She was dressed in a stylish black suit, and her sleek haircut, her makeup, were the image of Corporate Woman. When Joanna asked her to tell her a little bit about herself, she opened her Corporate Woman day planner and pulled out a folded sheet of cream-colored vellum. "I know you have my application," she said, "but I thought a resume might be useful, too." She smiled and handed it to Richard.

"Why did you volunteer for the project?" Joanna asked.

"As you can see on my resume-" Ms. Coffey said and pulled out another folded sheet. She smiled. "I brought an extra one, just in case. In my job, details really matter." She handed the resume to Joanna. "As you can see, under 'Service,' " she pointed out the place, "I do a lot of work with the community. Last year I partic.i.p.ated in a sleep study at University Hospital." She smiled warmly at Richard. "And when Dr. Wright described the project, I thought it sounded interesting."

"Have you ever had a near-death experience?" Joanna asked.

"You mean where I nearly died and then experienced a tunnel and a light? No."

"What about an out-of-body experience?" Joanna asked."Where people imagine they actually leave their bodies?" she said, frowning skeptically. "No."

"Are you familiar with the works of Maurice Mandrake?" Joanna asked, watching her closely, but there wasn't even a flicker of recognition as she shook her sleekly coiffed head.

Richard fidgeted, trying to catch Joanna's eye. He was obviously convinced, and there wasn't anything suspicious in Ms. Coffey's background. "If we asked you to partic.i.p.ate in the project,"

Joanna asked, "when would you be available?"

"Wednesday mornings and Thursday afternoons," Ms. Coffey said, "but Mondays would be the best for me. My psychic powers are strongest on days governed by the moon G.o.ddess. Because of the sympathetic harmonic vibrations."

"We'll let you know," Joanna said. Ms. Coffey gave them each a copy of her business card. "My home and office numbers are there, and my cell phone number. Or you can contact me via e-mail."

"Or via telepathy. My G.o.d!" Richard exploded as soon as the door was safely shut behind her.

"Are they all crazy?"

I hope not, Joanna thought and pulled out Mrs. Troudtheim's file. She made a note to ask her why she'd volunteered to drive all the way from Deer Trail to partic.i.p.ate in a research project and hoped there was a rational answer. Rural Colorado tended to have more than its share of UFO abductees and cattle mutilation conspiracy theorists.

"Oh, but I'm not driving," she told Joanna. "I have to have a whole bunch of dental work done, and you never know about the weather this time of year so I'm staying with my son till it's all done.

But you know how it is, living with your kids. I thought partic.i.p.ating in a study was a way to get out of my daughter-in-law's hair once in a while. And I hate just setting around doing nothing."

Apparently. "Do you mind if I crochet while we talk?" she had asked Joanna at the beginning of the interview and, when Joanna said she didn't, had pulled out yarn and a half-finished orange-and-yellow-green afghan and begun working on it with work-weathered hands.

Joanna asked her about Deer Trail and her life on the ranch. Mrs. Troudtheim's answers were comfortable and matter-of-fact, and when Joanna asked her to describe the ranch, she was impressed with the detailed and vivid picture she gave of the land and cattle. If she partic.i.p.ated in the project, she would be a good observer. Joanna was also impressed with her friendly, comfortable manner and her open face.

"You told Dr. Wright you've never had a near-death experience," Joanna said, consulting her notes, "Have you ever known anyone who had one?"

"No," Mrs. Troudtheim said, looping the yarn around the crochet hook and pulling it through the edge of the afghan, "the day before my aunt died, she said she saw her sister-that was my mother-standing at the foot of the bed, dressed in a long white dress. My mother had been dead for several years, but my aunt said she saw her standing there, plain as day, and that she knew she'd come for her. She died the next day."

"And what did you think of that?" Joanna asked."Oh, I don't know," she said, pulling out a length of yarn thoughtfully. "The doctor had her on pretty heavy medication. And I can't see my mother in a long dress. She hated draggy skirts. People sometimes see what they want to see."

But I'll bet you don't, Joanna thought, and asked her what times she had available.

"She's the most promising subject yet," she told Richard after Mrs. Troudtheim had crammed the afghan back in her tote bag and departed. "She reminds me of my relatives in Kansas, tough and kind and realistic, the type who can survive anything and probably have. I think she'll be perfect for the project. I was especially impressed with her observational skills."

"Except that she's obviously color-blind. Did you see that afghan?" Richard asked, shuddering.

"You obviously have never been to Kansas," Joanna said. "That one wasn't half bad."

"Whatever you say," Richard said.

Joanna grinned. "I say she'll make an excellent subject."

"I'd settle for just a subject."

Me, too, Joanna thought, relieved that she had finally found someone she could okay. She looked at the schedule. Mr. Sage was next, and then Mr. Pearsall, but not until one-thirty. If Mr.

Sage's interview didn't take too long, she should be able to get down to see Mrs. Woollam. There wouldn't be time for a full interview, but she could at least run down and meet her, get her to sign a waiver, and set up an interview for this afternoon. If Mr. Sage wasn't long-winded.

