She decided to wait a while before meeting Tootie for the first time. So Meghan, Erin, and I went to see Erin's new great-grandma a couple days after the craziness in my workroom. Ambrose had already told her the whole story, and I'd called to warn her that we were coming.

When we arrived, Ann gave us a cheerful wave I found encouraging. In her room, the bed was made, and Tootie, dressed in deep-red rayon slacks and matching silk tunic, stood gripping the silver-headed cane.

Erin, sober and polite, explained to Tootie exactly who she was. Her grandmother listened with attentive seriousness, and they agreed to spend some time catching up on family history. Then Erin asked if we could go out into the garden we could see from Tootie's window. The sun shone bright and warm out there, and for a moment I thought of the perfect fall weather on the day of Walter's death.

Tootie agreed and even acquiesced to using a wheelchair. Meghan pushed and I trailed behind, while Erin, loosening up after her initial apprehension about having a new grandmother, walked backwards in front of the chair, chattering away. I could tell that Tootie adored her already.

They were discussing what Erin should call her. In their increasingly lightening tones, it sounded like "Nana Tootie" was the favored candidate.

FORTY-ONE.

THE DOORBELL RANG, AND I got up from where I'd been attempting to write copy for a flyer about Winding Road Bath Products for our upcoming booths. Barr Ambrose stood on the front porch, grinning at me like a fool. And, G.o.d help me, I grinned right back.

I stepped back so he could enter the house. He gave me a quick up and down perusal, no doubt because of the white bodysuit I wore. The sandwich boards depicting the chocolate wafers of an Oreo cookie leaned against the wall, but I wasn't going to put them on until the trick-or-treaters started arriving. It was too hard to sit down in the thing, so for now I was just cream filling.

But he didn't comment, just walked past me and went into the kitchen. Sat at the kitchen table like he belonged there. I found it didn't bother me a bit.

"Coffee?"

"Got any tea?"

"What kind of a cowboy drinks tea?"

"The kind that doesn't like coffee much."

"You know, they might drum you out of the ranks of the roughand-ready club for talk like that."

"Might" He paused, and his expression became serious. "How are you?"

"Not bad. Actually, better than that. Oolong?" He shook his head, pointed at the Earl Grey on the counter.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm so glad that whole mess with Grace and d.i.c.k is over. And knowing how and why Walter died. At least as much as we can know. I mean, I hate that he died by accident, well, sort of by accident, you know what I mean, but just knowing, you know, not having to wonder and worry-it's great. So. I'm doing great"

He laughed.

"What?"

"You sorta bubble."

"Bubble?"

"Barr!" Erin came barreling into the room, gave the startled man a big hug, and bounced into a chair. "Hi! What're you doing here?"

"Well, I-" he began.

But Meghan walked in then, dressed as an umpire. "Hi, Barr. Don't mind us. Erin and I are eating early so we can get going on the trick-or-treating as soon as it's good and dark. Got a lot of houses to hit."

She might be strict about some things, including Erin's consumption of candy, but Meghan loved Halloween. Plus, her response to the resolution of the mystery surrounding Walter's death bordered on giddy. Tonight she was ready to rock and roll on the treat aspect of the evening. I, on the other hand, got to stay home and parcel out goodies for the ghosts and goblins-actually I suspected they would be more along the lines of Harry Potter-who came tramping to our door. I'd planned to pop corn and indulge in Laurie R. King's newest mystery between rings of the doorbell.

Then Barr had called, and I ended up inviting him over. Or he invited himself. Actually, I'm not sure how it happened, but here he was. Ms. King, move over.

I watched Meghan as she heated soup on the stove for her and Erin's early dinner. I'd been worried about her reaction to d.i.c.k's slime-ball behavior. He hadn't stood up against his vile mother when it came to his own daughter, and given that, Meghan was ready to believe the worst about him.

Meghan was kicking around the idea of trying to adjust their custody agreement, even more uneasy than before about his ability to take care of Erin, even for a couple of days at a time. But since asking for her help, d.i.c.k wasn't calling, wasn't making a peep. He hadn't shown up to get Erin last weekend, either. Meghan had heard from a mutual friend that he'd said something about how much Cadyville sucked and how he wanted to move back to California. I think she was hoping he'd do so as soon as he was allowed to leave the state.

As for Erin herself, she seemed to be on an even keel. Somehow the kid was able to accept things, not fight against them, and not expect them to be different. The rest of us, the grownups at least, tended to rail against the inevitable with remarkable regularity. She coasted along in the present like a little Zen monk with a wicked sense of humor. Her dad was a creep? Yeah, well.. .what about it?

Then I remembered her sitting on the sofa, acting like she was reading The Wolves of Willoughby Chase but feeling lower than slug snot because d.i.c.k had brought her home early. Maybe her aplomb wasn't quite so seamless. Maybe Meghan and I should be keeping a close eye on the little one for cracks and broken places.

