The story mentioned a “local girl” who was helping the police. Although it didn’t come right out and call her a psychic, linking her in the story with a bevy of famous psychics who’d helped the police made it fairly obvious that it was implied. Rose found it hard to read the piece all the way through. It gave her the creeps to be linked with people who sounded so peculiar.

“ ‘Local girl’ could mean anyone,” Dad said. Mom looked at him. “Everyone will know it’s Rose, thanks to Barney.”

“What does she know about it?”

“Silver’s been up here twice,” Mom said, sitting down hard on a kitchen chair. “She can put two and two together to make five. She always does.” “That biddy,” Dad said coldly.

“To be fair, it may not be all Barney,” Mom said. “Rose and Grace did go to the police the first time … any number of people might have started tongues wagging.”

Grace, Rose thought. The killer could be after her, too. Rose longed to talk to her, to warn her, but had to be patient, since Grace would be in school. Rose was still home, on antibiotics, with Mom acting anxious and overprotective, not just because of germs.

“Don’t worry before it’s absolutely necessary,” Dad said, finishing his coffee. “You girls sit tight and take it easy today.” He’d delayed going into work, knowing Mom was upset. You girls. He sounded like Jerram. Or Jerram sounded like him.

The phone rang. It was Muriel, calling to see how Rose was. She hadn’t been to class for a while.

“I’m not going to lose my solo, am I?” she asked.

“Of course not,” Muriel said. “But will you be well enough in time for the recital?”

“I’m fine. Mom’s just worried about me.” “That’s what moms are for.” Muriel chuckled. Rose could talk to Muriel, she understood, she was more in tune with the consciousness of the universe than parents would ever be. “Could I come down?” Rose asked impulsively. “Just to visit?”

A slight hesitation, then, “Of course, come over. Nothing’s going on now, and it’s only Leslie’s baby tap class this afternoon; they’re having a dress rehearsal to see if they can stay upright wearing their Uncle Sam hats. The new ones are heavier than last year’s.”

Mom didn’t want Rose to go at all. Then said maybe, if she drove her down and back.

“Please, Mom, I’ve been cooped up in this house for a week. I need some exercise. And some … normality.”

“We can’t keep Rose a prisoner, even if you think it’s for her own good,” Dad said, putting on his coat. “I could drop her off on my way to the office, but she doesn’t want that.”