A door slammed and Kate looked down the road to see Gull emerge from the harbormaster's office, step to the middle of the road and bend down to pick up something, which resolved itself into the limp body of a squirrel. His laugh carried clearly to where they stood, a hearty, heartless, even triumphant laugh, before Gull tossed the corpse into a nearby Dumpster and went back into his office.

Jim looked back at Kate. "What was all that about?"

Kate sighed. "It's a long story."

"I'm in the mood. Humor me."

Which Kate interpreted as a plea for a little light relief from the grim task so fresh in both their memories. "You know Gull."

"Big Chief Friend of E.T. Who doesn't?"

"The squirrels got into his insulation."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that the diagnosis of record?"

A smile forced its way across Kate's face. "No, real squirrels this time. He said he could hear them, pitter-patting between the roof and the ceiling, night and day. Drove him nuts."

"Why didn't he set a trap?"

"He did. They took the bait and sprung it."

"Poison?"

"Said he couldn't take the chance his namesakes might get into it."

They both looked at the harbormaster's office, the ridgepole lined with seagulls keeping a collective beady eye out for anyone cleaning a fish down on the floats. Every now and then one would nip at another with a sharp yellow beak, and as they watched, a new gull came in for a two-point landing, missed his footing, backwinged, fell off the edge and was ridiculed by a raucous chorus as he came around for a second try. The roof was white with guano. "God forbid," Jim said.

"So," Kate said, "he planted a nut tree."

"A what tree?"

"A nut tree."

Jim digested this in silence for a few moments. "What kind of nut?"

"I have no idea. It's that little scraggly tree to the left of the office."

Jim looked at the little scraggly tree. "Uh-huh. What, he figures to grow nuts to give the squirrels something else to eat besides his insulation?" Kate shook her head. "What, then?"

"The squirrels live over there." She pointed at a stand of alder, birch, diamond willow and spruce trees covering the hill rising up toward town. "They have to cross the road to get to the nut tree. Gull figures with all the traffic, eventually they'll be flattened going to and fro."

"I see." Jim regarded the tree, which seemed to be missing some branches, not to mention some leaves. "Think it'll survive the winter?"

"I have no doubt whatsoever," Kate said. "Gull has invested heavily in fertilizer and tree wrap. The minute the temperature drops below thirty-five, he's out there swaddling up that tree like it's his firstborn child."

"Uh-huh." Jim's eyes wandered down to the empty transient parking slip. "You know, I hear the Cetaceans have developed a mini-force field that acts as a personal shield. They're test-marketing it on Rigel Five. Supposed to adjust its insulating factor to the current conditions. Fits in your pocket, not too expensive."