“So do you think you can find a baby-sitter for Timmy tonight?” he said.

“Possibly, if I recruit someone from a few counties away, where he’s not already notorious,” I said. “Please don’t tell me you scored tickets for something so hot that I’ll hate Timmy forever if he makes me miss it.”

“Actually, I was trying to arrange a dinner with Dr. Driscoll and his wife. At the Caerphilly Inn. I’m the department rep to one of his committees this year, and I’m supposed to ingratiate myself.”

Granted, the prospect of dinner at the Inn was mouth-watering, but was Michael really expecting me to play charming faculty wife tonight? With Timmy on my hands and Karen’s disappearance on my mind?

“You’ll love the Driscolls,” he said. “He’s an avid bird-watcher—over eight hundred species on his life list. He’ll tell you all about it if you ask. And his wife needlepoints and arranges flowers. They’re elderly, and go to bed early, so I agreed we’d meet them there at five-thirty. That way they can still drive home before dark.”

“You’re telling me this so I won’t mind missing dinner at the Inn to stay home and take care of Timmy. Who is this ghastly Dr. Driscoll, anyway?”

“Head of the financial administration department.”

“Karen’s department? Okay, you’re on. I’m sure somebody around here owes me a favor.”

“Let’s hope it’s a big favor,” he said.

Seventeen

Usually most of my family could be convinced that they owed me multiple favors, but apparently I’d burned through a lot of those in the past couple of days. Dad and Dr. Blake had plans—presumably plans connected with whatever crime against wildlife my grandfather would be exposing in his next documentary. But when I asked what their plans were, they both changed the subject. Rose Noire was driving Mother up to Washington for a flurry of visits to antique stores and fabric stores and at the last minute they’d decided to go up the night before, to get an early start. As they scurried out the door, they assured me that their change of plans had nothing to do with Timmy.

I finally cornered Rob.

“Gee, I’m really sorry,” he said. “But—”

“After all, you should at least try to help out with things if you’re going to be practically living here,” I said.

“I’m not practically living here,” he protested.

“Oh, so I can throw away that pile of stuff in the closet of the bedroom on the third floor?”

It still took me fifteen minutes of my best guilt-inducing persuasion plus the reassurance that I’d probably be home by 9 P.M. if not much earlier, but I broke him down.

By the time I’d gone over the most important sections of Timmy’s instruction manual with Rob and reassured Timmy that even though I was going away for a few hours, Uncle Rob would be happy to play horsiehorsie with him all evening, I barely had enough time to throw on presentable slacks and a nice blouse before taking off for town.