Alison was silent a moment, not sure what to ask next. But Denise continued without prompting.

"When I threw the knife..." she said.

"What?"

"It never clattered."

"What?"

"It landed on something soft."

Thirteen.

"Lunch," said Stacy firmly. Fine. Breakfast seemed an eternity ago. Alison was certain that if it had not been for Stacy's fine touch(she knew Beth slightly and had invited herself in while Alison and Dominique were walking), she would still be back in the little house with the women and the cats, unable to give them any better advice than that they get a lawyer and then go immediately to the police with the evidence. Not, she knew, what they had wanted to hear. They had been hoping she could just say she understood, she knew it couldn't be Dominique and that would be the end of it. She had wished, looking at their drawn, frightened faces, that she could have. Yet what if Dominique's convenient blackout had erased the memory of something even more gruesome than what she had told Alison?

"That was nice of you to help them with the lawyer," said Alison.

"Beth's a real nice woman. Made me coffee and showed me their place. Liz will do a good job with them." Stacy did not look at her as she spoke.

"Did she tell you the whole scoop about Dominique?"

"Yeah, pretty much. G.o.d, I feel sorry for that woman."

"She might be a killer."

Stacy shook her head decidedly. "No, not her. I can't see it in her. She likes a lot of power when she's playing, but she's not a strong woman. Not strong enough to carry out something like that."

"She woke up on the scene of the crime," Alison protested. "She was right there. She touched the weapon. She went back into the bar with blood on her hands and the knees of her pants."

"No, not her," Stacy repeated stubbornly. "Maybe if it was only Tamara. Maybe. I guess she could have freaked out. But not all three. I can't see her planning the other two. She would have broken under it. She's the kind that will get really mad and slap you or throw her drink in your face, but I can't see her sitting down and planning something like that, twice."

Alison did not reply, for truthfully her a.s.sessment of Dominique was much the same. After a moment she asked, "If you were going to cut someone, how would you do it?"

"You mean as part of a scene?"

"Yeah."

"What I've mostly seen used is some kind of razor, although I did see a woman who was working with flints. She'd mounted the heads onto some old wood that was all decorated with feathers and bells and the tail of a weasel her cat had brought her. They were beautiful."

Alison skipped that sideline, tempting as it was. "But mostly razors?"

"Yeah, they're good for that kind of work because they're so little and sharp. You can be delicate with them."

"What kind of razors? Blades from a package for your razor, to shave?"

"Sometimes. But that's not really very convenient for whoever's topping. It's too easy for her to slip and cut her own fingers. Something with a handle would be better. Like a straight razor, or..."

"Or what?"

"One of those little knives that you use for cutting cardboard. An exacto knife."

"Oh." They were at the restaurant now, and neither of them spoke, aside from telling the waitress their orders, until they had downed an entire basket of chips.

"Suppose," said Stacy, as their burritos arrived on hot plates, "that this isn't one killer?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, like you say, if you get right down to the bare facts, Dominique looks like the perfect candidate for the first murder. G.o.d, I feel so sorry for that woman."

"Better feel sorry for Tamara Garrity instead."

"But the fact is that she's dead. It's all over for her now. And Dominique is probably going to have to face an investigation and all kinds of publicity even if she's totally innocent. A h.e.l.l of a time to try and give up the bottle. At any rate, let's say she did it. What if somebody else picked up on that? You know, they had a couple of d.y.k.es that they wanted to get rid of and they decided to do them just the same way, kind of slide them in and hope that n.o.body else was looking."

"Hmm. Who?"

"Well, you're the one with the Crusader theory."

"Yes," Alison agreed slowly, "and Melanie and Carla were involved with the Crusaders. But the question is, would those people go as far as killing?"

"I've been thinking about that ever since Carla talked to me this morning. And at first I thought no. I mean, they're nuts all right, but functioning nuts. I can't see most of them, Malcolm for example, with a knife. If for no other reason than the fact that they would believe they were sending the soul of an unsaved person straight to h.e.l.l. You know, that's the reason they can be so ruthless in their whole program. It's not just that they're grossed out by the idea of two guys sucking each other off. They really believe G.o.d is going to throw queers right in the eternal trash can, and under those circ.u.mstances it seems like any step is valid in order to save them from that, particularly if it's your kid or your wife. To be fair to Malcolm I have to say he really believed what he was doing was right and for my best interests."

"Oh, let's be sure and be fair to Malcolm. Come on, Stacy, Hitler believed that what he was doing was right, too."