He wasn't. In fact, she had trouble getting anything out of him. Mr. Sage gave brief, bitten-off answers to everything she asked, which worried Joanna a little. She wondered how forthcoming he would be about what he'd seen in the NDE. But he wasn't a psychic, or overly interested in death.

And he had the best answer yet for why he had volunteered for the project: "My wife made me."

"What's your opinion of near-death experiences?" Joanna asked him.

"I don't know," he said. "I never thought much about them." Good, Joanna thought, and asked him about his schedule.

"He was awfully silent," Richard fretted after he'd left.

"He'll be fine. People vary in their descriptive powers." She stood up. "Richard, I'm going to go-" she began, and her pager went off.

She had already gotten in trouble with Vielle today by not answering it-she'd better at least see who it was. She called the operator, who gave her Maisie's number. "She said it's an emergency and you need to call her immediately. I, for one, would appreciate it if you did," the operator said. "She's been calling all morning, pestering me to page you on the intercom."

"Okay," Joanna laughed, and did."You have to come down right now!" an agitated Maisie said. "Ms. Sutterly found out about the crewman on the Hindenburg like you wanted, and you have to come down so I can tell you."

"I can't right now, Maisie," Joanna said. "I have an appointment-"

"But I'm going home, and if you don't come right away it'll be too late! I'll already be gone!"

She sounded genuinely upset. "Okay, I'll be right down," Joanna said. "I can only stay a couple of minutes," she added, though there was no chance she'd get away in time to go see Mrs. Woollam.

She'd have to wait till this afternoon.

"I'm going down to tell Maisie good-bye," she said to Richard. "She's going home."

"What about the interview with Mr. Pearsall?"

"If I'm not back when he gets here, page me," she said, waving her pager at him to show him she had it, and ran down to fifth and over to the walkway, but it was blocked with a sawhorse and more yellow tape.

"They're laying new tile," a lab tech heading the other way said. "Are you trying to get to the west wing? You have to either take the elevator up to seventh or down to the third-floor walkway."

Joanna started back toward the elevators and saw Mr. Mandrake coming toward her. There was nowhere to go, no stairway she could duck into, not even an open door, and, anyway, he had already seen her. "h.e.l.lo, Mr. Mandrake," she said, trying not to look like a cornered rabbit.

"I'm glad I ran in to you," he said. "I've been trying to reach you all morning."

"This isn't a good time," Joanna said, looking pointedly at her watch. "I have an appointment."

"With an NDE patient?" he asked, instantly interested.

"No," Joanna said, grateful that at least he hadn't caught her going in to see Mrs. Woollam. Or Maisie. "A meeting, and I'm late already."

"This will only take a moment," he said, planting himself in front of her. "I have two matters I need to speak with you about. First, Mrs. Davenport informed me you haven't been back to take down the rest of her NDE. She has remembered additional details about the manner of her return.

The Angel of Light-"

"-gave her a telegram telling her she had to return. I know," Joanna said. "She already told me about it."

"No, no, she's remembered a great deal more. The telegram was only the beginning. The Angel told her she was to be a messenger, and as He raised His shining hand..." Mr. Mandrake raised his hand in a sweeping gesture to ill.u.s.trate, "...the mysteries of life and death were revealed to her, and she understood All. She's very anxious to share the knowledge she was given with you."

I'll bet, Joanna thought."When you hear what she has learned, there will be no doubt in your mind that Mrs. Davenport has truly brought back news from the Other Side."

"Mr. Mandrake-"

"The second thing I wanted to talk to you about was, I don't know if you're aware of this, but there is a new researcher here at the hospital whose intent is to undermine the credibility of our near-death research. His name is Dr. Wright. He claims to be able to reproduce the NAE in the laboratory through the administration of drugs. Of course that's impossible. The NAE is a spiritual reality, not a drug hallucination, but people are gullible. They may well believe his claims, particularly when he cloaks them in the trappings of technology and science."

"I have to go," Joanna said and started toward the elevator, but Mr. Mandrake went right along with her.

"I'm very concerned about the effect of this so-called research on our studies. I tried to communicate my concerns to him, but he was extremely unresponsive. He has a partner, or so I understand, although I haven't met him, and I'm hoping he will be more cooperative. That's where you come in."

"Come in?" Joanna said, reaching the elevator. She pushed the b.u.t.ton.

"I haven't been able to discover who this partner is. I want you to find out."

The elevator pinged its arrival. Joanna waited for the door to open. "I already know."

"You do?" he said, clearly surprised. "Who is it? Who's his new partner?"

Joanna stepped in the elevator, pressed the "door-close" b.u.t.ton, and waited till it was already sliding shut. "I am," she said.

She almost wished she could have seen the look on his face before the door closed, but then she wouldn't have gotten away. You had no business doing that, she thought, going up to seventh and across to the west wing. Now he'll never give you any peace. But he and his network of spies would have found out soon anyway, and if she hadn't told him, he would have accused her of intentionally deceiving him. Now, of course, he would accuse her of being gullible. Her, gullible!

