Old Bob shook his head at the phone. "I haven't read the paper yet. I just got back from church myself."
"Yeah, well, that's one good reason for being Catholic. You get church out of the way early and have the rest of the day to yourself. Al and I talked it over once, the advantages of being Catholic over being Protestant…"
"Mel." Old Bob stopped him midsentence. "What about Deny? Are you saying he's planning to kill someone?"
"No, not exactly." Mel Riorden paused. "Hold on a minute, will you? I want to make sure Carol's not back from the store yet." He put down the phone and was gone for a minute before picking it up again. "I don't want her to hear any of this. I don't want anyone to hear."
"You want to meet me someplace private and talk about this?" Old Bob asked him.
"No, I want to get it out of the way right now. Besides, I don't know how much time we've got if we're going to do anything."
"Do anything? What are we going to do, Mel?"
"Bear with me." Mel Riorden cleared his throat. "My sister tells me, when I get her calmed down a bit and off to the side, that someone called her, some friend, and said they'd heard that Deny was out at Scrubby's last night drinking with Junior Elway and talking about some plan to shut down MidCon. The conversation wasn't all that clear, but there was some mention of an accident, maybe someone getting killed."
Old Bob shook his head slowly. "Maybe they heard it wrong."
"Well, with anyone else, you might shrug it off to talk and booze. But Derry's been short–circuited since Vietnam, and he knows a lot about weapons and explosives. My sister begs me to talk to him. I don't want to do that, because I know Deny thinks I'm an old fart, but I tell her I'll give it a try. So when I get home, I give him a call. He's sleeping, and I wake him. He's not pleased. I decide it's best to get right to the point. I tell him about the conversation with my sister and ask him if
there's anything to it. He tells me, hell, yes, there's a lot to it, but it's got nothing to do with me. I tell him he'd better think twice about whatever it is. First off, people already know that if something happens, it's because of him; he made sure of that at the tavern. Second, anything he does outside the union will just get him in trouble with us. He says he doesn't care who knows and that the only way anything will ever get done is outside the union."
"What do you think he's got in mind?" Old Bob pressed.
"I don't know. He wouldn't tell me. But he might tell you. He's still got some respect for you, which is something he doesn't have for me. And I think maybe he's a little afraid of you. Not physically, but… you know, of your reputation. If you were to ask him what he's planning, he might open up." There was a long pause. "Bob, I don't know who else to turn to."
Old Bob nodded, thinking it over. Deny Howe was full of himself and his wild ideas, but he was mostly talk. The danger came from his army training and his inability to adjust to any kind of normal life since his return from Vietnam. Mel was right about that; you couldn't just dismiss his talk out of hand.
"Bob, are you still there?"
"I'm here," he answered. He didn't want any part of this. He wasn't sure at all that Deny Howe thought anything about him one way or the other. He wasn't sure at all that Derry would give him the time of day. Mel had more faith in him than he had in himself. Besides, he had problems of his own that needed his attention, and the biggest was sitting just down the hall in the kitchen. This whole business with Derry sounded like trouble he didn't need. "I don't know, Mel," he said.
"You and Evelyn going to the park today? For a picnic and the dance? Didn't you say you were?"
"We're going."
"Well, Derry will be there, too. He's going to enter the horseshoe tournament with Junior and some others. All I'm asking is that you take five minutes of your time and talk with him. Just ask him what's up, that's all. If he won't tell you, fine. But maybe he will. Maybe, if it's you."
Old Bob shook his head. He didn't want to get involved in this. He closed his eyes and rubbed them with his free hand. "All right, Mel," he said finally. "I'll give it a try."
There was an audible sigh of relief. "Thanks, Bob. I'll see you there. Thanks."
Old Bob placed the receiver gently back on the cradle. After a moment, he stood up and went over to open the door again.
"Nest, I want you to listen to me," Gran said quietly.
They were seated at the kitchen table, facing each other in the hazy sunlight, eyes locked. Gran's hands were shaking, and she put one on top of the other to keep them still. Nest saw disappointment and anger and sadness in her eyes all at the same time, and she was suddenly afraid.
"I won't lie to you," Gran said. "I have tried never to lie to you. There are things I haven't told you. Some you don't need to know. Some I can't tell you. We all have secrets in our lives. We are entitled to that. Not everything about us should be known. I expect you understand that, being who you ar, e. Secrets allow us space in which to grow and change as we must. Secrets give us privacy where privacy is necessary if we are to survive."
She started to reach for her drink and stopped. At her elbow, her cigarette was burned to ash. She glanced at it, then away. She sighed wearily, her eyes flicking back to Nest.
"Was it you, Gran?" Nest asked gently. "In the park, with the feeders?"
Gran nodded. "Yes, Nest, it was." She was silent a moment, a bundle of old sticks inside the housecoat. "I have never told anyone. Not my parents, not your grandfather, not even Caitlin–and God knows, I should at least have told her. But I didn't. I kept that part of my life secret, kept it to myself."
She reached across the table for Nest's hand and took it in her own. Her hands were fragile and warm. "I was young and headstrong and foolish. I was proud. I was different, Nest, and I knew it–different like you are, gifted with use of the magic and able to see the forest creatures. No one else could see what I saw. Not my parents, not my friends, not anyone. It set me apart from everyone, and I liked that. My aunt, Opal Anders, my mother's sister, was the last to have the magic before me, and she had died when I was still quite young. So for a time, there was only me. I lived by the park, and I escaped into it whenever I could. It was my own private world. There was nothing in my other life that was anywhere near as intriguing as what waited for me in the park. I came at night, as you do. I found the feeders waiting for me–curious, responsive, eager. They wanted me there with them, I could tell. They were anxious to see what I would do. So I came whenever I could, mingling with them, trailing after them, always watching, wondering what they were, waiting to see what they would do next. I was never afraid. They never threatened me. There didn't seem to be any reason not to be there."
She shook her head slowly, her lips tightening. "As time passed, I became more comfortable with feeders than with humans. I was as wild as they were; I was as uninhibited. I ran with them because that was what made me feel good. I was serf–indulgent and vain. I think I knew there was danger in what I was doing, but it lacked an identity, and in the absence of knowing there was something bad about what I was doing, I just kept doing it. My parents could not control me. They tried keeping me in my room, tried reasoning with me, tried everything. But the park was mine, and I was not about to give it up."
A car backfired somewhere out on Woodlawn, and Gran stopped talking for a moment, staring out the window, squinting into the hot sun. Nest felt the old woman's hand tighten about her own, and she squeezed back to let Gran know it was all right.