"Well, yeah. But to go on about whether I think that the Crusaders could have been involved. No, not as a group project. There are too many of them who are too close to being sane, and they'd blow the whistle for sure. And, on the other end, there are too many of them who are too close to being really wacko, and they'd spill the beans, too. It would be too hard to keep the fact that you were one of G.o.d's chosen avengers to yourself. But maybe..."

"What?"

"...well, maybe if it was only one of them, or at the most two. Did you ever think of that? Carla said that she was afraid of some of those guys, and I knew right away what she meant. They were the ones who could think of themselves as being G.o.d's sword to cut down the wicked."

"More like G.o.d's machine gun."

"Either way. But I had another thought, because I still couldn't reconcile that part about the unsaved souls. Suppose they had given up on Carla and Melanie, decided that they were going right to h.e.l.l in a handcart and that was just the way it was going to be. No hope for them. My suspicion is that they'd just let them stew in their own juice. You know. The mill of G.o.d grinds slow, but it grinds exceedingly fine. We'll see you in h.e.l.l."

"It sounds like you're talking yourself out of this again."

"Except what if the Avenger, he or they, decided that these women were corrupting souls that could be saved?"

"What do you mean?"

"Take Melanie for example. Okay, she refuses to listen to the Word of G.o.d, she's garbage, to h.e.l.l with her. But what if she were also tempting Krista back down the path of the wicked, and Krista confessed that to the group? Wouldn't the Sword of G.o.d be tempted to get Melanie, who's going to h.e.l.l anyway, out of the picture so that Krista could be saved? You can even stretch the point and include the little girl. I'm sure the general feeling was that a child raised by perverts would have a good chance of being one herself. So by getting fid of one woman who is already going to h.e.l.l, he could save two other souls, one of them belonging to an innocent child."

"Wow." Alison sat back in her chair. She felt a little ill. "But what about Carla? Who was she corrupting?"

"Who the h.e.l.l knows? Carla's a hot kid on a roll-she's had a bunch of different lovers, and any one of them could be connected with the Crusaders. h.e.l.l, her roommates could be. We don't even know their names. And it wouldn't have to be a very concrete connection, either. These people are ready to grab at straws."

"Hmm." It was something to think about. "I'm going to go call home and find out about Janka."

Mich.e.l.le answered. She sounded crabby.

"Is Janka okay?"

"Sure, if you call an arm in a cast and a sixty dollar X-ray bill okay. She's not even going to be able to finish warping that special order. Why do you get involved with such flakes?"

"Hi, Alison." Janka took the phone from her. "Don't pay any attention to Mich.e.l.le. She's the Queen of Crabs because she's feeling left out. I'm fine, it was only a fracture and the cast is small. It wasn't your fault."

"Why is Mich.e.l.le feeling left out?"

"Just because I had a good time with Seven Yellow Moons when she thought I should have been moaning and crying. Seven is a weaver, too. She's going to help me finish that big warp. She showed me some beautiful pieces that she did on a backstrap loom. She's really envious of my setup. She can't do anything like it because she lives out of her van. That's part of the reason that they're here."

"To help you? Did they foresee the accident?" She might have to start giving Lydia a little more credit.

"No, to sell their stuff. You remember, at the lesbian artist's market. This Sat.u.r.day? Before the Harvest Ball? Mich.e.l.le and I have a table there, too."

"Oh, yeah." Dimly Alison remembered discussions about table s.p.a.ce and what they were going to wear to the formal. She hadn't paid much attention because she had planned on being out of town at the time. "What does Lydia have to sell, or is she just along for the ride?"

Janka laughed. "You've got to see for yourself. I have to agree with Mich.e.l.le. I don't see how you ever got hooked up with that woman."

"It was on the rebound. It wouldn't have lasted if she hadn't moved in."

"And it never would have ended if she hadn't moved out. We're going to send you to an a.s.sertiveness training seminar for your birthday."

"Never mind. I just wanted to see how you were. Incidentally, how would you feel about doing some more undercover work if we decide it's warranted?"

"Get a chance to play Norma again? I'd love it. I'm sure I can work the arm in. Maybe my sister's lover is violent."

"Well, plan on it and we'll talk later."

"So how is she?" Stacy asked as she and Alison left the restaurant. Alison reported the news about Janka, Seven Yellow Moons, and Lydia. "Did she mention Carla?"

"No. I'm sure she went home to blab everything to her roommates. I'll bet she goes back to work tonight just so she can share with strangers."

"Do you think she should? Don't you think that the killer might still be waiting for her?"

"Surely not. It would be stupid, the way everyone is alerted. The Ruby-fruit will be the most secure place to go now. I'm sure there're going to be extra patrols swinging by all night."

