"Turn on the porch light," I said.

"No, we have no idea when," Michael was saying. He reached back inside for the light switch.

I scrambled around to Grandfather's other side and flopped down on my stomach so I could get my head on his level and look at his face.

"She says not to move him," Michael said.

"I'm not," I said. "I want to see if his eyes are open, and if he seems to have hit his head. Tell Debbie Anne you've got to hang up. I want you to call Dad."

"She already did," Michael said. "He's on his way."

Grandfather's eyes were closed. A small trickle of blood ran down the left side of his face. Even though the porch light wasn't that bright, I could see well enough to know it was blood. I brushed a lock of his hair aside and saw a wound on his temple.

"He's bleeding," I said.

"He must have hit his head," Michael said. "Meg can see blood."

"I don't think he hit his head," I said. "I think someone hit him. Angle of the wound," I added, answering Michael's raised eyebrow. "And no, I'm not sure. That's Dad's specialty. I just think it looks suspicious."

Michael nodded and relayed my suspicions to Debbie Anne.

I took Grandfather's hand.

"You're going to be all right," I said, in my calmest voice. "Dad and the ambulance are on their way."

Did he squeeze my hand? Or did I only imagine it?

Michael put his hand on my shoulder.

We stayed like that for what seemed like hours. When the ambulance finally arrived, I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or hurt at how quickly they ordered us aside.

Dad arrived a minute or so after the ambulance. He and the EMTs were grimfaced. They started an IV. Someone mentioned a blow to the head, so apparently I was right. I began to hear words like concussion and subdural hematoma.

"I can keep an eye on things down here," Michael said. "Why don't you stay with the kids. Josh ate about an hour ago, and Jamie should be ready any minute."

I wondered if he was reading my mind. I realized that what I wanted most was to retreat upstairs, pick up one of the boys, and focus on him, blotting out of my mind the picture of Grandfather lying on the front walk.

I spent what was left of the night in the recliner, holding one or another of the twins, waiting for Dad to call and tell us if Grandfather was going to make it.

Chapter 17.

"How is he?" I demanded.

It was shortly after dawn on Sunday morning. I had just deposited the boys in the spare crib we kept in the kitchen and was making some decaf when Dad and the chief strolled in, followed by Michael, who had answered the doorbell.

"He's unconscious," Dad said. "But stable."

"Define stable." I sat down, and Michael took over with the coffee.

"His vital signs are good," Dad said. "In fact, they're excellent for his age. He's only got a mild concussion. I just wish he'd regain consciousness."

Dad slumped into a kitchen chair.

"Don't worry," I said, patting Dad's shoulder. "He's much too hardheaded to be killed that way. I'm sure he'll be fine."

Dad sighed, nodded, and squeezed my hand.

"And while we're waiting for Dr. Blake to regain consciousness," the chief said, "I'd like to interview you and Michael about what happened last night."

"I didn't see much," I said.

"Whatever you can remember."

I nodded. Through the kitchen window, I could see Horace and Sammy searching the yard. Presumably they'd finished with the living room, which would now be coated liberally with at least three different colors of fingerprint powder.

"And Horace isn't going to have much luck with the forensics, is he?" I asked. "How many hundreds of people have been in our living room the last two days, or tromped through our yard last night?"

"Which is why I'm going to be relying a lot more on witness statements," the chief said.

"Subtly hinted," I said. "Let's go find a quiet place so I can give mine. You probably already thought of this, but the guy who was driving the church bus was here till the bitter end, ferrying people to their cars. You might ask him what he saw."

"I didn't know he was doing that," the chief said. "That could be helpful."

I doubted if anything else in my statement was, though. Especially since nothing I had to say helped the chief come up with an idea why the intruder had been on our property, or whether or not he'd been in the house.

"Grandfather might have scared off a prowler and been injured in the process," I said to Michael afterward. "Or maybe he interrupted a burglar in the act and gave chase."

I was sitting at the kitchen table, holding Jamie, and ticking the options off on my fingers, which Jamie found curiously fascinating.

"A burglar who hadn't yet taken any of our stuff," Michael said. He was balancing Josh on one shoulder while fixing some breakfast.

"Or a burglar who didn't think any of our stuff was worth taking and was about to leave in a snit," I suggested. "Or a burglar who did take something that we still haven't noticed yet."

"The house isn't that cluttered," he said.

"Could be someone who had it in for Grandfather and came to harm or even kill him," I suggested.

"Or someone who came to talk to your grandfather and lost his temper during the conversation."

I'd filled the one hand and had to count this last possibility on my other hand. Jamie squealed with delight and tried to grab my finger.

"Jamie votes for that scenario," I said. "And I'd put it high on the probability list myself."

"Though most people don't try to settle their arguments with a blunt instrument," Michael said. He put Josh into the baby carriage and set the little disco ball toy spinning to amuse him.

"Good thing," I said. "Or Grandfather would have already had quite a few concussions in his life."

"He'll be fine." Michael came over and held his hands out for Jamie. "Getting the best possible care with your dad on the case. And it's a good hospital, too."

"And thank goodness the hospital isn't county-owned any longer," I said. "Or they'd be clearing that out tomorrow, too. Not so great for someone in the ICU."

"But they're not, so he can stay put, and you can go down and see him. Talk to him."

