"Look," I said. "I don't know what you heard, but I had nothing to do with Mr. Cary's-"

"It is not my place to dispute that matter. I have many files to go through today, Ms. Winterbourne. I would like you to collect yours this afternoon."

"Fine. I'll pick it up at the office-"

"That would hardly be appropriate, would it?"

I gritted my teeth. "Where do you suggest-"

"I will be at the Barton Funeral Home all afternoon. They've established an office for me in the funeral parlor, so I may consult with Mr. Cary easily while disturbing him as little as possible. You may meet me there at one o'clock."

"At Grant Cary's visitation? Now that's what I'd call inappropriate."

"You will come to the service door," she said, biting off each word as if it cost her untold effort to speak to me. "There is a parking lot at the side of the building. You turn off-" Papers shuffled. "-off Chestnut. I assume you know where the funeral home is?"

"On Elm," I said. "Beside the county hospital."

"Good. Meet me there at one, in the side parking lot by the service door. Good day, Ms. Winterbourne."

So, with Cortez out of the picture, I was now officially on my own. If this had all happened a year ago I'd have said "no problem," and been glad for the chance to prove myself. Last fall, when the rest of the council had been reluctant to rescue Savannah, I'd been ready to go in on my own. Had I done so, I'd be dead. No question about it. I'd be dead and I might have got Savannah killed doing it. I'd learned my lesson then.

Now, faced with another big threat, I knew I needed help and was prepared to ask for it. But who? If I asked someone in the council, I'd put their life at risk for something that was a witch problem, and should therefore be handled by witches. But our Coven had abandoned us. Where did that leave us?

I tried instead to concentrate on doing exactly what Cortez had been coming over to do. Formulate a plan of action. But here I was stuck. If I went out and tracked down Sandford and Leah, I'd have to take Savannah along, and would probably end up delivering her straight into their hands. For now, the wisest course of action seemed to be to lie low, defend us against their attacks, and hope they simply decided Savannah was more trouble than she was worth. While it irked me to take a defensive position, at this point I refused to take chances with Savannah's life.

At twelve-thirty, I checked the crowd outside. Maybe I was being optimistic, but it seemed to be shrinking. When I went to tell Savannah to get ready, I found her lying on her back in bed. She opened her eyes when I walked in.

"Napping?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Not feeling so good."

"You're sick?" I hurried to the bedside. "You should have told me, hon. Is it your head or your stomach?"

"Both… I mean, neither. I don't know." She scrunched her nose. "I just feel… weird."

I didn't see any obvious signs of illness. Her temperature was normal, her skin wasn't flushed, and her eyes looked tired but clear. Probably stress. I hadn't been feeling so hot myself lately.

"You could be coming down with something," I said. "I was supposed to go out, but it can wait."

"No," Savannah said, pushing herself up from the covers. "I want to go. I'll probably feel better once I get outside."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded. "Maybe we can rent some videos."

"All right, then. Get ready."

"I bet it's a closed casket," Savannah said as I turned onto Chestnut.

An image of Cary's mangled corpse shot through my brain. I forced it back.

"Well, we aren't finding out," I said. "I'm not setting foot anywhere near that room."

"Too bad it wasn't one of those drive-through viewings. Then we could see him without anyone knowing."

"Drive-through viewings?"

"Haven't you heard about those? They had one in Phoenix when my mom and I lived there. We drove by once to see it. It's like a drive-through bank teller, only you look in the window and there's the dead guy."

"Grief on the run."

"People are real busy these days. You gotta make it easy." She grinned and shifted in her seat. "Isn't that weird? I mean, think about it. You drive up and then what? Talk into some drive-through speaker? Tell the guy how much you'll miss him?"

"Just as long as he doesn't sit up and ask if you'd like fries with that."

Savannah laughed. "Humans are so weird."

She shifted in her seat again.

"Do you have to go to the bathroom?" I asked.

"No. I'm just getting sore from sitting still."

"We've only gone five blocks."

She shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe I've got the flu."

"How's your stomach?"

"Okay, I guess."

I flashed back through everything she'd eaten in the last day. Then my gut knotted. "Did Cortez get near your caffé mocha last night?"

"Huh?" She looked over at me. "You think he poisoned me? Nah. He didn't touch my drink. Besides, potions aren't like that. If someone gives you one, you get sick all at once. This comes and goes. Oh, wait… there, it's gone. See?" She twisted to look over her shoulder. "Isn't the funeral home on Elm?"

"Yes-damn!"

I swung the car into the nearest laneway and turned around. As I'd said, the funeral home was next to the local hospital. Actually, the two buildings were attached, maybe for ease of transporting those who didn't respond favorably to treatment. The hospital also affords an excellent view of the adjacent local cemetery, which the patients must find most heartening.

The lot beside the funeral home was full, so I had to park behind the hospital. With Savannah trailing along behind me, I fairly scampered around to the mortuary, so worried about being seen that I wiggled through a tall hedge rather than walk along the road. Once in the funeral home parking lot, I checked to make sure no one was coming or going, then dashed across to the side door and knocked.

"I think a branch scratched my back," Savannah said. "Who cares if someone sees us? You didn't kill the guy."

"I know, but it would be disrespectful. I don't want to cause any more trouble."

Before she could answer, the door swung open. A woman in her mid-forties peered out, her doughy face fixed in a scowl that seemed more habit than intent.

"Yes?" Before I could answer, she nodded. "Ms. Winterbourne. Good. Come in."

I would rather have stayed outdoors, but she released the door and vanished into the room before I could protest. I ushered Savannah inside, then stepped through into a storeroom. Amidst the piles of boxes was a folding chair and a table covered with files.

Shaw wore a linen dress, smartly fashionable and tailor-made-my mother ran her own dressmaking business, so I can tell a good piece from a Wal-Mart bargain. Though the dress was top-of-the-line, the expense was wasted. Like too many large women, Shaw made the mistake of choosing oversized clothing, turning an expensive dress into a shapeless piece of sackcloth that fell in folds around her.

As my eyes adjusted to the dimly lit storeroom, Shaw settled into her chair and busied herself with her papers. I waited a few minutes, then cleared my throat.

"I'd-uh-like to get going," I said. "I'm not comfortable being here."

"Wait."

I did. For another two minutes. Then, before I could comment again, Savannah sighed. Loudly.

"We don't have all day, you know," Savannah said.

Shaw glared, not at Savannah, but at me, as if Savannah's rudeness could be no one's fault but my own.

"I'm sorry," I said. "She's not feeling well. If you're not ready, we could grab lunch, then come back."

"Here," she said, thrusting a file folder at me. "The bill is on top. We require a certified check, which you can courier to the address shown. Under no circumstances are you to contact the Carys regarding payment or anything else related to your case. If you have questions-"