“Maybe when this situation is over you can pursue a career that helps others, like teaching. You can always write about zombies and monsters in your free time.”

“But my political horror stories do help others,” I said, surprised that he didn’t understand.

He frowned a little. “Yes, of course.”

“I’m so glad you took Lily out last night. It’s a pity she has to spend her vacation stuck here with me.”

“She doesn’t feel that way at all. She loves her profession, and she thinks you’re a very intriguing case.”

“If I’m the most exciting thing on her plate, I find that a little sad. I hope you took her out somewhere nice for dinner.”

He paused and said, “There’s a hillside winery with a tram.”

“Oh, but I would have loved to go on a funicular!” I said. “It’s got ‘fun’ right in the name.”

He got an odd expression and seemed about to say something when the dogs started barking to announce someone arriving. “I’ll see who that is.”

I went outside with him and was thrilled to see that Gabriel had returned. Oswald wanted to talk alone to his cousin, so I ran across the field to Mrs. Grant’s cottage. I knocked on her open door and she said, “Come in.”

She was drinking coffee and relaxing on the sofa with a pile of celebrity magazines. Her legs were curled beneath her and her silver hair was charmingly mussed.

“Are you busy?” I asked as I sat across from her, feeling very sack-of-potatoish by comparison.

She put down a glossy weekly. “Would it matter if I was?”

“No. I was just being polite. Were you ever in the movie biz?”

“On the periphery, Young Lady. I knew people, but my family didn’t approve of being in the limelight.”

“That’s too bad.” I picked up a magazine, opened a dog-eared page, and saw a fashion spread of gorgeous, copper-skinned Thomas Cook in designer clothes. “Mrs. Grant,” I began.

She rolled her eyes. “Lily said I should let you establish our relationships, but would you please stop calling me that? You always call me Edna.”

“Edna,” I said, feeling pleased with myself. “It’s very peaceful here, isn’t it?”

“If you mean boring, say so.”

“Oh, no, far be it from me to find fault with this bucolic wonderland. Your grandson and I are getting along swimmingly. So don’t give up hope that you may yet have the opportunity to buy a grandmother-of-the-groom dress. I’m thinking something in puce.”

“Why puce?”

“It’s a nice purply color, even though puce originally meant flea-colored.”

She ignored my fascinating information.

“Young Lady, do you really want to reconcile with Oswald?”

“It’s not reconciliation if I don’t recall breaking up. How could I do any better than Oswald?”

“It didn’t work out before, Milagro.”