“Their hand-eye coordination is improving,” he told her serenely, “they’re starting to tie me. When they start to beat me, I’ll start them on target shooting. I made five bows that should be cured up and ready about now.”

She straightened abruptly. “So that’s why you wanted me to get you that Nintendo!”

“Is it?” His eyes practically disappeared in a nest of wrinkles as he smiled. “The garden is doing well. The corn will be ready to pick in a day or two.”

She gave up, and collapsed into her chair.

He restarted his game, and only then said casually, “Oh, I almost forgot. Someone from Romulus Insurance called.”

She sat straight up in her chair and stared at him. He continued, as calmly as if he hadn’t “almost forgotten” a potential client—and an important one.

“The man said they want you to investigate some trouble at a construction site. I think he mentioned a mall.”

Make that a real client. And an insurance agency! Insurance agency cases often meant lots of time, and time was money. She launched herself out of the chair and sprinted down the hall to her office.

There was the pad beside the phone, with what was presumably the Romulus phone number noted on it, in Grandfather’s handwriting. And a name, Mark Sleighbow, presumably the man who’d called.

If they found someone else—if I’ve lost this one—

She wasn’t sure what she’d do. Maybe it was time to get a phone service. Grandfather occasionally “forgot”—accidentally on purpose—when he thought that a job “wasn’t right for her.”

I’d prefer to make that determination for myself. Particularly when the mortgage payment is due. And right now, with that background-check job over, she needed another piece of steady work. Anything for an insurance company was bound to be steady.…

She dialed the number quickly, and waited while the phone rang, glancing at the clock on her desk and hoping Mark Sleighbow hadn’t gone home for the day. It wasn’t quite five—where is this area code, anyway? If it was just in this time zone, or even west—

Someone picked up.

“Mr. Sleighbow?” she asked, trying to sound businesslike and brisk. “This is Jennifer Talldeer, returning your call.”

Mooncrow concentrated his outer awareness on the video game—the only one he ever played, something involving small odd-shaped blocks dropping down from the top of the screen—and pondered the many problems his beloved granddaughter was coping with. He watched her constantly, and he was well aware how she must be feeling right now. After all, he had gone through his own version of her particular balancing act.