"How do you mean, Stella?"

"What happened to—Nobbi."

"But surely… He had a heart attack, Stella."

"No he didn't," Stella said. She felt something come into her, like new blood, or alcohol.

"But he did, Stella. Poor old Nobbi. Just working too hard for a man his age."

"And screwing too hard? There was nothing wrong with him. He was strong."

"Yes, of course, Stella. But—he was overweight. He ate the wrong food. He worked at jobs he should have left to Sandy and the boys. And those cigars."

"He didn't die of a heart attack. Marilyn may think he did. Perhaps you sent him back there in a closed box. But I know—I know where he was going."

"Oh, yes?" said Luke. He waited.

"After Tracy," Stella said.

"Yes?"

"A house," Stella said, "a family. Dangerous people."

Luke looked down.

Stella moved back to the window. The dog had not urinated up against the Daimler, but it had shat on the pavement.

"You see, he told me all about it."

"All what, Stella?"

"The house, the people. Where."

"Where, Stella?"

Stella told him. What Nobbi had told her.

The last time on earth she had heard him speak.

There was quiet, and when Stella looked around, Luke had not produced a gun or a stiletto. He looked merely pensive.

"Mr. Glass," said Luke, "a very perceptive man, said it was likely Nobbi might have told you. You being so close."

Stella gazed at Luke. "I need to know," she said. She thought, He's not human.

"All right, Stella. But sit down. It's bad."

Stella, not because she needed to, but because she needed words, sat.

"You may have heard," Luke said, with an odd casual coolness, "the police were looking for a girl. About seventeen. They nicknamed her The Vixen. She got into people's houses and cut their throats, then burned the place down. A sweetie."

Stella had not heard, or if she had, forgotten, but she nodded, meaning, Go on.

"Well, she's a daughter of the family Nobbi, unluckily, went to visit. Seems she didn't like him. She killed him, Stella."

"This girl—she cut Nobbi's—she cut his throat—"

"A neck wound. Carotid. Death's very quick. Not much you can do, if any of them tried. She's crazy. Long black hair, body like a dream, and mad as they come. And we… can't do a thing, Stella. Not a thing."

"Yes," she said.

"He should have left well alone, Stella. Mr. Glass— we warned Nobbi."

Stella got up, holding the parcel Luke had given her. She walked to the window.

"I'd like you to go now."

"Of course, Stella. Just make the solicitor's, all right?"

"Yes."

He went. She watched. She saw him come out on the grass, huffy at his brush with a moron who had not appreciated his glamour. As he opened the candy Daimler and got in, he trod exactly in the dog shit.