Robin Hardy Online

Book Three of the Streiker Saga

From the back cover:
Welcome to Beaconville. It's a suspicious, unfriendly little town suspended in a dreary, bone-chilling winter. But when reclusive Dallas billionaire Fletcher Streiker receives a rambling letter from one of the residents asking for help, he decides to make a personal trip, bringing his wife, Adair, and their young son, Daniel. The citizens react with predictable hostility when Fletcher shows a little too much interest—and insight—into their doings.

Inexplicable things begin to happen, such as pieces from Adair's past showing up around town. However, when Fletcher pushes the townspeople a little too far, she and Daniel are left on their own. And the only way they can leave—the only way anyone can leave—is on Fletcher's train, the Morning Sun

Chapter One

Adair startled up at the train whistle's shrill hooting and looked out the window. The train she rode in, the Morning Sun, was passing through another small town, this one so sparsely lit at 2:00 A.M. that the fitful snow flurries obscured all but the closest, brightest street light.

Wiping the condensation of her breath from the window, Adair peered down the tracks ahead as far as she could. Where were they? With no visible signs, no telltale landmarks, it seemed as if this train had left Earth and landed again light-years away on some unknown planet.

Bony knees suddenly planted themselves in her lap, and Adair turned to redistribute the slight weight more comfortably on her legs. A soft little voice pleaded in her ear, "Mommy, I can't find Mr. Fuster and Daddy won't wake up."

"He's tired," Adair whispered. "Let me help you find him." She scooted four-year-old Daniel from her lap and knelt to the floor of the dark compartment, feeling under the seats. Mr. Fuster was the yellow bunny that had amassed some impressive mileage accompanying Daniel wherever he went. Right now friend Fuster had managed to hide himself very well in the small space of their private compartment. Adair paused and looked up as the train slowed to a stop with a groan and a sigh.

A light came on; Adair blinked at Fletcher lowering his hand from the overhead switch and slowly opening his eyes. Fletcher Streiker, the billionaire philanthropist whom the media dismissed as penniless since the sell-off of his corporation had begun several months ago, was in fact worth more now than he had ever been. Fletcher Streiker, the handsome Hawaiian-Anglo whom "no one" had ever seen, was Adair's husband and Daniel's father, though the child was related by blood to neither of them. And Fletcher Streiker, the world traveler who owned a fleet of air, ground, and sea vehicles, was now taking his family anonymously by train to their midwinter destination.

"Daddy, you're squishing Mr. Fuster!" Daniel exclaimed, extracting the yellow lump of bunny from between Fletcher's hip and the side of his seat.

"Sorry. He crawled down there to get warm," Fletcher mumbled as Daniel wrapped Mr. Fuster up in his blankie and tucked them both safely under his chin. The blankie had no name other than "blankie."

There was a knock on the compartment door. "Beaconville, sir," called the porter from outside.

"Thank you," Fletcher called, glancing out the window as they got to their feet and stretched. Nothing was visible but the snow swirling close by outside. Daniel looked over, then leaned up close to the window to stare in wonder at the lacy snowflakes as they landed in delicate array on the outside of the glass. When he put his finger on the spot where one rested, it melted into a drop of water.

Adair pulled Daniel's hand away from the window to stuff it into the sleeve of his coat. "Is Harle meeting us here?" she asked Fletcher, referring to a favored employee. Although Daniel balked at the hood, she pulled it up and tied it under his chin.

"No, I left Harle in Dallas," Fletcher muttered tiredly as he shrugged on his own suede coat and held up hers.

"Well—you still haven't told me why we came here. I thought for sure you'd want to stay the winter in Honolulu," Adair said, meaning that she wanted to stay the winter in Hawaii. She loved Fletcher's house there, and they had just finished converting an upstairs room to a studio where Adair could begin teaching her newfound niece ballet.

As Adair buttoned her wool coat and tucked her blond hair under her hat, Fletcher carefully placed his new black hat on his head and looked down his nose at her from under the low brim. "How do I look?" he asked.

She grinned. "Great. Really macho." The Stetson XXXX Beaver was Adair's Christmas present to him, as she had been appalled to discover that after all his years in Dallas, the billionaire had not one cowboy hat to his name.

