Miss Abbott said, Of course; what would they like to know?

See? Cooperative as well as nice. Maureen became official then, saying, "We understand you were at a party at the home of Mr. Woodrow Ricks last Saturday evening?"

Chris, looking at books, heard Miss Abbott trying hard to be of help, saying, "Was it Saturday? Yeah, I think so."

As Maureen said, "You think it was Saturday or you think you were there?" and Miss Abbott laughed and said, "Both," Chris let his gaze move to the desk close by, the surface nearly covered with typed pages, file folders, mail, magazines, notebooks…

He saw a notebook with a red cover lying on top. It had MAY-AUGUST '70 written on it big in black Magic Marker.

Miss Abbott came over to the desk for a cigarette and Chris looked at the books again. She had an assortment of paperback novels, several of each title-Gold Fire, Diamond Fire, Silver Fire, Emerald Fire-all by the same author, Nicole Robinette. Maureen was asking about the people who were at the party. Miss Abbott said she didn't think she could be of much help there; she wasn't introduced to anyone.

She had Bukowski on the shelf. She had Genet, Ginsberg. She had Abbie Hoffman's Woodstock Nation and Revolution for the Hell of It. Maureen was asking Miss Abbott if she went swimming with the others. She had Soledad Brother.

She had Sisterhood Is Powerful, The Politics of Protest.

Miss Abbott said she just sort of got her toes wet.

Did she recall Greta Wyatt going in the pool?

She had old copies of underground newspapers Chris hadn't seen or heard of since he got out of school: East Village Other, Rat Subterranean News, Fifth Estate, South End, the Wayne University paper. A copy of the Berkeley Barb dated May 16-22, 1969, with a headline that said PIGS SHOOT TO KILL… Hearing Miss Abbott tell Maureen she wasn't sure who went in the pool and who didn't. He waited for her to mention Mark Ricks. He picked up a book called Is the Library Burning?" still waiting as he put the book back on the shelf.

He glanced at the desk as she tapped her cigarette toward the ashtray sitting there.

The notebook with the red cover was no longer in sight.

He heard Maureen asking Miss Abbott if she recalled Greta Wyatt going upstairs and Miss Abbott saying she wasn't sure which one Greta Wyatt was.

Chris picked up a book from the shelf with the dustjacket flap folded into the pages and turned to Miss Abbott.

"You still reading William Burroughs?"

Miss Abbott looked over and seemed to notice him for the first time.

She stared with no expression before gradually beginning to smile.

"You want to make something of it?"

"I was looking at your books," Chris said.

"I've read some of them. Abbie Hoffman, I've probably read all of his."

"You like Abbie?"

"I don't know why he wasn't a stand-up comic. Yeah, I liked him,"

Chris said.

"I felt sorry for him too. The poor guy hiding out all those years and nobody was even looking for him."

She didn't seem to care for that. Miss Abbott said, "He was wanted by the FBI, wasn't he?"

"Yeah, but how bad did they want him? It was like he finally pops up:

Here I am. And they go, "Oh, shit. Now we have to arrest him."

" Chris saw her start to frown and said, "Yeah all this takes me back," looking at the bookshelves again.

"I went to Washington for the biggest peace march in history, the Vietnam Moratorium, one of a million protesters. I was at Woodstock … I think it was that summer, yeah, I was still going to U of M, I lived in a house on State Street right next to Pizza Bob's. It was that summer the ROTC building got trashed. I remember typewriters flying out the window." He was grinning.

It seemed to encourage Miss Abbott.

"More than just typewriters, all the records… Did you take part in that?"

"I watched," Chris said.

"No, the only time I saw any action was when George Wallace was here.

That time he was running for President and had a rally at Cobo Hall.

He's trying to make his speech, we're in the balcony, we stand up and give him that Hitler salute and yell, "Sieg Heil, you-all!" His fans didn't like it. There was a scuffle, pushing and throwing chairs."

Chris grinned.

"I remember Wallace yelling at us, "Get a haircut and take a load off your mind."

I don't know why hair bothered people so much."

"Really," Miss Abbott said.

"Or the way we dressed."

"And spoke rather freely," Chris said.

"You were at U of M at that time?"

Miss Abbott drew on her cigarette.

"I lived on Packard."

Chris said, "Packard, you could throw a rock from my front steps and hit Packard." He gave her another grin.

"And some people did. You miss those days?"

"I have them." Miss Abbott said.

"I can look at them any time I want."

That was a little weird. She seemed to want to get into it with him but was holding back.

Maureen, seated now in a plastic chair that looked like it was coming apart, was watching. She met Chris's gaze for a moment, not saying a word.

Miss Abbott said, "You were at Woodstock?"

"In the rain and the mud, all three days."

"I really wanted to go, but I had something on."

"You had to be there to believe it," Chris said.

"Half a million people sitting there all wet and nobody cared.

Saturday I got to see my all-time favorite, Grace Slick. I saw Janis, the Who, Santana. On Sunday, Joe Cocker. He had stars on his boots.

You remember Ten Years After? Alvin Lee?"

"They were at Goose Lake, the next summer," Miss Abbott said.

"You remind me of a guy, a friend of mine.

He'll go, "You remember Licorice? Who was she with?"

" "The Incredible String Band," Chris said.

They were grinning at each other.

"You aren't Nicole Robinette by any chance?"

"I'm afraid so."

"I haven't read any of your books, but I'd like to."

"No, you wouldn't."

Again, both grinned and Chris glanced at the bookshelves.

"How'd you manage to hang onto all this? You've got Rising Up Angry.

You've got the Rat, Barb, ones I've heard of but don't think I ever read."

"You never know," Miss Abbott said, "they could be collector's items someday. I stored everything at Mother's while I was in New York, working for a publishing house."

Chris said, "How about when you were at Huron Valley, working in the laundry?"

That took care of Miss Abbott's pleasant expression, left over from the grin.

She said, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"You don't want to talk about old times?" Chris said.

"Tell us how you got busted, any of that?"

"I don't care to talk to you about anything," Miss Abbott said.

"Okay? So leave. That means don't say another word, just get the fuck out."

Going down the stairs Maureen paused on the landing to look back at Chris.

"I thought she might try to finesse around it, at least act dumb. No, sir. " "She comes right at you," Chris said.

"You notice she didn't say anything about Mark? Didn't want to go near that, get on the subject of bombs. Did you learn anything?"

Maureen said, "You mean outside of what she doesn't want to talk about?

No. She won't be any help to us on the assault-yeah, I did learn that much."

"I wouldn't worry about that one," Chris said. In the front hall by the manager's apartment he said, "Can I make a suggestion?"

"Give it to Wendell."

"Yeah, but call him, from here. Tell him to get a judge to sign a warrant, so he can come right over and search her apartment. You could stick around, make sure she doesn't leave."

"What're we looking for, bombs?"

"Any kind of explosives, copper wire, blasting caps, timers, maybe some kind of remote control switch. Clothespins, the snap kind. Be sure to check the refrigerator."