"Oh!'' She squeezed my hand. "No!"

"Yes. And to make matters worse, Miles was possessed by the ghost of the former estate manager, an evil man named Peter."

Anna's eyes grew wider. "Oh, John! Do you think ... I mean, that the man I saw ... could that have been ... ?"

I never thought of that. Why not? Better him than me. I said, "Well, Peter, I understand, was about my age, my build-"

"Oh, my God."

"Maybe I shouldn't go on."

"No. Go on. I have to know."

"All right. Well, from what I've been told, the governess made a startling deduction. She was convinced that the dead estate manager, Peter, and the dead governess, Miss Jessel, were continuing their mortal sexual affair through the possessed bodies of the young sister and brother."

"No!'' She released my hand and made a quick sign of the cross, then fell back in her chair. "In this house? Where? Which room?"

"Well ... the guest room.'' I didn't want a fainter on my hands, so I said, "I think that's enough. And I don't believe any of it-"

"No, John. Tell me the rest. Tell me!"

So, ever the good guest, I continued, "There were some people who thought that the new governess was actually having an affair with the boy, Miles, who was of course only the innocent vehicle for the evil Peter. Others said the governess was also having a lesbian affair with Katie, who of course was Miss Jessel-"

"You mean that the governess was ... and the two children were ... ? Susan's friend, Katie Barrett, and her brother ... and the governess ... ?"

"Who knows?'' Indeed, having read The Turn of the Screw The Turn of the Screw twice, I still couldn't figure out who was doing it with whom. But somewhere in all that constipated Victorian gibberish was a fine sex-horror story. I said to Anna, "I don't know how much, if any, of what I heard is true, but I know that the Barretts left suddenly in 1966 and never returned. The house has not been lived in until''-organ crescendo, please-"until now. But don't tell Susan I told you this, as it still upsets her." twice, I still couldn't figure out who was doing it with whom. But somewhere in all that constipated Victorian gibberish was a fine sex-horror story. I said to Anna, "I don't know how much, if any, of what I heard is true, but I know that the Barretts left suddenly in 1966 and never returned. The house has not been lived in until''-organ crescendo, please-"until now. But don't tell Susan I told you this, as it still upsets her."

She nodded her head as she tried to catch her breath. My, she had actually grown pale. "Yes ... I won't ... John, are they still here?"

"The Barretts?"

"No, the ghosts ghosts."

"Oh ... I don't know.'' I was feeling a wee bit like a bad boy, so I added, "I doubt it. They were only interested in sex."

"My God....'' She made the sign of the cross again and informed me, "We had a priest here to bless the house before we moved in."

"There you go. Nothing to worry about. Can I get you some sherry? Grappa?"

"No. I'm okay.'' She continued to hold on to her cross, blocking my view of Joy Valley.

I glanced at my watch. About twenty minutes had passed since Susan and Frank had taken a walk, and I was beginning to get a little annoyed.

I sat back and crossed my legs. Anna and I exchanged a few words, but the woman was clearly upset about something. Finally, a bit impatient with her silliness, I said sternly, "A Christian does not believe in ghosts."

"How about the Holy Ghost?"

"The Holy Spirit. That's different."

"We used to say the Holy Ghost."

This was a little frustrating. I said, "Well, get the priests back. Let them check it out."

"I will."

Finally, Susan and Frank returned. Susan said to me, "You should see the conservatory. It's bursting with flowers and tropical plants, palms, and ferns. It's gorgeous."

"No zucchini?"

Bellarosa explained, "I got all the vegetables outside now. My gardener grows all the houseplants and stuff in there. He switches everything around. Rotates stuff. You know?"

Susan and Frank sat. It was time for plant chat, and I tuned out. I replayed the balcony scene in my mind, then the library scene. The entire episode was so far removed from my experience, even as an attorney, that it had not fully sunk in yet. But I did have the feeling that Bellarosa and I had made some sort of arrangement.

A large, ornate tall-case clock in the far corner struck the hour, and twelve loud chimes echoed through the ballroom, stopping the conversation. I took the opportunity to say, "I'm afraid we've overstayed our visit.'' This is Wasp talk for "Can we get the hell out of here?"

Bellarosa said, "Nah, if I wanted you to leave, I woulda said so. So what's your rush?"

I informed everyone, "My hemorrhoids are bothering me."

Mrs. Bellarosa, who seemed to have gotten over her ghost jitters, said sympathetically, "Oh, that can drive you nuts. I had that with all my pregnancies."

"So did Susan.'' I stood, avoiding Susan's icy glare.

Everyone else stood, and we followed the Bellarosas out of the ballroom. I did a little soft-shoe routine to try to make Susan smile. She finally cracked a smile, then punched me in the arm.

We crossed the palm court, and I did a bird call, a yellow finch, which I'm good at, and all the caged birds began chirping and squawking.

Bellarosa glanced back at me over his shoulder as he walked. "That's pretty good."

"Thank you.'' I felt another punch in the arm.

We stood at the front door, all ready to do the good-night routine, but Susan said, "I would like to give you both a housewarming gift."

