“Oh, yes,” the boy said, his smile back in place.

Manfred gave a wave of his hand and turned to leave. As he went through the door, he saw Bobo walking across the street to Fiji’s. “Leaving the store without a master?” he called, thinking with pleasure of how glad Fiji would be to see Bobo.

“I got a sign on the door with my phone number on it,” Bobo said. “I’m going nuts waiting for Lemuel to come back and Teacher to be relieved from convenience store duty. I hope he’s making good money.”

“No one seems to know who actually owns the convenience store. Except Teacher.”

“I never asked,” Bobo said with a shrug.

Manfred sat down at his computer and got back to work. He thought about taking the time to research who owned the store. But he would miss a day of work, going to Bonnet Park on his mission. With a sigh, he returned to solving the problems of people he didn’t know and might never meet. His own concerns would have to wait.

21

When Olivia entered the hotel, all the inhabitants were arguing. She stood back and listened for a while, a little amused and a lot exasperated. One of the “temporary residents” who was doing some contract work for Magic Portal, the computer business located east of Davy and Midnight, had returned to the hotel to find that (apparently) Shorty Horowitz had picked the lock to his room and (this was definite) was asleep on his bed. Shorty Horowitz, a short and round man with more white hair bristling out of his ears and nostrils than on his head, was irate, the temporary resident was even more irate, and Barry Horowitz was trying to calm everyone down, including Lenore Whitefield, who looked completely rattled. Harvey Whitefield was not in evidence.

“My grandfather got confused and thought he was getting into his own room,” Barry was saying. Olivia was the only one who noticed he hadn’t consulted with the old man before he said this.

“And he picks the locks in his own place?” was the first thing that popped out of the other man’s mouth. A young man about Barry’s age, he was wearing a ratty T-shirt and jeans, but he was making some serious money if his accessories were any indication. The wallet in his back pocket was so thick with plastic that (if Olivia had been given to worrying about people) she would have had concerns for his spine. He had a very cool watch on his wrist. The sunglasses propped up on his head were high-end Oakleys.

“Nobody else is gonna do it!” Shorty bleated, and Olivia had to stifle a grin.

“Why don’t you have keycards like everyone else in this century?” Mr. Temporary snarled at Mrs. Whitefield.

Olivia thought it was interesting that the man’s rudeness stiffened Lenore Whitefield’s spine.