We sit at the edge of her rickety living room couch at her suggestion. "The springs sometimes just up and bite your . . . bottom, so be careful." Out of courtesy, she is watching her language.

She sits opposite us on the only chair in the room, a straight-back plain wooden one.

She leans forward. "I gotta admit you got my interest piqued. Ya want something to drink? I got some c.o.kes and beers."

Stanley answers for us. "No, thank you. We don't want to take up too much of your time."

She shrugs. "Been laid off again. Time's a'plenty right now."

"About your brother," Stanley begins. "We don't know whether or not we've come to the right place."

"I'll let you know."

He nods. "Your brother, Johnny, died many years ago. Very young."

"So far yer batting a thousand. The dummy went and left me alone. He was twenty and me nineteen. Never said where he was going, just told me he had to wander. I had no money. No support anywheres. He was all I had for a family." Her eyes tear in memory. "But what does that have to do with you? Don't tell me you're from some bank and you just found a life insurance policy that's been lost for nearly fifty years."

I say gently, "Sorry. No."

Stanley continues. "There is no easy way to say this, so I shall just say it. We come from Fort Lauderdale and we have just suffered through a hurricane. A building fell down and we found a skeleton underneath." He pauses.

She shakes her head. "Now you lost me. What has that to do with me?"

Stanley seems tired, so I speak. "We think it was your brother."

Lucy gets up and slaps her thighs, amused. "Boy, are you in the wrong place. My Johnny is buried right here in the church cemetery, not five blocks away. And believe me, there's no doubt but that is his body in that there casket."

Stanley starts to get up. "Mrs. Sweeney, I'm sorry we bothered you for nothing."

"Wait," I say. "Would you fill me in on what happened to him?"

Stanley has no idea why I'm asking. Frankly, neither do I. I'm going on pure instinct.

"I don't mind," she says. "I haven't thought of the poor lad in years." "I only found out later that he'd taken a job on a freighter that came all the way from Argentina. Guess he wanted to see the world." She takes a photo off a chest of drawers and shows it to us. "That was my brother. Tall, skinny, long drink of water, he was, with big dreams."

Stanley and I exchange glances. We are both remembering that the foreman, Ed, described his worker as "large, even heavy." Definitely the wrong man. Out of politeness, we wait for Lucy to finish her story.

"Anyways," she says, "the kid always had bad luck. He wrote to tell me he was on that ship and I was so excited finally hearing from him. The day his ship pulls into port, not eight blocks away from where we're sitting, I wait and I wait and there's no Johnny. Later on, I find out he fell overboard."

"Somebody see him fall?" I ask out of curiosity.

"No. The shipping company lied to me. They denied he fell from the ship. Insisted they signed him out that last day. But how could I believe a boy raised on the docks would just fall off of one? I knew something was screwy." She hangs her head, sadly. "He washed up on sh.o.r.e a month later."

We sit a few minutes longer, but there's nothing left to say. Lucy shows us to the door. Stanley takes out his wallet and offers her some money for her time, what with her being laid off.

Lucy rears back, insulted. "I don't take charity." With that she slams the door on us.

Stanley and I walk to the nearest cab stand. "Sorry I dragged you along on such a wild-goose chase."

"That's all right. How often do I get to travel to these exotic places?"

"My pleasure." He smiles and follows me across the street. "So what now? Who is the dead man? Will we ever find out?"

31.

Dead End

A s we sit at our usual picnic table late that af s we sit at our usual picnic table late that af ternoon, I report to the girls about the trip to Tampa. Behind them I can see yet another dump truck dragging away one more load of wrecked furniture. After I give them all the details, I say, "I guess he was the wrong Johnny Blake after all."

I pause. My brain is trying to come up with something.

"What?" Evvie asks.

"Something that woman in Tampa said to me that I'm trying to remember." I shrug; nothing's coming to mind. "And yet, the body was washed up a month later. After being in the water so long, how could they have been sure it was Blake? I'm driving myself crazy."

Evvie says, "Unless Morrie's lab can come up with something from the bones, we may never find out who was buried there."

"Speak of the devil," Ida says as she points to Stanley walking toward them with Morrie in tow.

"Look who I found on my doorstep," Stanley says.

"I just dropped by to see how your repairs are going." Morrie gives the girls one of his delightful shy smiles. They eat it up. I can almost read their minds-they've got to find a girl for him.

"Going slow," says Sophie looking at Bella, both thinking of Dora. "Way too slow."

"I do have a report for you. From the forensics lab."

Ida says, "We were just talking about that."

The girls lean closer to Morrie to hear.

"My guys were so intrigued about having such an old skeleton on their table, they got right to work. Unfortunately I don't think it will help us find out who he is, but it tells us who he was not."

Evvie comments, "Sorry to hear that."

Morrie continues. "The bones tell us he was definitely male, approximately five foot seven inches tall. Probably between thirty and thirty-five years old."

"It doesn't match my foreman's description of a large, almost heavyset man." Stanley doesn't hide his disappointment.

"It doesn't match Johnny Blake's height or age, either," I say. So much for my water-logged theory.

Morrie shrugs. "Sorry, they can't get much closer than that."

Stanley says, "Then we have indeed come to a dead end."

Our group is about to disband, when Joe shows up. He doesn't say a word. Evvie hurriedly gets up from the bench. "Gotta go. Need to pick up some groceries for dinner."

