"Not that I've ever heard. I just assumed it was Alzheimer's, even though she couldn't have been much past forty when I first noticed her roaming the streets."

"She looks about seventy now," Cassie murmured.

"I know, but she's younger. When she was a young woman, she was famous for her needlework. Apparently she still does some in lucid moments, because her son usually sells a few pieces at the church bazaar every year." Abby paused, then added, "I should go call him now. She never seems to wander into traffic or get hurt in any way, but she isn't dressed warmly enough to be out here."

Lucy Shaw was wearing faded jeans neatly rolled up above her ankles and a cotton cardigan over a T-shirt. Untied and ancient Reeboks flapped on her sockless feet. Her mostly gray hair was untidy but not witchy, and she was almost painfully thin.

She turned up the walkway that led to the Sheriff's Department. She had been moving steadily and straight down the street, but now she moved much quicker, bending only once to pick up whatever her mind told her was so important. She held one hand cupped close to her body, as though holding small items, and her other hand curved around it protectively. She stopped near the foot of the steps, straightened, and stared at them with vacant eyes.

Gently Abby said, "Miss Lucy, you shouldn't be out on such a cold day."

Those faded blue eyes sharpened, stared at her for a moment, then shifted to Cassie. "They're all over." Her voice was paper-thin and whispery. "Scattered all over. I have to pick them up."

"Of course you do," Cassie said quietly.

"You understand?"

"Yes. Yes, of course."

"It wasn't my fault. I swear, it wasn't my fault."

"No one blames you," Abby soothed.

"You don't know." The faded eyes returned to Cassie's face. "But you do. You know the truth, don't you? You can see the face he hides from everybody else. His true face."

Cassie and Abby exchanged glances, and then Cassie said, "The face who hides, Miss Lucy? Who are you talking about?"

"Him." She leaned toward them and whispered fearfully, "He's the devil."

"Miss Lucy – " Abby began.

Lucy Shaw reached out suddenly, one hand gripping Cassie's knee with unexpected strength. "Stop him," she hissed. "You have to."

Cassie caught her breath and stared into the old woman's eyes.

Then, as abruptly as it had begun, Lucy Shaw's moment of lucidity was over. Her eyes seemed to film over, and her hand fell away from Cassie. She stepped back, her hands cupped protectively once again near her middle, and said fretfully, "I have to pick them up. All of them. I have to…"

Quick footsteps thudded up the walkway, and a thin man of about forty-five who bore an unmistakable resemblance to Lucy Shaw caught her arm. "Mama. Come along home, Mama."

"I have to pick them up," Lucy told him anxiously.

"Yes. We'll pick them up at home, Mama."

Abby said, "I was about to call you, Russell."

"She didn't mean to bother you." His voice was a bit rough, his tone defensive.

"We know that, Russell, we were just worried about her."

"Thanks," he said, but he was scowling. His eyes shifted away from Cassie and his grip tightened on his mother's arm. "Come along now," he said gently enough.

"They're scattered all over," she murmured sadly.

"Yes, Mama. I know."

The two reached the end of the walkway and turned back the way Lucy had come. When they reached the corner, they turned and vanished.

"Where do they live?" Cassie asked.

"Two streets back from Main. Close enough." Abby looked at Cassie curiously. "You went white when she touched you. Did you – could you see anything?"

Cassie didn't reply for a moment, and when she did her voice was abstracted. "Have you ever tried to see something in the face of a shattered mirror?"

"Is that what a broken mind looks like to you? A shattered mirror?"

"Hers does."

"Did you see anything in it?"

"No, nothing clearly enough to identify. Except – " Cassie looked at Abby, frowning. "Except kittens." "Kittens?" "Yeah. Kittens."

Abby had intended to tell Matt about the phone call she had received, but she was reluctant to hang around the Sheriff's Department, waiting for him. When he still hadn't returned by four o'clock, when the clouds began rolling in and the chill in the air deepened, she decided enough was enough.

"I'll tell him you were here," Cassie said, then eyed her in sudden realization. "Why were you here? I mean, considering how careful you two usually are to avoid attention."

"No reason."

"Uh-huh. What is it, Abby?"

"I got a call. Just some nut breathing heavily into the phone, that's all." And whispering her name. "It was probably just Gary playing games. Look, I don't want to worry Matt. I just wanted to see him."

"I'll tell him about the call," Cassie said. "Abby, this is no time to hold back when something spooky happens. Even if it is just your ex tormenting you, Matt needs to know. In the meantime, you keep Bryce with you."

It was good advice, and Abby took it.

She drove back home, not quite as restless or uneasy as she had been earlier, but not entirely calm either. She wanted to see Matt. And she was reasonably sure she would see him that night; she knew him, and knew he would come as soon as possible after Cassie told him about the call.

Besides which, they hadn't seen each other since those tense few minutes at the mall the previous day, and Matt seldom let two nights pass without them being together.

He would be upset after the day he'd had, and he would be tired. And hungry. Abby raided her freezer for the ingredients for a stew, and within an hour had it bubbling on the stove.

When the phone rang, she didn't hesitate to pick it up.

She never got the chance to say hello.

"You bitch!" Gary snarled. "Did you think I wouldn't find out about him?"

SEVENTEEN

Cassie came downstairs and announced as she entered the living room, "I've made up the bed in that other front bedroom."

Standing by the fireplace, Ben scowled. "You shouldn't have bothered. I told you the sofa in here would be fine."

"If you insist on staying here, that's a perfectly good guest room, and you'll use it. You can't have gotten any rest at all on that sofa last night. It isn't comfortable for sleeping, and it's inches too short for you."

Ben considered telling her that since he had been unable to sleep anyway and had gone to check on her an average of once an hour all night, the comfort of the sofa had not been an issue. But she had been distant and distracted since they returned to her house, and he was wary of saying the wrong thing.

Finally he quietly said, "Thank you."

They had brought Chinese takeout food with them from town when Matt's return to the station around six had allowed Ben to leave, and he still hadn't gotten over the fact that Cassie had not argued when he stated his intention of spending the night.

Cassie had merely nodded acceptance. She even went with him to his apartment, looking around curiously while he repacked his overnight bag.

He had no idea what she'd thought or felt about his place; she had made no comment.

Now, with the remains of their meal cleared away and sleet rattling against the dark windowpanes as a long evening stretched ahead of them, he was as uncertain of her mood as he had been all day. The only thing he was reasonably sure of was that she was far away from him.

She curled up in the armchair she seemed to favor, glanced toward Max lying in his accustomed spot and working on the nightly rawhide bone, and said idly to Ben, "I don't know how you usually spend your Saturday nights, but there are lots of books here, and movies on tape. There's even a stack of jigsaw puzzles in that front closet. All pretty tame, I guess."