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and got stuck on a petard, and now the bomb is going off.” She paused. “Are you still there, Rose? Or
did you run away?”
“Come to me, dear,” Rose said. She had regained her calm. “If you want to meet me on the lookout,
that’s where I’ll be. We’ll take in the view together, shall we? And see who’s the stronger.”
She hung up before the bitchgirl could say anything else. She’d lost the temper she had vowed to
keep, but she had at least gotten the last word.
Or maybe not, because the one the bitchgirl kept using played over and over in her head, like a
gramophone record stuck in a bad groove.
Coward. Coward. Coward.
4
Abra replaced the telephone receiver carefully in its cradle. She looked at it; she even stroked its
plastic surface, which was hot from her hand and wet with her sweat. Then, before she realized it was
going to happen, she burst into loud, braying sobs. They stormed through her, cramping her stomach
and shaking her body. She rushed to the bathroom, still crying, knelt in front of the toilet, and threw
up.
When she came out, Mr. Freeman was standing in the connecting doorway with his shirttail
hanging down and his gray hair in corkscrews. “What’s wrong? Are you sick from the dope he gave
you?”
“It wasn’t that.”
He went to the window and peered out into the pressing fog. “Is it them? Are they coming for us?”
Temporarily incapable of speech, she could only shake her head so vehemently her pigtails flew. It
was she who was coming for them, and that was what terrified her.
And not just for herself.
5
Rose sat still, taking long steadying breaths. When she had herself under control again, she called for
Long Paul. After a moment or two, he poked his head cautiously through the swing door that gave on
the kitchen. The look on his face brought a ghost of a smile to her lips. “It’s safe. You can come in. I
won’t bite you.”
He stepped in and saw the spilled coffee. “I’ll clean that up.”
“Leave it. Who’s the best locator we’ve got left?”
“You, Rose.” No hesitation.
Rose had no intention of approaching the bitchgirl mentally, not even in a touch-and-go. “Aside
from me.”
“Well . . . with Grampa Flick gone . . . and Barry . . .” He considered. “Sue’s got a touch of locator,
and so does Greedy G. But I think Token Charlie’s got a bit more.”
“Is he sick?”
“He wasn’t yesterday.”
“Send him to me. I’ll wipe up the coffee while I’m waiting. Because—this is important, Paulie—
the person who makes the mess is the one who should have to clean it up.”
After he left, Rose sat where she was for awhile, fingers steepled under her chin. Clear thinking had
returned, and with it the ability to plan. They wouldn’t be taking steam today after all, it seemed.
That could wait until Monday morning.