"She was f.u.c.king a cop and it didn't stop him." At that, Alison opened her mouth to protest, though she was not sure exactly what to say, but Stacy did not give her the chance. "Did you like it, baby?" she asked teasingly, pulling Alison close to her, whispering in her ear. "I know she packs a big d.i.l.d.o-did she use it in your c.u.n.t? Would you like me to do that, f.u.c.k you nice and slow?"

For a moment Alison forgot that they were standing on a public sidewalk, so hot was her quick rush of desire. She strained her pelvis up towards Stacy as if the woman was already inside her, thrusting with slow strokes. Daydreaming, she recreated the scene with Carla using new players-herself in the role of the l.u.s.ty top, Stacy in the role of the naive bottom. Her fingers crept up to stroke and then pull Stacy's hair.

"Excuse me. Coming through." A young man with a cartload of laundry jostled past them and Alison was b.u.mped out of her fantasy.

"Not here," she said to Stacy, who had slid her hand around her waist, beneath her T-shirt. "We're right in the middle of town."

"What we're right in the middle of is the gay ghetto. Who's going to care? Look at some of these poor women-watching us is probably the most exciting thing that's happened to them in years. We're saving their s.e.x lives by giving them something to fantasize about while they dry hump."

"No," said Alison firmly, pushing her away.

"You'll be sorry later," Stacy teased. "I'll make you beg."

"You'll do that anyway." For a moment they locked eyes, again oblivious to their surroundings. Slowly, Alison ran the tip of her tongue over her lips.

Stacy looked away first. "Baby, oh, baby," she murmured. "Don't expect me to behave if you're going to keep on being such a hot woman."

"Think of me as Nancy Drew. Clean-cut. You can be my boyish friend George." Happily she tucked her hand through Stacy's arm.

"Thanks, Nancy. Since we're right here, why don't we walk over to Womynbooks? They back-ordered something for me a couple of weeks ago and I want to see if it's come in yet."

While Stacy checked with the staffer Alison wandered to the back of the store and studied the bulletin board. There were handwritten signs from women looking for roommates, kittens, support groups and soccer teams, leaflets advertising concerts, poetry readings and this year's Gay Rodeo. Alison took one that told about the lesbian artists' sale and Harvest Ball. She noticed a stack of the WAV AW fliers next to them.

Stacy joined her. Alison tipped the book in her hands up so that she could read the t.i.tle.

"George, I didn't know you were an aspiring carpenter."

"Ah, Nancy, there are many things about me you have yet to discover." Stacy was in a teasing mood now that they had eaten. "That's part of the fun of a new relationship."

"Oh, are we a relationship now?" The thought rather scared Alison. Much as she liked Stacy, couldn't they just be f.u.c.k buddies for a while?

"Mmm, I guess you're right. Joanne Loulan says that lesbians tend to get married on the first date-"

"Which we haven't even really had," broke in Alison.

"What about the quilt show? What about soccer?"

"They don't count. I mean a real date where you get dressed up and you're really nervous beforehand and you have firm plans...."

"And you can bring each other flowers? Let's do it." Stacy scanned the leaflets. "Look, here's the perfect event. The Lesbian Chorus is sponsoring another Harvest Ball. Did you go last year?"

"No. I was working."

"Oh, it was great. Everybody dressed to the teeth. I'm talking tuxedos and formats and heels, the whole bit. The prom you never got to go to." She made a face. "Or a chance to forget the prom that you did go to."

"Do we have to go butch/femme?" It wasn't the question Alison wanted to ask. What she really wanted to know was what would happen if she appeared in public, in real public, with Stacy. Would she immediately become categorized or even ostracized? She had already tasted it and wasn't sure she could deal with it.

"Yeah, they won't let us in at the door otherwise. You know how strict those chorus women are about role playing. No, of course not. Everybody just wore what they had the most fun with. I had this great purple formal that I ran up, sequins on the top and velvet on the bottom, and evening gloves." She indicated a place on her upper arm, showing how high they had come. "I even got my hair done up in a French twist and glittered."

"I don't know. That might be too much for me." Alison meant that she had nothing that fancy in her wardrobe, but in a way she also meant that she was not at all sure that she was ready for this second coming out.

"Oh, I got a little carried away. There were lots of women there in their regular clothes, or little numbers that they'd picked up at the Salvation Army. I just like to dress up."

"So I've heard," Alison remarked dryly. A little spark, the same heat that had overcome them on the sidewalk pa.s.sed between them, and it seemed to Alison for a moment that they were not really making plans for a public dance, but arrangements that were much, much more intimate.

"So, do you want to go? On a real date?"