Henry Beaver folded his paper, dropped it beside him, and then crossed his arms over his huge belly. “How do you do yourself,” he replied.

Neil climbed out of the car, too, more cautiously. “Hi, Henry,” he said, with an awkward smile.

Henry Beaver didn’t smile back. “Still chasing ghosts, Neil Fenner?” he asked. “Caught one yet?”

Harry closed the door of the Pinto and walked across to Mr. Beaver’s veranda railing. He leaned his arms on it, and then rested his chin on his arms, and regarded Mr. Beaver very seriously. Mr. Beaver, uncertain and unsettled, glanced at Neil for some kind of explanation. Neil remained expressionless.

“Mr. Beaver,” said Harry benignly, “I flew in from New York City last night because I heard of the trouble that Mr. Fenner had been having here in Bodega.”

Henry Beaver looked him up and down. “You’re not FBI, are you?” he wanted to know.

Harry shook his head. “I’m a special investigator of matters pertaining to specters and apparitions. I’m an occultist, if you know what I mean.”

“Not exactly,” replied Henry Beaver suspiciously. “Is it something to do with eye tests, or what?”

“You’re thinking of an oculist, Mr. Beaver,” said Harry, in a smooth, salesmanlike tone. “But you’re almost right. I investigate strange things that people have seen, and I try to determine the truth of them. You got me?”

“You mean ghosts, things like that?”

“Well, yes, if that’s the way you want to put it.”

Henry Beaver slowly shook his head and picked up his newspaper again. “I’m sorry, mister, but nobody ain’t seen no ghosts around here, except for Neil Fenner there.” He nodded toward Neil with an emotionless face. “The truth is, we don’t believe that kind of garbage around these parts, and that’s the long and short of it.”

Harry wasn’t at all put off. He climbed the veranda steps and sat down on the end of Mr. Beaver’s lawn chair.

“Mr. Beaver,” he said, “I don’t want you to be too hasty. You see, the truth of the matter is that some very reliable apparitions have been appearing to school-age children all over California, particularly in these parts, and my people have been very interested in hearing some firsthand reports.”

“Your people?” asked Henry Beaver. He still looked massively unconvinced.

“The people I work for. The Occultist Investigation League of America.”

Henry Beaver sniffed. “Well, so?”

“Well, it’s possible that your son Andy might have seen something and not told you about it,” said Harry. “He could have easily glimpsed a ghost or some kind of a specter, and not thought to tell you. Maybe he thought you’d laugh at him. Maybe he just forgot to mention it.”

“Andy?” squinted Mr. Beaver. He was rapidly growing confused.