She moves quickly away. I look after her, wondering what is happening. Something is new with those two. It's unlike Evvie not to confide in me.

Stanley is about to head back to Phase Six, when Abe walks by carrying a shopping bag. Stanley looks surprised. "I thought you were coming to the family dinner tonight."

Abe smiles. "Would I miss a dinner at your home? Not to worry. I'm bringing along some noshes." Abe indicates Morrie, who is about to get into his car. "Any news on the skeleton?"

Stanley absently bends to pull a weed out of a crack in the driveway. "I think we're never going to know."

Abe tries to comfort his friend. "Maybe it's for the best. You have enough on your mind without this worry. Let the past keep its secrets."

"Gladdy." I hear my name being called and I turn around.

It's Jack, home from his work down at the police station. He waves to his departing son and Morrie waves back.

"Grand Central Station around here." Jack kisses my cheek. Bella and Sophie grin at that, vicariously enjoying our happiness.

I explain. "Pre-dinnertime gathering. Happens every evening around now. Just look up. Lots of noses peering out of windows to see the comings and goings."

"Sounds familiar. Like my Phase Six. Seemed like you were having a party."

"More like a wake." I take his arm and we head for my place.

I see Louise Bannister leaning over the railing of the third-floor walkway, watching us. I keep up a light banter so Jack won't look up.

At the mailboxes next to the elevator, I check my mail. What with leaving so early this morning, I'd forgotten. "Well, well," I say, looking at the familiar white envelope.

Jack looks at the envelope, too. "Not your Grandpa Bandit again?"

I open it up, and there's the green feather. "Guess so." I glance at it and wait as I see Sophie and Ida nearing us, heading for their apartments. When they are close I wave the letter, then read it out loud. " 'h.e.l.lo, ladies. Things are seldom as they seem. Skim milk masquerades as cream. I'm back in business. It's going to be the Lauderdale S and L on Hallandale. Getting old means life is too short for us to save for a rainy day. The good news for me is that their alarm system works only half the time. And don't expect lunch. There's no deli around. Won't tell you the time. Tuesday's the date. Don't want to make it too easy-peasy. Or, then again, maybe I won't show up and this is a wild-goose chase.' "

Ida growls. "This is the last straw. We're gonna get him this time."

No moon shines in Enya's apartment. The curtains are tightly drawn. Blackness everywhere except for the small candle that burns on the table at the opposite wall, above which hang the family pictures. Of all the dead children. The shrine will be lit as long as Enya lives.

In her "bed of nails" Enya flings her tortured body from side to side. Over the decades she has managed to strangle most of her memories out of her conscious mind. If she hadn't, she would never sleep. She would go mad. She has prayed for death many times, but her prayers were not answered. None of her prayers were ever answered.

Now these memories from h.e.l.l seep back into her dreams, forming beads of sweat on her face. She sees rivers of blood. A barking German shepherd, his gums slathered with spittle. A body, like something crucified, plastered across an electric fence, the zigzagging lights patterning a macabre dance as the man dies hideously. The coward. She spits with venom. How dare he take the easy way out, her husband?

More twisting, clutching at her pillow, holding on for dear life. Dear life it is. Here he comes, Oberfuhrer, Oberfuhrer, as she will learn to call him. And fear him with every fiber of her being. It's him! She screams aloud while staring into the deadness of his eyes. as she will learn to call him. And fear him with every fiber of her being. It's him! She screams aloud while staring into the deadness of his eyes.

There is a sharp ringing and a banging noise. She awakens, aware of her body pounding itself against the backboard of her bed, which hits the wall behind her over and over.

Her phone is ringing. It's Evvie. "I just walked by your door and heard some noise. Are you all right?"

I'll never be all right, Enya thinks. She sits up. "I'm sorry. Forgive me if I disturbed you."

"Do you want me to come over and stay with you?"

What for, she thinks, leaning her exhausted head back against the now motionless headboard. Nothing will wash away this sorrow. "No, thank you, dear. Just a bad dream."

"You phone me if you need me. I'll come and sit with you anytime you want. Promise?"

"Yes, I will. Go back to sleep." Sleep easy, you people in this country who take for granted the peaceful lives you lead. You have no idea.

Enya stares at the shrine across the room. The light flickers back at her. No, my precious ones, I will never forget.

Evvie puts down the phone in her kitchen. The call upsets her. Enya sounded so very sad. She takes off her jacket, then heads quietly into the living room, where Joe is asleep on the couch. Evvie walks over to him and looks down, watching him breathe. He seems so helpless lying there. She bends to fix his blanket.Her presence wakes him. "How was the lecture?" he asks sleepily. He squints at the clock on a side table. "It's late."

"We went for coffee after."

Joe looks at her, not knowing what to say or do as she continues to stand there.

"Joe. Comfort me. Please."

He hesitates for a moment, not sure she means it. He sees the tears in her eyes. Then he jumps up and puts his arms around his ex-wife. Together, they head for her bedroom.

Where his kitchen wall backs the kitchen of his neighbor, Abe Waller sits at the small table, vaguely aware of the sounds coming from next door through the walls. He sips his scotch and stares grimly at his bible. Maybe he should move out. This crying of hers is not good. Too many memories, he thinks. I don't need this.

32.

Grandpa Bandit

Strikes Again