Howell scratched the dog behind the ears. “Hello, Riley, how you doin‘?”

Leonie came out onto the porch. “Please come straight in, John. I don’t think we should waste any time.”

Howell followed her into the house, across the living room to Mama Kelly’s bedroom. It was much as before. The room was neatly kept, and the old woman waited, a beautiful quilt thrown over her bed. Her white hair was freshly combed, and she was wearing a finely made bed jacket over her nightgown. She held out her hand for Howell’s. She seemed terribly tired.

“Oh, John, I’m so glad you could come. I need to talk to you.” Her voice was weak.

Howell took her hand. “I’m glad to come, Mrs. Kelly. I want to thank you for helping me with my back. Ever since Leonie worked on it, it’s been really perfect.”

“I’m glad we could help you, John. Now, I want to say some things to you.”

He strained to hear her. “Yes ma’am?”

She took as deep a breath as she could manage. “You were brought here for a reason,” she said. “I’ve been expecting you for a long time.”

She had said this before. Howell nodded.

“You’ve come here to right a great wrong. I can’t help you much, but I’ll do what I can. You must be careful to keep your wits about you.”

Howell looked at Leonie. She put a finger to her lips.

“Events are coming to a head, now, and you must be ready. Please don’t drink so much.”

Howell said nothing.

Mama Kelly took several deep breaths and seemed to be gathering herself for more. “You have seen some strange things, and they have a meaning. But all is not what it seems to be. You must be very careful.“

“Do you mean the dream about the valley?”

“It may seem to be a dream, but it’s not – not exactly a dream. Little Kathleen is in danger, and you must help her. If you don’t help her, she may die. Do you understand?”

“No, ma’am, I’m sorry, I don’t. Kathleen is either dead or gone away, isn’t she?”

“All is not what it seems,” the old woman said again. “I wish I could help you more.” She closed her eyes and sighed.

Leonie beckoned to Howell to leave her, but when he tried, Mama Kelly clung to his hand.

Her eyes fluttered open. “Please remember that there is much here that will be hard for you to understand. You must try and understand. Your presence here has already done more good than you know. Believe me when I tell you that. But you must save little Kathleen. She is the future.”

She sighed again, and her grip on his hand relaxed. Howell moved away from her and followed Leonie into the living room.

“Do you know what she’s talking about?” he asked Leonie.

Leonie shrugged. “All I know is that she knows what she’s talking about.”

“She seems to think that Kathleen is still alive. Do you believe that? Or do you believe she’s under the lake?”

Leonie bit her lip and did not reply.

“Kathleen would be how old, now?”

Leonie sighed. “She was four years older than I was. That would make her thirty-six.”

Howell thought for a moment. He knew no woman of any description in Sutherland who was that age. “Leonie, do you think Kathleen could still be alive? Please tell me.”

Leonie shook her head. “I don’t know, John, but if Mama believes she is, that’s good enough for me.”

Howell took her hand. “Listen, it’s been a long time since I saw you. I miss you. Why don’t you come over this afternoon?”

She put a finger to her lips, and nodded toward the front porch. The creaking of the swing could be heard. “I’ll come when I can,” she said.

Howell thought, as he drove home, about what Mama Kelly had said. She didn’t make sense. Kathleen O’Coineen was dead, and her whole family with her. Howell wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he did.

26

When Scotty arrived at the office, Bo was there ahead of her, shut in his office working like a beaver. It was very unusual for Bo to arrive so early in the morning. She rapped on the glass and stuck her head in his office.

“Morning. Coffee?”

Bo was hunched over his typewriter. There were papers scattered all over his desk. Among them, Scotty saw the green ledger sheets. “No thanks, I’ve already had some. Take my calls, will you? I don’t want to be disturbed.”

“Sure.” She closed the door and went to her desk. Bo rose, walked around his desk, and pulled down the shades between his office and the station room. She had never seen him do that before.

Scotty worked her way through the morning on routine matters. She did the mail and answered the phone, taking messages for Bo.

Just before noon, the bell on the teletype rang once. Scotty went to the machine and tore off the printed message, it read:

PRSNL SHF B. SCULLY, STHRLND CO.,

LSCA 0910 0330 80. CNFRM. MSG ENDS.

Scotty ripped the message off the machine and went back to her desk, her heart pumping away. Quickly, she copied down every word and number, then put the original with Bo’s phone messages. A few minutes later, the shades went up in his office, and he came out with a large, thick, brown envelope under his arm. The green ledger sheets were no longer on his desk, and the filing cabinet was locked. She handed him the messages; the white teletype paper was easily visible among the pink telephone message slips. Bo ignored the phone calls and went straight for the teletype message.

His face showed no emotion as he read it. He went back into his office, tossed the fat envelope onto his desk, and sat down. For the better part of ten minutes he sat there, obviously thinking hard. Then he got up, walked into the station room, went to the teletype machine and sat down.

Scotty grabbed some papers and made for the copying machine, just next to the teletype. Bo was already typing but suddenly stopped. As his hand went to the paper, she shot a quick glance at it, but he ripped the transmission copy away before she could read it. It had been a very short message; she had seen only the last word.

Bo stuffed the paper and the original message into his pocket, went to his office, retrieved the large envelope and headed for the door. “I’ll be at Mac McCauliffe’s for a while, then at Eric Sutherland’s, but don’t call unless it’s an emergency, okay?”

Half an hour later, Bo left the lawyer’s office, his business done – signed, witnessed, and relegated to McCauliffe’s safe. It would be a long time before anyone read it, he reckoned. McCauliffe had not read what he had written, just witnessed his signature. Bo drove to Eric Sutherland’s. He had made his decision.

Sutherland didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “What have you learned?”

“I called Neiman’s and talked with the credit manager. He hadn’t had time to write to me yet, but he gave me all the information I wanted.” Bo took a sheet of paper from his inside pocket and consulted it. “Harold Martin MacDonald is a 71-year-old, retired insurance salesman from Atlanta. His house was burglarized four weeks ago and his Neiman-Marcus credit card stolen. The store has already cancelled the card and sent him a new one.”

“What does this mean, Bo?”

“This is what’s happened. Whoever burglarized MacDonald’s house took the credit card. For some reason, he didn’t throw it away. He’s apparently an itinerant burglar. He showed up in Sutherland and was attracted to your office because it’s set apart from the house. You can see it from a quarter of a mile down the road. He used the credit card to jimmy the lock, but your dog frightened him away before he had a chance to get into the office, and in his hurry to get away from Duchess and Alfred’s flashlight, he dropped the card. Mystery solved.”

“Were there any other burglaries in town?”

“No. I figure he was just passing through, and it looked tempting.” Bo grinned. “I reckon that Yorkie of yours that thinks he’s a Doberman scared him right out of town.”