“It’s more than a rumor. There are three lovely little hens and a charmingly arrogant young rooster living temporarily in our barn. Crowing and clucking and making all sorts of wonderful little chicken sounds. They really are amazing to watch.”

Mena cocked her head curiously. “Living temporarily in your barn?”

“They’re waiting down there for their permanent home to be built—out in back of our patio.” She pointed at the area outside the French doors.

“Make sure the coop is secure,” said Patty with worried smile. “Because all sorts of creatures prey on chickens, and the poor things are nearly defenseless.”

Bruce leaned forward in his chair. “You know about the weasel problem?”

“Yes, we know all about that,” said Madeleine quickly, as if to ward off any description of how weasels kill chickens.

He lowered his voice, seemingly for dramatic effect. “Possums are worse.”

Madeleine blinked. “Possums?”

Iona stood up abruptly, excused herself, and headed for the restroom in the hallway.

“Possums,” he repeated ominously. “They look like bumbling little creatures with a tendency to end up as roadkill. But let one into a chicken coop? You’ll see a completely different animal—crazed by the taste of blood.” He looked around the table as if he were telling a horror story to children around a midnight campfire. “That harmless little possum will tear every chicken in that coop to pieces. As though his true purpose in life was to rip every living thing around him to bloody shreds.”

There was a stunned silence, broken finally by Skip. “Of course, possums aren’t the only problem.” This, perhaps due to its timing or tone, provoked bursts of laughter. But Skip went on earnestly. “You have to watch out for coyotes, foxes, hawks, eagles, raccoons. Lots of things out there like to eat chickens.”

“Fortunately, there’s a simple solution to all those problems,” said Bruce with peculiar relish. “A nice twelve-gauge shotgun!”

Apparently sensing that her diversion of the conversation into the world of chickens was a mistake, Mena attempted a U-turn. “I’d like to get back to where we were when Dave walked into the room. I’d love to hear his perspective on crime and punishment in our society today.”

“Me too,” enthused Patty. “I’d especially like to hear what he has to say about evil.”

Gurney swallowed a bite of lasagna and stared at her cherubic face. “Evil?”

“Do you believe there is such a thing?” she asked. “Or is it a fictional concept like witches and dragons?”

He found the question irritating. “I think ‘evil’ can be a useful word.”

“So you do believe in it,” interjected Margo from the other end of the table, sounding like a debater scoring a hostile point.

“I’m aware of a common human experience for which ‘evil’ is a useful word.”

“What experience would that be?”

“Doing what you know in your heart to be wrong.”