She cut through CICU and took the service elevator down to Peds. Maisie was sitting on the side of her bed, dressed in a pink jumper with b.u.t.terfly-shaped pockets. Which she must detest, Joanna thought. "You rang, kiddo?" Joanna said, and then saw Maisie's mother was in the room, busily stuffing Maisie's robe and slippers in a plastic hospital carry bag.

"Dr. Murrow was so happy with her progress on the inderone, he told us she could go home a day earlier," she told Joanna brightly. She opened the closet door and picked up Maisie's Barbie duffel bag.

Joanna glanced at Maisie, but she seemed unconcerned. "Dr. Murrow also said Maisie could start thinking about going back to school," Mrs. Nellis said. She laid the duffel bag on the chair. "I'll give you two a chance to chat. I need to talk to Dr. Murrow about getting Maisie on an experimentalACE-blocker before we leave."

As soon as she went out, Maisie said, "I was afraid I was going to already be gone," and pulled a folded piece of paper out of a patch pocket and handed it to Joanna. Joanna unfolded it. It said, "Joseph Leibrecht. 1968."

Maisie said, "Ms. Sutterly said the guy who wrote the book went to Germany and interviewed this Leibrecht guy when he was writing the book. In 1968. Can you use it? His NDE?"

She couldn't possibly. The Hindenburg had crashed in 1937, over thirty years before. Events remembered from that long ago would inevitably be distorted, details forgotten and added, blanks filled in with confabulations. It was virtually useless, but she hated to disappoint Maisie. "You bet," she started to say, and realized Maisie was waiting, breath held, for her answer, as if it were some sort of test.

"I'm afraid I can't," Joanna said. "NDE interviews need to be done right after the experience, or people forget things."

"Or make up things," Maisie said.

"That's right," Joanna said. "I'm sorry."

"That's okay," Maisie said, not upset at all. In fact, she was grinning.

Joanna grinned back. "So you're going home? Are you happy about that?"

She nodded. "Ms. Sutterly took my books for me," she said, with a significant look at the duffel bag.

"Good. So how's the Lusitania?"

"I'm not interested in it anymore," she said. "It didn't take very long to sink. Have you ever been to a circus?"

She would never get used to Maisie's sudden conversational shifts. "Yes," she said, "when I was a little girl."

"Was it fun? Were there clowns?"

"Yes and yes," Joanna said, thinking, even Mrs. Nellis would approve of this conversation. "I remember one clown who had a red nose and baggy pants, and he pulled a big polka-dot handkerchief out of his pocket to blow his nose with, but it was tied to a big red handkerchief, and that was tied to a blue one and a green one and a yellow one, and he just kept pulling and pulling and pulling handkerchiefs out of his pocket, looking for the end."

"I bet that was funny," Maisie said. "Do you know what a Victory garden is?"

"A Victory garden?" Joanna asked, lost again. "I'm not sure. I know what one kind is. During World War II, people planted gardens to grow food for the army. And the navy," she added, thinkingof Mr. Wojakowski, "to help win the war, and they were called Victory gardens. Is that the kind you mean?"

"I think so," she said. "There was this circus in Hartford, that's in Connecticut, and the tent caught fire and they all burned to death."

I might have known, Joanna thought.

"One hundred and sixty-eight people died," Maisie said. "I'd show you the picture except I don't have my books. I'll bring them next time I come to the hospital."

"How do you know there'll be a next time? Your mother says you're really doing well," Joanna nearly said, and then bit it back. "How did the fire start?" she asked instead.

Maisie shrugged her thin shoulders. "n.o.body knows. It just happened."

It just happened, Joanna thought. A cigarette, a spark, in sawdust or canvas and, just like that, one hundred and sixty-eight people dead. And probably most of them children, Joanna thought, knowing circuses. And Maisie.

"Lots of kids died," Maisie said, as if reading her mind. "Do you think it hurts to die? In a fire, I mean."

"I don't know," Joanna said, well aware of what she was really answering. "Probably only for a little while. Most of them probably died of smoke inhalation. I think the worst part would be the being afraid."

"Me, too," Maisie said. "When I coded, it only hurt for a minute. I wasn't afraid either." She looked at Joanna seriously. "Do you think that's what NDEs are for, to keep you from being afraid?"

"That's what Dr. Wright and I are trying to find out."

"What do you think happens after that, after the NDE?" Joanna had known this was coming, ever since their conversation about Ulla. She glanced at the door, wishing Maisie's mother would magically appear with a wheelchair and happy thoughts.

"I want to know," Maisie said. "The truth."

"The truth is, I don't know," Joanna said. "I think probably nothing. When the heart stops beating, the body quits sending oxygen to the brain, and the brain cells start to die, and when they die, you can't think anymore, and it's like going to sleep or switching a light off."

"Like shutting down C-3PO," Maisie said eagerly.

"Yes, just like that," Joanna said, thinking that if this conversation was upsetting or frightening Maisie she certainly wasn't showing it.