“I can’t believe you’re a friend of Dr. Meacham’s and he’s never taken you there,” Jennings added.

“I work a lot,” Lou replied.

“Well, since Terry died, I eat there three or four times a week,” Jennings said, gazing wistfully out the window. “Guess you could blame Millie’s for some of my issues with Dr. Meacham. I never was quite this heavy, but without my Terry around, well, I just lost the will to cook. Plus my friends all eat there, too, so I have their company. I usually order the corn bread chicken pot pie or beef stew, or if I’m in a real adventurous mood, the creamy Cajun chicken pasta.”

Uncertain precisely why, Lou sensed his interest perk. “So, Dr. Meacham knew you ate there and tried to lecture you about making healthier choices?” he asked.

Jennings made a face that suggested Lou had missed her point. “Dr. Meacham and his wife probably ate there almost as much as I did,” she said. “Only it seemed like he was a stickler for the lighter fare, like the glazed chicken breast with brown rice or else something like turkey stew. I checked to see if I could catch him eating the macaroni and four cheeses, or the lobster Newburg. But I really never did.”

“I can’t believe Millie’s is news to me,” Lou said.

“Is that the sort of thing you were looking to know, Dr. Welcome?”

“At this point, anything you can share with me is helpful.”

Chief Stone clearly sensed that Lou’s fishing expedition had gone as far as it could. He hoisted himself off the couch with a grunt, then stretched a stiff leg. “Bobbi, you’ve been incredibly generous with your time,” he said. “I realize this has been a traumatic experience for you. If you do happen to think of anything along the lines of what Dr. Welcome was asking about, you know how to reach me.”

Lou stood as well and handed the woman his business card. “Do you mind if I write my cell phone number down there?” he asked, realizing that the vindictive Filstrup had possibly already had his extension shut off.

“I hope I’ve been of some help, Dr. Welcome,” Jennings said. “If there is some way to explain this unexplainable evil, I’d do anything I could to assist you.”

“You’ve been most gracious, Mrs. Jennings.”

Lou had turned to follow Stone out when his cell phone sounded. The caller ID on the display screen read simply DADDY-O, and the ringtone was the Beatles’ “Hard Day’s Night.” Lou clicked the green Talk button.

“Hey, Pops,” he said. “I’m just leaving a meeting. Can I call you right back?”

“I’m starving,” Dennis said, ignoring Lou’s question. “What are you doing?”

His father had the voice of a four-pack-a-day smoker, despite his never having taken a puff of a cigarette. Dennis Welcome lived in Virginia, about a twenty-minute drive from Kings Ridge, and considered Lou’s home in D.C. close enough to permit drop-of-the-hat meet-ups. And as he was again between jobs, and handled being alone about as well as a lemming, the spirit lately moved him to try at least a couple times each week.