Satisfied, he bent to take up their few suitcases. "You had better be wearing yours, then," he warned. He was referring to his Christmas present to her (part of it, anyway—his favorite part): a set of white silk lingerie. After seeing it on her, he went out the day after Christmas and bought up all the white silk he could find, including slips, camisoles, and hosiery, until there was enough for her to have a white Christmas in every drawer in every house he owned.

"You bet I am," she smiled, kissing him under his hat. "You were telling me why you decided to come here?" she hinted.

"Um, I got a letter from somebody here who needed help," he somewhat explained, hoisting their suitcases.

"Oh," Adair replied. Despite the media's confidence that he no longer had any money to give away, Fletcher still received thousands of letters a week from hard-luck cases who had heard of his generosity. Now he chose one letter from among those thousands and responded to it with a personal visit. Somehow, Adair was not surprised. Fletcher had his own way of doing things which usually confounded everybody at first, but when she cooperated with him she found the experience worthwhile, to say the least.

When Daniel had tucked a securely bundled Mr. Fuster into his nylon bag and zipped it up, they were ready to go. Carrying their two leather suitcases, Fletcher led the way down the narrow corridor and turned off at the steps. As the porter opened the door and hopped down to the platform, cold air shot through the car. Fletcher stepped out and dropped the bags to turn back for Daniel, waiting with arms outstretched. Fletcher took his son in his arms while the porter extended a hand to assist Adair out. Then Fletcher dug in his pocket and handed the porter a folded bill. The porter touched his hat and reboarded the train. In just a few seconds it began to pull away from the station, as the Streikers were the only ones disembarking at this place.

Adair watched the train depart, then turned to the small building on their right. The station was dark, locked up tight.

The only street visible past the tracks was empty of vehicles, as far as she could tell. A sports car parked near the brick station could have conceivably been hidden under the five-foot snow drift. Texas born and bred, Adair had never seen such huge amounts of snow collected in one place. Neither had Daniel, who had not stopped shivering since coming off the train. He surveyed the bleak whiteness for only a moment before burying his face in his father's neck.

Adair quietly waited for Fletcher to lead. He glanced around in some dissatisfaction—someone who was supposed to be here was not. Pulling out a cell phone from his coat pocket, he turned it on and shifted his hat to hold it to his ear. He tried a few numbers, then shook his head and put the phone away. "Well," he mused, "I guess we walk."

His family accepted this without a murmur. For Daniel, clamped on his father's neck, it was a largely theoretical exercise anyway. Adair picked up the two suitcases and Fletcher reached over to take one, because Daniel was light enough to carry on one arm.

They trudged down from the platform on slippery, snow-crusted steps. "Careful," murmured Fletcher, reaching up an elbow for Adair to hold while descending the steps behind him. Snow was already collecting in the creases of his hat. They crossed over the tracks and stood in the middle of the street under the one working streetlamp. Every building in view looked as lifeless as a mausoleum. Despite the protection of her wool coat, Adair was so chilled by the sight that her teeth began chattering.

Squinting against the snow flurries, Fletcher led up the street past several buildings before stopping at an office supply store that had a light burning in an upper window. He banged loudly on the door, then stepped back to see if there was any activity behind the window. Adair thought she saw some movement, but no one came to the door, so they moved on.

"Here we go," Fletcher said in relief, spotting a pay phone on the street corner ahead. He hustled his family into the shelter of the booth, then squeezed in with them and started digging in his pockets for change. Adair came up with the money from her purse first.

Fletcher dropped in the coins and waited, then hit the switchhook a few times. "Hello? Operator?" With creased brow he hung up, observing, "No dial tone." It didn't even return his money. Adair sighed in dismay, looking out at the snow flinging itself down to the street already clogged with the stuff. She began to fantasize about hot cocoa in front of a crackling fire.

The inside of the booth had begun to fog up when Fletcher pushed the door open, bringing in a fresh round of night cold. As tightly as Daniel was clinging to his father's neck, he wouldn't have dropped an inch had Fletcher let go of him.

They trudged back into the street. "It's a small town. There's gotta be a motel down around here somewhere— probably near the interstate. I think it's that way," Fletcher nodded. They began briskly walking in that direction. His lips were already blue, and Adair remembered ironically how much he disliked cold weather. She was gratified that he was wearing the hat, at least. He hadn't thought to bring gloves.

"That must have been a real urgent letter," Adair mumbled, her jaw stiff with the cold. The complete question she had in mind was actually, Why the heck did you drag us out here to Deadville or whatever it's called in the middle of the night while it's snowing and miserable, yet?

