Bobby pointed with his mug. "And you have to consider this, too—maybe nothing happened. Maybe he was just one of those poor bastards who can't take combat, period. It was battle fatigue in World War Two, shell shock in World War One, and they probably called it something else in the Civil War and something else again in the War of the Roses. Who the hell knows? Guys like Higgins, some can deal, some can't." He rubbed the stubs of the legs sticking out over the edge of his wheelchair. "Some can't," he repeated.

"He's crazy as a bedbug now," Jim said with a sigh. "I guess that's what matters." He looked back at Kate, and didn't know if he was relieved or disappointed to see Dinah untying the dishcloth and using it to flick hairs off Kate's shirt.

Kate was looking at Mutt, who was snoozing in front of the fireplace, her head resting on what looked like the jawbone of an ass, or maybe a woolly mammoth. "She let him scratch her head."

"What? Who?"

"Mutt. She let Higgins scratch her head."

Jim looked at Mutt. "You been stepping out on me, girl?"

Mutt twitched an ear but did not otherwise respond.

"The thing is," Kate said, and then thought better of it. "Never mind."

"Never mind what?"

Kate made a face. "She's good about people, okay? She doesn't like bad guys. And she let this guy scratch her head. It's just—odd, that's all." She looked sorry she'd said anything.

"Who wants dessert?" Dinah said briskly, folding the towel around the shears. "Apple pie, left over from the pot-latch. Great potlatch, by the way, Kate. You done good."

"Yeah!" Bobby said. "That old broad would have had a hell of a good time. The true test of a good wake, if the deceased would have wanted to be there."

Dinah brought out pieces of pie adorned with whipped cream. It wasn't as good as Ruthe's rhubarb, but it wasn't bad.

"Listen, Bobby," Kate said, "did you ever hear anything about Dina Willner being—ouch!" This when Jim kicked her, not gently, in the right shin. She glared. "What?" "Great pie," Jim said, his mouth full. "Isn't it?"

Out on the porch, Jim said to Mutt, "So you let Higgins scratch your head, did you, girl?" He cast a look at Kate. "Considering the way she usually greets me, you must think I'm a prince."

"Why did you stop me from telling them about Dina and John Letourneau?"

"Because we're going to see Letourneau next, and I want to talk to him about it before Bobby broadcasts it on Park Air." He paused. "He wasn't at the potlatch."

"He doesn't go to them, usually. Why do you want to talk to him about it at all? It's ancient history. You said yourself that the marriage certificate was from twenty-five years ago. Jim!" She trailed after him to her snow machine, upon which she had found herself chauffeuring him around that afternoon. Mutt was lucky Kate had hooked up the trailer to bring the potlatch pictures into town. "And what's with this 'we?' "