He set Jamie in the carriage and began bouncing it vigorously, which had the double effect of making the disco ball spin and soothing the boys.

"Talk to him?" I echoed. "On the theory that even though he's unconscious, he'll hear me and rally from his coma?"

"They've done some studies that show it works," he said. "And even if it doesn't, you'll feel better for trying. You'll go crazy, hanging around here all day."

"I wasn't planning on hanging around here all day," I said. "Assuming you can be persuaded to spend your Sunday bonding with the boys, I was planning to help Ms. Ellie pack up the library."

I didn't add that I was planning to do a little fact-finding while I was in town. The chief would probably call it snooping. But the chief didn't have a grandfather in intensive care and a crooked politician trying to take away his home. I wasn't yet sure who I needed to talk to or what I'd ask them, but I knew for sure the action was in town, not here.

"Or if the library's well taken care of, I'll see where else they need me," I added, so Michael wouldn't worry if he learned I wasn't at the library.

"Good plan," he said. "Pack all you like, then visit your grandfather. And when you get tired of packing, we can trade off and you can watch the boys while I help with the packing."

"If I get tired," I said. "In my book, packing's a lot easier than riding herd on the kids."

"Pack all you like, then," Michael said. "If I get overwhelmed, I'll draft some help. Your mother recruited a whole bunch of your relatives to help with the packing. She asked if we could put up a dozen or so of them here. I'm sure I can guilt-trip a few of them into babysitting in return for their room and board."

"That settles it," I said. "If a horde of Hollingsworths is descending on us, I'm definitely packing all day."

"Can I come?"

Timmy was standing in the doorway, still in pajamas.

"I'm going to do work, you know," I said.

"I know," he said. "I want to help save the library. I don't want that mean mayor to steal all the books."

"How fast can you get dressed?" I asked.

He vanished.

"I like his priorities," Michael said. "By the way, your mother's already here, and full of energy."

"Damn," I said. "I know I sicced her on the idea of sprucing up the yard, but after last night, I really don't think I can focus on it."

"Relax," he said. "She says she's thinking about her landscaping plans, but right now, she's hell-bent on undoing all the damage the animals did."

"Not to mention what Horace has done this morning while furthering the cause of justice."

"Yes," he said. "I think it was the fingerprint powder that drove her over the edge. She's got a couple of your cousins helping her with the heavy lifting."

"Awesome," I said. "Let's just hope her idea of undoing the damage doesn't involve redecorating in Louis Quatorze."

I grabbed a cup of coffee and ambled into the living room.

To my relief, Mother did seem focused on repair. She was minutely examining every inch of our sofa, while the two burly cousins waited nearby with anxious looks on their faces.

"Needs work," she said at last. "But I think it can be saved. "

Apparently they'd been doing this for a while. The cousins immediately interpreted her words as a signal to hoist the sofa and whisk it off to a waiting truck.

As Michael and I first fixed and then ate breakfast, we could hear her imperious voice giving orders, and every time I went through the hall and glanced in, the room looked a little emptier.

She had the cousins roll up the soiled rug and load it on Dad's truck. Several pieces of chewed-on furniture had joined them, no doubt to gladden the heart and pockets of the little old German man who did all her furniture repairs. Now they were taking down all the curtains while Mother prowled about making sure she hadn't missed anything.

I suspected that some of the things she was taking in for cleaning or repair had needed help before the animals and Horace had arrived, but I wasn't about to quibble.

"Looking better," I said.

"Looking a bit bare, you mean," she said. "I might bring one or two things over to fill in until your stuff comes back. But not till I have a cleaning service in to scrub away all that nasty powder. They might not be able to come out till tomorrow."

"We'll be fine," I said. "We practically live in the nursery these days anyway."

"Well, that will have to do for now," she said. "Are you going into town, dear?"

"Yes," I said. "Going to help with the library."

"Can you drop me off at the town hall?" she asked. "The garden club is gathering there."

"The garden club is having a meeting today?"

"This morning we're packing up the county extension agent's office," she said. "And then we're going to rescue plants."

"Rescue what plants?" I asked. "And rescue them from what?"

"Rescue them from falling into the hands of that horrible company when it seizes all our county buildings," she said. "The county buys all the plants and pays the service that comes by to water and feed them. We got the county board to authorize the garden club to care for the plants during the interim. So we're going to make a sweep through all the government buildings to make sure all the potted plants are moved to more suitable quarters."

"That's nice," I said. Unthinkable, of course, that any of our treasured houseplants might fall into the clutches of the evil lender. But then, I felt the same way about the books in the town library. To each his own.

She followed me out to the hall where she donned a lavender hat trimmed with purple flowers and a pair of purple gardening gloves. Trust mother to have just the right outfit for anything, including a plant rescue mission.

Timmy bounded down the stairs dressed in clothes that looked as if they'd escaped my last roundup of dirty laundry. Mother raised an eyebrow, but I could see no reason to make him put on clean clothes when he'd probably be covered with dust after half an hour of packing at the library, so I led the way to the car. My old car-I'd leave the Twinmobile for Michael, in case he wanted to take the boys anywhere. As I pulled out of our driveway in my tiny Toyota-well, tiny compared to the minivan-I felt a brief surge of guilty pleasure at how free and unencumbered I was.

"Can we stop at the ice cream store?" Timmy asked.

"And the card shop," Mother said. "I want to get a card for your grandfather."