"It's in my suitcase. You c-can look at it when we g-get settled," he said. Adair shook her head with a halfhearted smile—how could she get mad at him when he was as uncomfortable as anybody?—and trotted to keep as close as possible to him.

"There," Fletcher said triumphantly, and Adair looked up at the bright neon lights of the Best By Far Motel and Deli Bar, just past a church up ahead. Even Daniel risked raising his head from his father's shoulder to look at the beacon in the night.

They hurried to the motel's glass doors under the shelter of a large metal awning. Fletcher put his bag down and reached out a red hand to yank on the door handle, but it was bolted. Twenty feet away, encased in a protective glass booth, was the night manager, sound asleep in his chair.

Fletcher banged on the glass doors and shouted. Adair dropped her suitcase and pounded with the flats of her hands on the door. Daniel hollered with them, "Wake up, mister!" Oblivious, he slept on.

At this point Adair found the doorbell off to the side and rang it continuously. They watched with bated breath as the manager shifted, stretched, and then settled back to sleep in his chair.

"I don't believe this," Adair breathed, detaching her stiff finger from the doorbell. "Do you get the feeling we're not wanted here?"

Fletcher stepped back, evaluating the locked doors and the night manager nestled cozily in his heated office. Then he turned to look back down the street. The wind threatened to dislodge his hat, so he crammed it down harder on his head as he squinted through the snow. Relentless, the wind found what it could of Daniel's hair to whip out from under his hood.

"C'mon." With that short command, Fletcher picked up his suitcase and began stalking down the street the way they had come. Adair grabbed up her suitcase and followed. Daniel's light bag hung draped over Fletcher's shoulder, slapping him in the back as he walked.

Fletcher trotted up the white stone steps of the nearby church to try one handle of the massive oak doors. They were locked, of course, so he came back down and went around to the side of the church, illuminated by the motel's neon lights. It was not a very big building.

Stopping at a dark side door surrounded by frozen ivy, Fletcher tried that handle. He did not seem surprised to find this one locked as well, for he put Daniel down, took a step back and kicked the door in with a resounding bang that dislodged a shower of snow from the roof. "Yea!" Daniel cheered and Adair looked around as if expecting to get caught.

"Here we go," Fletcher said in satisfaction, leading them inside and shutting the splintered door. It was very dark and cold inside, so Adair just held Daniel still while Fletcher groped for a light switch.

He found one and clicked it on. Adair shaded her eyes, then squinted around at the desk, filing cabinets, and bulletin board in the small church office. Fletcher went straight to a thermostat and turned it on. Hearing the grumbling of a furnace firing up, Adair sighed.

"Now let's find a place to bed down for a few hours," Fletcher proposed. Adair, holding Daniel's hand, peeked into the minister's study off the outer office. It was so small that one desk, two chairs, and a floor lamp filled it entirely. There was no room for anyone larger than a four-year-old to lie down.

They went down the hall, clicking on lights as they came upon switches, and looked into a kitchen area with cold linoleum flooring. Daniel shivered. On down the hall were two supply closets and then the sanctuary, which could probably seat seventy-five if they were all friendly toward each other. Fletcher turned up the chandeliers to fully illumine it.

It was a beautiful room built of stone and timber, with four large stained-glass windows set in the walls—two toward the front near the dais with its podium, and two in the back near the double oak doors. The front of the small auditorium was closest to the interior of the building, and the back was closest to the street, as is customary. One anomaly which Adair did not notice right away was that there was no foyer. Anyone entering the doors would find himself directly among the pews. The flashing neon lights next door gave a surreal appearance to the left rear window, farthest away from the podium, and alternately colored the interior stonework red and blue. Plush carpet covered the floor beneath stately oak pews.

When Daniel felt the warm air coming from a floor vent near the stone wall, he sat down right next to it and retrieved bunny and blankie from his nylon bag. Tucking Mr. Fuster under his arm, he twisted a corner of the blankie to a point, stuffed it in his mouth, lay down and shut his eyes.

Adair looked up at Fletcher with a wry smile. "Daniel has decided we'll sleep here," she whispered.

Fletcher kissed her on the temple. "Then you wait with him while I see if I can find any blankets," he said. None of them had unbuttoned their coats yet. She nodded and sat, tucking her coat around her knees. On his way out, he dimmed the sanctuary lights to a comfortable low glow.

