“Did you see who did it?”

I shook my head. “Not really. But I think I saw something fluttery and white, like a bird… or angel wings.”

Gasps of astonishment. Moans of sympathy. I looked up to see where they came from and felt as if I were surrounded by seagulls. More than half a dozen horrified Sisters of Charity, wearing huge, fluttering cornettes, stared first at me, then at each other. “But we were all in the basement,” one protested. “At least, I think we were.”

CHAPTER 17

DESPITE MY HORRIFYING EXPERIENCE, OR PERHAPS because of it, I slept hard and long. My waking dream was of flying over the ocean with a flock of gulls, no land in sight. My wings grew weary, and I tumbled head over heels into the black water, where I awoke with a start, covered with sweat. My arms throbbed with pain; no wonder my wings hadn't kept up with the other birds. Fred nuzzled my neck as if he'd shared my dream.

Maybe it had all been a dream. Falling dreams are common. So are dreams of flying. Flying made me think of wings, which reminded me of angel wings, and I sat up abruptly. It had not been a dream. Of that I was sure! The crumpled heap of blue and white clothing on the rug beside my bed brought it all back to me in vivid detail. Moonbeam and Woody driving me home. Ethe-lind making a big fuss over me. Moonbeam helping me out of my shredded habit and into a T-shirt. Ethelind bringing me a glass of sherry once Moonbeam had gotten me into bed. Woody wishing me happy dreams. Had he really said, “Don't let the bedbugs bite”? The sherry glass, untouched, sat on the bedside table.

In a few days’ time I'd been shot at, nearly burned to death in my sleep, and been pushed off a balcony. I was Calamity Jane. Hardluck Hannah. Woeful Wanda. Typhoid Tori-no that one didn't apply-at least people hadn't been dying around me, I was the one who was encountering one calamity after another. I knew I could go on forever wallowing in self-pity and browbeating myself with alliteration, or I could get up, get dressed, and go to work. I chose to get up.

The aroma of fresh coffee attracted me like a magnet. I shoved my feet into my sneakers and, without bothering to tie them, shuffled down the back stairs into the kitchen.

Every flat surface was covered with dishes, baskets, and boxes full of food.

“What's happened?” I asked Ethelind.

“The neighbors heard about your accidents. This is the way Lickin Creekers handle disasters, with loads of food.” She poured coffee into a mug and placed it on the table. “Here you go. Like the Brits, I prefer tea, but I know how you like your coffee.”

Without tobacco, I thought, but accepted the offering.

“There's a pretty nice ham from the Hubers, across the lake, and a frozen lasagna from the Younkers. Margaret Umpleby sent a cake. Let's see what else is here. Timmons, pie. Starlipper, spaghetti with beans. Rosenberry, homemade elderberry jam-now, wasn't that nice. It's so hard to make, everything it touches turns slimy. Charlotte Macmillan brought sticky buns on her way to work.” She opened the box from Daywalt's Bakery and put a couple of the buns in the microwave oven. “Nice and fresh-it's today's date on the box. Oretta Clopper, scalloped oysters-I'd better put this in the refrigerator.”

“Here you go,” she said, placing a piping-hot gooey sticky bun in front of me. “Top off your coffee?”

“Yes, please.” It didn't taste as dreadful as I'd expected. “How did all these people know about my accident?”

“Guess they saw it on the evening news last night.”

I groaned. You mean I was on the news?”

Ethelind smiled. “Tori, you were the news. They devoted the whole show, except for sports and weather, of course, to a video of you hanging from that bar.”

I choked as a bit of sticky bun went down the wrong tube. When I recovered, I said, “Video? But there wasn't time for a TV crew to come in.”

“That's the blessing, or maybe the curse, of affordable video recorders. Everybody and his uncle's got one. There must have been three or four there last night, videoing you from different angles.”

“Oh my God!”

“At least the TV station covered your bottom with a fuzzy spot whenever they showed a shot of you from below. So nobody could see your underwear.”

“Oh no!”

“Mayor Somping was interviewed, and he said if Woody wasn't waiting to go to trial, he'd give him a medal or something. He said the judge at Woody's sentencing would probably take it into consideration as evidence of Woody's good character.”

“So he's skipped right over the trial to the sentencing. Sounds as if everybody's mind is made up that Woody's going to be found guilty.”

“He's the perfect person to take the blame,” Ethelind said. “He's not a Lickin Creek native, and he's not associated with the college. And he doesn't have any money to hire a lawyer.”

“Poor guy.” I picked up my sticky bun and nibbled on it, savoring every bite. The thought of my ordeal being broadcast made me want to cry. “It's bad enough to be pushed over a railing,” I said. “But I think it's nearly as bad having pictures of me in that situation broadcast all over the Tri-State area.”

“Did you say you were pushed? Are you sure?” “Of course I'm sure. Somebody hit me so hard in the middle of my back that I lost my balance.” “Were you already leaning over the railing?” I nodded. “I thought I'd heard the girl downstairs call me. I was trying to answer without making a lot of noise and ruining the ghostly atmosphere.

“It could have been an accident. Maybe you just lost your balance, Tori.”

“Sure, Ethelind. Just like the fire the other night was an accident.” Her face hardened, and I realized it would have been better not to have reminded her of the damage done to her front parlor.

“That could have been an accident, too, Tori. You took a sleeping pill. Fell asleep sooner than you expected to. Dropped your cigarette. Happened to me that way a couple of times.”

“Ethelind, I don't smoke. You know that.” “Nonsense, everybody smokes.” She lit a cigarette to emphasize her statement, and I left the kitchen. She might be smoking, but I was the one who was fuming. The very idea-her insinuating I'd imagined myself in danger, that I'd caused my near-death twice in two days by carelessness. By the time I reached my bedroom, self-doubt had set in. Could she be right? Had I imagined the voice? Leaned over too far? Explained my clumsiness by inventing the story about a blow to my back? And the fire-maybe the tea hadn't been drugged. Maybe I just fell asleep. Maybe Ethelind had dropped a smoldering cigarette on the rug earlier, and it had taken all that time to start the fire.

What about being shot at? I asked myself. My inner voice reminded me I hadn't actually been shot, and I had no proof that someone had been aiming at me. Besides, what reason would anyone have for wanting me out of the way?

While I was musing over my situation, I showered and dressed. In slimming black slacks and a red sweater, I stood at the bathroom mirror and jerked a brush through my hair, noting I'd either have to get a haircut soon or let it grow long. Outside, the wind howled, and I knew I'd better throw a jacket on. I grabbed my purse from where it lay on the dresser, and as I walked around the double bed to leave I noticed the blue and white pile of nun's clothing on the floor. I'd take it with me and drop it off at the college. I bent over to pick up the costume, and as I stood, some items dropped to the rug. I gathered them, the key ring and the plastic Baggie full of Wonder Wads I'd found in Mack's desk last night, and put them in my pocket.

At the office, Cassie, as usual, was solicitous. But this time, she seemed to be holding back on her expressions of sympathy. I'd been through a lot lately. Certainly enough to wear anyone's patience thin.