"So, what's your costume going to be?" Ambrose asked Erin.

Her mouth full of the cheese and crackers her mom had put in front of her, Erin pointed to her chest. She was wearing a knockoff Seattle Mariners jersey with a big 51 on the front.

"You're going as a baseball player?"

She chewed and nodded emphatically, pointing at her chest again.

"You're going as Ichiro."

Her head bobbed in the affirmative.

Ambrose sat back. "Cool"

Erin swallowed. "I'm gonna slick my hair down, and I've got these cool shades just like his. And I've got a bat and a ball and a glove and stuff."

"Sounds like a lot to carry," Ambrose said. "Good thing your mom'll be along."

Meghan grinned. "I may have to charge a percentage for hauling around all that candy."

"Oh right, Mom. Like you won't eat half of it, anyway."

Meghan waggled her eyebrows at her daughter, and they both giggled.

"Do you play baseball?" Ambrose asked.

"No. I suck at sports," Erin said. "But I like to watch."

"Erin," Meghan said.

"Sorry. I'm really bad at sports."

"No, you're not."

"Whatever. I'm gonna go get my stuff and show it to Barr."

"But your soup's ready," Meghan said-to the sound of Erin pounding up the stairs to her room.

Moments later, she came back into the room with a Mariners cap on and lugging a ball, bat, and glove. Meghan set a bowl of soup on the table and pointed at the chair.

"Eat."

Erin wrinkled her nose and set her props in the corner.

I got up and dug salami, olives, and pickled asparagus out of the fridge to round out the snack, and Erin ate her soup while we chatted. When she'd finished, she rinsed her bowl and put it in the dishwasher. Meghan got up, and they both went upstairs.

When they returned, Erin's hair was gooed down to her skull and tucked into the back of her collar. Meghan had drawn thin sideburns and a narrow moustache on her heart-shaped face with eyebrow pencil and smudged a hint of a beard across her chin. Erin put on her shades and struck a pose, then bent to put on her tennis shoes.

"That'd be easier if you could see what you were doing," I said.

She ignored me, squinting, but after a few more moments gave up and removed the sungla.s.ses.

Meghan looked up. "Ready?"

"Uh huh," Erin said, gathering her baseball paraphernalia.

Barr c.o.c.ked his head. "What's on the ball?"

Erin held it up, turning it in order to see better. "Just a bunch of names."

"Let me see," he said.

She brought him the ball. As I leaned closer, he rotated it so we could see all the signatures.

"Where did you get this?" he asked, reverence in his voice.

"Walter gave it to me. He made me promise not to play with it, but since I don't actually like to play baseball, that was okay. And this isn't playing with it, is it?" She seemed worried.

Meghan had been watching Barr's face. "What is it?"

He took a deep breath. "I think it's a 1927 World Series ball. Yankees-see, here's Ruth, and Meusel, and Gehrig. Lazzeri, Huggins, Pennock." He looked up. "If it's real, it's worth at least twenty grand."

Meghan's eyes widened.

"He gave me other ones, too," Erin said. "I just thought they were plain old baseb.a.l.l.s."

Barr stood up. "Where are they?"

Erin leading the way, we all trooped up to her room. She knelt and dug into the junk on the floor of her closet, pulling out four more baseb.a.l.l.s. All had signatures.

Barr identified one as a Yankee World Series ball from 1928, and another from 1932. The other two he wanted to have someone look at. In fact, he said, we should have the b.a.l.l.s appraised by a professional and then put them in a safety deposit box.

Erin agreed, but still wanted to take one trick-or-treating.

Meghan considered her for a long moment. "Okay. But take that one-" she pointed to the one Barr said was worth the least, only five or six thousand dollars-"and only this once. These are going to pay for your college."

Just as Walter had intended. And Grace had probably looked right at them while rifling through Erin's room.

Barr looked appalled as Erin skipped down the stairs with her collector's item. He turned to me. "She's letting her...?"

I took his arm and led him back downstairs. "It'll be fine"

"Be careful," he called out before the front door closed.

In the kitchen, he helped me put away our makeshift dinner. I was starting coffee when the doorbell rang for the first time. I slipped on my sandwich boards and went to hand out miniature Snickers bars to a little dinosaur and a tiny tiger, barely able to walk. I gave one to Mom, too, figuring she could use the energy tonight.

Back in the kitchen, Barr had finished the coffee. I put some of Meghan's peanut b.u.t.ter cookies on a plate.

"Wanna cookie?"

And as Barr Ambrose stood looking me up and down, I realized what I'd said.

He blinked. Slow.

Like a cat about to lick the cream filling out of an Oreo.

Oh.

Oh, my.

I decided right then and there Halloween was my new favorite holiday.

LYE IN WAIT RECIPES.

OATMEAL MILK BATH SALTS.

1 cup powdered goat's milk