While Fletcher was gone Adair studied the left rear window, being the only one lit well enough to see in detail. It depicted Jesus standing at the door and knocking. This was the familiar portrayal of Jesus from her childhood, with flowing brown hair, Anglo features, and creamy white robe. The window was a beautiful piece of art, painstakingly crafted, but it left her vaguely dissatisfied. What was wrong with it?

It made her think of her first ballet lessons, when she was four. Step and point, turn and point, over and over—they were cruelly boring. But since her mother had forced her to stay with it, the discipline of those early steps had opened up a marvelous world of beauty and expression. But what if, twenty years later, she still danced ballet as she had danced it at four?

She thought of learning to read at six, and the insipid text of those early books: "See the dog. See the dog run. The dog can run fast. Can you run fast, too?" Nothing in those books had excited her to read, but the teachers who forced her to master them and go on had opened up worlds of enlightenment to her. But what if, eighteen years later, she still read as she did at six?

Then she thought about her conceptions of God as her heavenly Father. With a child's reasoning, she had long ago decided that as her father Carl was short-tempered, critical, and largely unavailable, then God must be too, only more so. Was this immature assessment of Him valid? Tonight was the first time this question had crossed her mind.

So that must be the problem with the window. These bland pictures of Jesus were fine for children, but adults who clung to them found them insufficient for adult-sized frames. No prima ballerina performed "Step and Point" at the Met, and no CEO carried See the Dog into board meetings. So grown-ups—like herself—who refused to grow past a child's understanding of God were asking for disappointment at the most crucial times of their lives. What worlds would open up to someone who moved on to a more realistic picture?

"I'm making too much out of a window," Adair sighed, shaking her hair down from the wool hat. Then she looked up expectantly as Fletcher came back in.

He sat beside her, placing a carton, box, and plastic glasses on the floor. "I couldn't find any blankets, but here's some grape juice and crackers. Want some?" he whispered.

"I do!" Daniel said suddenly, sitting up. Chuckling, Fletcher poured him a half-glass as Daniel raided the cracker box.

Adair hesitated. "Should we drink this?"

"I don't think it's poisoned, or anything," Fletcher said mildly, pouring a second glass.

"No, I mean, it's probably for Communion," Adair whispered.

"I'll pay for it, and the door," he assured her.

"But wouldn't it be—disrespectful?" she balked as he handed her the glass.

Fletcher glanced at Daniel draining his cup and presenting it for a refill. "It's just grape juice, Adair. Here, will this make you feel better?" Fletcher asked, lifting his cup and looking to the ceiling. "God, thanks for allowing three stranded travelers the shelter of your house and the provision of your refrigerator on one hell of a night. Amen."

"Amen!" agreed Daniel, coated in cracker crumbs, and Adair stifled a laugh as she took the cup Fletcher offered.

When they had finished their snack, Fletcher returned the leftovers to the kitchen. By then the vents had warmed them enough so they could take off their coats. Daniel lay down again and Adair put his coat over him for a comforter, kissing him goodnight. He was asleep before his dad even got back.

Lying down beside Adair, Fletcher slipped a hand under her sweater to feel the silk camisole. Then he sighed and closed his eyes.

* * *

Hours later, Adair woke from a leaden rest to see her forearm painted purple and gold by the morning sun shining in through the window above her. Stretching on the carpet, she looked up at the window. Jesus, ablaze with light, now looked to be crashing down the door at which he stood. "That's more like it," she murmured, rubbing a pinched nerve in her neck.

Fletcher was sitting up, tinkering with his watch. "With the time change, that puts us at eight-thirty," he muttered, then looked over and smiled, "Good morning."

"Um-hmm," she replied, leaning into his shoulder. With his wrinkled shirttail sticking out from under his sweater and his black hair mussed over his forehead, he reminded her of a third-grader who slept in his clothes to save time in the morning. But this boy's tanned face sported the scruffy start of a beard and serious eyes that were slightly swollen from the dry heat. Adair didn't even want to think about how she looked after sleeping in her clothes. At least she had learned not to wear much makeup that would get smeared all over her face. With Fletcher's always taking off at a moment's notice, she never had time to apply it.

He kissed her tangled hair and they both regarded Daniel, still asleep, curled up in a tight ball next to the floor vent. Adair mused, "I still can't get over how much he looks like you. It's almost enough to make me suspicious that you might be his father after all." She glanced at him wickedly.

