic church. "Then why did you tear the Christian fish symbol off Mossman's neck?"

"I detest tacky jewelry." She came back to him, again swinging wide around the crucifix. "Open your eyes, Inspector. It's useless to arrest or try me. Our kind are beyond the reach of mere human laws."

"No." He shook his head. No one could be beyond the law. Without law there was only chaos. "I don't believe—"

He broke off as Mrs. Bieber came in with tea and slices of pumpkin pie. "Mada, you didn't eat a bite at Kathryn's. You must be starved by now. Have some pie. You, too, Garreth."

Garreth and Lane exchanged quick glances. He laughed wryly inside at the irony of finding himself on the same side of a problem as his quarry.

"If you don't think I ate, you didn't see me snacking out in the kitchen while we were cooking," Lane said. "You know I don't have a big appetite anyway, and I never eat dessert."

Garreth smiled but shook his head, patting his belt. "Sweets have been my downfall for years. Now that I've finally gotten the weight off, I don't dare relapse. Thank you for the tea, though."

Shaking her head, Mrs. Bieber poured the tea. "In my day, a good appetite was considered healthy. These days it seems everyone wants to starve to death. Well, have you two been getting acquainted?"

"Yes," they both lied, and sitting down, accepted tea from her.

"I'm so glad. And I'm glad you came home after all, Mada. Will you be able to stay through Christmas?"

Lane glanced at Garreth. "I plan to stay until I take you back to Acapulco."

Daring him to make her a liar? Garreth sucked in his lower lip. What could he do about her? Sipping his tea, he listened to Lane tell anecdotes about people in Acapulco. Opposing feelings warred in him . . . his belief in due process and justice against the obvious impossibility of following proper established procedure. He must violate the latter to accomplish the former, and that itself violated what his badge said he stood for. I Ching insisted that one must act with proper authority or end up in mistake and failure.

The delicate blood smell drifting from Mrs. Bieber set hunger gnawing at him. Before he did anything, he would eat and think the problem over. If he appeared to be retreating, Lane might not feel it necessary to bolt. Garreth stood and reached for his jacket. "I'd better go. Thank you for asking me over, Mrs. Bieber. And it's nice to meet you, Miss Bieber." He pulled on the jacket. "I hope we'll see each other again."

Lane raised a brow. "The night isn't over yet. Mama, I'm going to impose on this nice young man of yours to drive me around for some fresh air. I'll be back before too long."

He stared at her.

She kissed her mother on the cheek and smiled at Garreth. "Shall we go, Mr. Mikaelian?" She led the way into the hall, where she picked a coat off the huge mirrored coat-and-umbrella rack, then fairly pushed Garreth out the front door before surprise gave him time to think or react. "We got sidetracked from our conversation about the nature of reality and I'd really like to finish it."