I had Parker shuck off his rain gear and once inside gave him an old sweater to pull on. Parker is as skinny as a blue heron and I knew the chill of the evening had to touch him to the bone. I flipped on the heat to drive the damp from the cabin, and then poured us each a liberal glass of Irish whiskey. Parker lifted the glass in salute and took a long, appreciative drink.

“Ahh,” he breathed before taking another sip and then resting the glass on his knee. “Our Celtic brethren across the waters certainly know a thing or two about the art of whiskey making, don’t they?”

“You know the old saying,” I replied as I lowered my glass. “God invented whiskey to prevent the Irish from conquering the world.”

Parker lifted his glass to the light and looked at it with consideration. “Then he is a wise and benevolent deity indeed,” he said reverently, before taking another slow sip.

We sat in silence, each glad to be out of the gloom of the darkened day and snuggly belowdecks, warming our insides with the golden goodness of mellow drink.

Parker sat his empty glass to the side and politely waved me away when I pointed at the bottle and lifted an eyebrow in query.

“No, thanks,” he said. “One is plenty—and on occasion, more than enough—and I forget my reason for coming.”

“You said Miss Cyriah sent you,” I said, a feeling of foreboding tightening my gut.

“Yes,” he replied in an earnest voice. “She says you must move your boat away from here. Take it away someplace where no one will find it. She says, and I quote, ‘The truly mad wear the mask of sanity, and the mad in appearance are but children in his hand.’ ”

I nodded slightly to indicate that I had heard the words. Parker sat quietly and looked courteously to one side, as though to leave me with the privacy of my thoughts. Most people would have immediately asked about the meaning of the message. But Parker, by the casual manner in which he had repeated the warning, seemed no more mystified than as if he had only reported the current weather forecast.

“When did Cyriah give you the message?” I asked.

Parker looked at me again. “This morning, about ten o’clock, but it was around one by the time I finally arrived here. I hope I was not too late.”

I marveled. Cyriah had summoned Parker and sent her message before I had arrived in Panther Creek. I shook my head in amazement and wondered, who was the one she had actually spoken of in her prophecy? And did it have real meaning? Well, that was just something else to ponder. Time alone would tell if her message had genuine significance.

Parker stood. “Well, I think it’s time I was returning.”

“How did you get here, Parker?” I asked.