Rather than foam with righteous indignation, Fletcher merely raised a brow as he replaced the watch on his arm. "You know, somebody was telling me the other day how much you and I look alike."

"You and I!" Adair exclaimed.

"Yep. How much you were getting to look like me," he casually elaborated.

"That's ridiculous!" Adair laughed. "You're a man and I'm a woman! You're dark and I'm blond. And I would punch out anybody who said my feet looked like yours!"

"Not in that way. You're talking about superficialities. But what you really notice about somebody's appearance is facial expression, attitude, outlook—those things that come from inside you," he said. He sat on his knees to lift the sleeping boy to his shoulder. "Face it, people who spend a lot of time together better have the basics in common, right?" He got to his feet with Daniel, smiling lightly.

Gathering up an empty carton and used glasses, she conceded, "Maybe. But maybe that means you're getting to look like me."

"I hate to be the one to break this to you," he said without remorse as he took up a suitcase, "but you're the one who's changed the most. I can remember a time when you would've thrown a hissy fit about arriving at a strange town in the middle of the night without someone to usher you straight to a four-star hotel."

Adair winced, "Can we talk about something else?" and Fletcher laughed. Daniel raised his head, rubbing his eyes.

They availed themselves of the lavatory off the minister's study and bundled up in their coats. In the outer office, Fletcher paused to turn off the heater and dig in his pocket. He left enough cash on the desk to pay for the door, the refreshments, and a gym, if the church fathers so desired.

They stepped out into the crisp morning. The sunlight that had illumined her window was now obscured by low, heavy clouds shedding random snowflakes. Reflecting back to his comment, Adair admitted, "I was wondering why you didn't have someone drive us, or at least meet us here."

"The roads around here were totally impassable yesterday," Fletcher said. "I told the woman who wrote me that we were coming, and asked her to meet our train. I thought she should have an opportunity to help answer her own request."

"She blew it," Adair noted sternly.

"She'll have another chance," Fletcher said. With Daniel on his arm again, they trudged in the general area of the sidewalk through the packed drifts to the Best By Far Motel.

The glass doors under the metal awning were still locked, but the day manager responded promptly to the ring of the doorbell. "Well, good morning!" he said in surprise as he opened the doors. "I sure wasn't expectin' anybody till this weekend, at least. Where you folks from?"

"Dallas," Fletcher said. "We'd like a room with two double beds, please," he said, dropping a suitcase and repositioning Daniel to sign in.

"Dallas, eh? Sure, uh, Mr. Streiker," the manager said pleasantly, noting the sign-in form. He showed no recognition of the name. Adair was a little surprised that Fletcher would sign his own name, as he rarely divulged his identity when he traveled. But he did not lie, either, and Adair guessed so few people in this little town had heard of him that he felt safe calling himself who he was.

Fletcher was handed a key and directed down the corridor. "Good room, too—right next to the ice machine," the manager noted.

"Um hmm," Fletcher murmured absently, shifting his sleepy son.

Down the hall and next to the ice machine, Fletcher unlocked the door of their room and opened it. It was a boxy little room barely big enough for the two beds, a dresser, and a television set securely bolted down. They filed in and dropped their suitcases on the floor, all of them eyeing the beds with some resentment that they weren't accessible last night.

While Adair bathed Daniel, Fletcher got them some breakfast from the deli bar. Shortly after Daniel was freshly dressed, he was sitting on the edge of one bed with a styrofoam plate of ham and potato salad, swinging his legs and watching cartoons.

When Adair came out of the shower, Fletcher was hanging up the phone. "Keeping in touch, though the surcharges for long-distance calls from here are liable to hit the moon," he noted.

"Spendthrift," Adair chided, toweling her hair.

"You complaining?" he wondered.

"Not me," she said hastily. "How's the sell-off going?"

"Chuck said everything's well in hand," Fletcher said, moving to the television to lower the volume of space blasters, "except...."

"Except what?" Adair asked anxiously.

"Your dad Carl gave Reggie the slip again, running blind and scared. He won't talk to any of my people, and I'm afraid he's going to get himself hurt shooting off like that," Fletcher said heavily.

"Like Sandra did," Adair mused. This was Daniel's mother, who tried everything short of murder to keep him away from Fletcher.