I hoped she had opted for the cake, but no, she said, "I paint Gold Coast houses, and-"

"She gets nine hundred a room,'' I interjected, "but she'll do any room in the house for free."

Susan continued, "I do oil paintings of the ruins. I have photos of this palm court when it was in ruins.'' She explained and ended by saying, "I have the slides, but I need to do some work here for three-dimensional perspective, proportion, and different lighting."

Poor Mrs. Bellarosa seemed confused. "You want to paint it like it was when I first saw it? It was a wreck."

"A ruin,'' Susan corrected. Susan is very professional when she's in her artiste mode.

Frank chimed in. "Sure. I get it. Like those pictures we saw in the museum in Rome, Anna. All these Roman ruins with plants growing out of them, and sheeps and people with mandolins. Sure. You do that?"

"Yes.'' Susan looked at Anna Bellarosa. "It will be beautiful. Really."

Anna Bellarosa looked at her husband. Frank said, "Sounds great. But I got to pay you for it."

"No, it's my gift to you both."

"Okay. Start whenever you want. Door's open to you."

It seemed to me that Frank had some prior knowledge of this, and I would not have put it past Susan to have done an end run around me and Anna Bellarosa. Susan gets what Susan wants.

I moved to the door. "Well, it's been a very enjoyable and interesting evening,'' I said, going into my standard good-bye.

"Yeah,'' Frank agreed.

Susan did her line. "Anna, you must must give me your recipe for cannoli cream." give me your recipe for cannoli cream."

I felt my stomach heave again.

Mrs. Bellarosa replied, "I got no recipe. I just make it."

"How wonderful,'' Susan said, then finished her speaking part. "I don't know when when I've had so much fun. We I've had so much fun. We must must do this again. Come to us next time." do this again. Come to us next time."

Actually, Susan sounded sincere.

Anna smiled. "Okay. How about tomorrow?"

"I'll call you,'' Susan said.

Frank opened the door. "Take it easy going home. Watch out for the fuzz.'' He laughed.

I shook hands with my host and kissed Anna on the cheek. Anna and Susan kissed, then Frank and Susan kissed. Everyone was taken care of, so I turned toward the door, then stopped, took a calling card from my wallet, and left it on a plant table.

Susan and I walked to her car. Susan wanted to drive, and she got behind the wheel. She swung the car around in the forecourt, and we waved to the Bellarosas, who were still at the door. Susan headed down the drive.

We usually don't say much to each other after a social evening, sometimes because we're tired, sometimes because one or the other of us is royally ticked off about something, like flirting, close dancing, sarcastic remarks, and so on and so forth.

As we approached the gates, they swung open, and Anthony stepped out of the gatehouse. He waved as we went by. Susan waved back. She turned right, onto Grace Lane. Finally, she spoke. "I had a nice evening. Did you?"

"Yes."

She looked at me. "Was that a yes?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then you're glad you went?"

"Yes."

She turned into the open gates of Stanhope Hall and stopped the car. Unlike the Bellarosas, we don't have electric gates, so I got out, closed the gates, and locked them. The gatehouse was dark, of course, as the Allards turn in early. It is at this point that I sometimes announce my preference to walk the rest of the way home. This is usually followed by spinning wheels and flying gravel. George sweeps and rakes it out in the morning.

"Are you coming?'' Susan called out from the car. "Or not?"

Nations sometimes go to war. Married couples live in a state of perpetual war, broken occasionally by an armed truce. Don't be cynical, Sutter. Don't be cynical, Sutter. "Coming, dear.'' I got back into the car, and "Coming, dear.'' I got back into the car, and Susan drove slowly up the unlit drive. She said, "You didn't have to leave your calling card."

"Why not?"

"Well ... anyway, what were you and Frank talking about all that time?"

"Murder."

"Anna is rather nice. A bit ... basic, perhaps, but nice."

"Yes."

"Frank can be charming,'' Susan said. "He's not as rough as he looks or talks."

Wanna bet?

"I think Anna liked you, John. She was staring at you most of the evening."

"Really?"

"Do you think she's attractive?"

"She has Rubenesque tits. Why don't you paint her naked, dancing around the palm court?"

"I don't paint naked women.'' She stopped the car in front of our house, we got out, I unlocked the door, and we went inside. We both headed into the kitchen, and I poured club soda for us. Susan asked, "Did you discuss any business?"

"Murder."

"Very funny.'' She asked, "Did you and Anna figure out where you'd seen each other before?"

"Yes. Locust Valley. The pharmacy. Hemorrhoid remedies."

"You're quick, John."

"Thank you."

"Why were you wearing your reading glasses? Quick now."

"So Frank wouldn't hit me."

"Excellent. You're crazy, you know."

"Look who's talking."

Susan finished her club soda and headed for the door. "I'm exhausted. Are you coming up?"

"In a minute."

"Good night.'' She hesitated, then turned to me. "I love you."

"Thank you.'' I sat at the table, watched the bubbles in my club soda, and listened to the regulator clock. "Murder,'' I said to myself. But he didn't commit that that murder. I believed him. He has committed a dozen felonies, probably including murder. But not murder. I believed him. He has committed a dozen felonies, probably including murder. But not that that murder. murder.