"Yeah, like Sandra. I was hoping Carl would be more disposed to listen to me, but now I have to weigh whether it's doing more harm than good to keep after him," Fletcher thought out. Adair did not voice an opinion, so he decided, "I'll let him chill for a while before I try again." She smiled. Fletcher had a tenacity that few people could comprehend. He glanced over to appraise the silk underwear she took out of her suitcase, then smiled in approval.

On his way back to the bathroom, Fletcher dropped a small envelope in her lap. "Have a look. It's from the woman who lives here." He paused. "Unless . . . you'd rather join me in the shower," he invited, unbuttoning his shirt.

Daniel wiped cookie crumbs from his mouth with his sleeve and scrambled down from the bed. "I'll play in the shower with you, Daddy!"

"You just sit there and watch 'Rowdy Rangers,'" Fletcher instructed with mock peevishness, but his glance toward Adair was somewhat wistful. Daniel obediently climbed back onto the bed.

Adair winked at her husband and he pulled out shaving gear in resignation. Then she opened up the letter. With interest, she read:

Dear Mr. Streiker,

My name is Lilith Crandall. I've heard so much about
you, and I thought that if anybody could help us here
in Beaconville, you could. There's no reason why you
should from your point of view. What I mean is, we
don't have much to offer you. But I was thinking that
if you could meet some of our people and see what
we're about, then you might see your way clear to
give us a hand.

Thank you,
Lilith Crandall

Adair held the letter blankly while Fletcher shaved and showered. When he turned off the water and reached for a towel, she went to the door of the tiny bathroom to hand him one. "Is this a joke?" she asked.

"What, my taking a cold shower? I'm not laughing," he said, vigorously rubbing down.

Adair glanced at his physique and smiled. "No. This letter," she clarified.

Fletcher looked over his shoulder as he hung up the towel. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, this . . . it's so vague. She doesn't even say what she wants you to do. What made you drop everything to respond in person to this?" she wondered.

Shaking out underwear, Fletcher said, "Actually, it's more what she didn't say. She didn't ask for money. She didn't say me or I, but we and us. She couldn't put a finger on what was troubling her, but I happen to know that the Warfield Group has completely overrun this area."

Adair tensed at the mention of this name. This was a well-heeled, widespread organization whose main interest seemed to be to discredit Fletcher. "So I just thought we'd come see what we could do," he said from under a sweater. Pulling it on over his head, he regarded her with one of his canny smiles.

"I see," she murmured, and she did. Knowing that the town was under siege by his enemies, Fletcher had been looking for an excuse to come do something about it. And Lilith's plea, vague and rambling as it was, provided that open door.

As soon as Fletcher was dressed they started from the room. Eyeing bunny and blankie clinging stubbornly to Daniel, Adair observed, "It might be fun to play in the snow, only Mr. Fuster doesn't like the cold. And poor blankie would get all wet and droopy. Don't you think they'd rather wait for you in the nice warm room?" she coaxed, gently disengaging them from the little fingers.

"If Mr. Fuster tries to burrow down in this snow, we won't find him again until next spring," Fletcher solemnly added. So Daniel was persuaded to leave his companions behind in the safety of the motel room.

Then Fletcher escorted his family out to the drab motel lobby and paid the day manager to call a cab for them—the one cab in the whole city operating today, the manager was quick to point out. When it arrived, Fletcher gave the cabbie the return address from Lilith's letter and they climbed in. Adair did not see much scenery on the way, being too preoccupied with dissuading Daniel from investigating the trash strewn about the floorboard of the cab, but the ride was a short one.

They pulled up to a two-story white frame house with black shutters sitting behind a wooden fence. Getting out, Fletcher handed the driver just enough to cover the fare rather than one of his usual Ben Franklins. The cabbie eyed the paltry amount and sneered, "Have a nice day, pal." Fletcher did not respond.

As the cab skidded away from the curb, scattering snow, Fletcher led through the gate in the fence (frozen half-open) and they went up the walk to the front door. It was painted black, protected by a screen door. Fletcher rang the doorbell and stepped back.

A moment later the door slowly opened. A broad, fortyish woman in a bulky sweater and stretch pants looked apprehensively at the family on her front porch. "I'm looking for Lilith Crandall," Fletcher said.

"That's me," she replied in a faint voice.

"Lilith, I'm Fletcher Streiker," he said, and she gazed at him in utter disbelief.

Copyright 1995, 2003 Robin Hardy

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