Mabel had barely opened her mouth to reply when two more women hurried into the room, and joined the patting.

“I think he’s okay,” said one of the women as Manderley blinked several times.

“Yes, you’re right,” replied another. “Agent Manderley, are you okay?”

Manderley opened his eyes, and nodded dazedly.

Mabel picked up the styrofoam cup which had fallen to the floor. “I’ll just…um…I’ll just throw this away,” she said as she backed out into the hallway.

It was a relief to be out of there. She looked at the half-empty vial before tucking it back under her shirt. “One down,” she said, “one to go.”

“How about your potty?” came a woman’s voice from the waiting area. “Was the men’s potty as, um…sociable, as the women’s potty?”

“Naturally, I loved it,” answered a male voice in reply. “But I must say I slept better in a tree than on that bench.”

“Mom and Dad,” said Mabel quietly, before taking off down the hallway at a sprint. There they were, with the Halfslips and the Peales too. Mabel nearly knocked Mr. Crockett down, then Mrs. Crockett joined the sandwich hug.

“Sure enough, they found my prints,” said Colleen, when Mabel looked around and spotted her. “Turns out I am Colleen Wickers after all!”

“Excuse me, everyone,” interrupted Agent Boots. “While all of you have been released from custody at this time, it is mandatory that no one leave the Logjam area until our department specialists have verified the information which Miss Wickers has supplied. We will notify you at the conclusion of the investigation.” She paused and relaxed a notch. “Oh yes, and do you all need transportation?”

“T’isn’t necessary,” said Norton. “We’ve got a vehicle.”

Mabel looked at Van with a crooked smile, and said, “I’m sure we’ll all be nice and cozy in the back of Arbogast’s van.”

*****

“I’m driving, I’m driving,” insisted Norton, shoving the other Halfslips toward the back. Parker and Porter were too flabbergasted to argue, and climbed in behind Mrs. Halfslip who seemed more ready to accept Norton’s change in demeanor.

The ride felt good. Despite the fact that Noah Peale’s legs stretched diagonally from one end of the van to the other, cramped was a good feeling when it meant being with people they’d spent three agonizing days worrying about.

“I’m ready for a celebratory meal,” volunteered Mrs. Peale.

“And I hope Franz is too,” added Mr. Peale, “because as soon as you folks go home and clean yourselves up, you’re joining us at the biggest table in the restaurant.”

Norton pulled the van up to the curb in front of Mona Lisa’s to let the Peales out.

“I’m getting out here too,” said Mabel hastily. “Van and I need to talk to Patience.”

“We do?” asked Van, as Mabel pulled him out the door.

“Dinner at 7:30?” asked Mr. Peale.

“It’s a deal,” replied Mrs. Crockett. “Mabel, we’ll meet you here.”

After Ramon finished hugging everyone with smothering enthusiasm, he pointed across the street to the library.

“Patience is looking at art books,” he said. “We haven’t had much luck cheering her up.”

“Thanks Ramon,” called Mabel, as she trotted back out the door.

“What exactly are we trying to do?” asked Van, following Mabel across River Street.

“We’re going to help them work things out,” she replied. “Patience and Agent Manderley.”

“And just exactly why do we want to do that?” asked Van dubiously.

“Because,” she said, as they reached the curb in front of Zel’s Lunch Counter, “they…”

She stopped abruptly as the door to Zel’s swung open forcefully in her face.

“Outa the way!” yelled a rough voice as Mabel found herself skidding down the pavement propelled by the burly arms of Reb Campanella.

She looked up in time to see the swaggering form of Mitchell Blunt catch a surprised Van by the shoulders and roughly shove him backward into Hurley Applewood. In the vise-like grip of Applewood, Van had no hope of dodging Blunt’s boot-clad foot which shot out with piston-swiftness and hit him in the groin. Van crumpled to the sidewalk, while raucous laughter clattered in Mabel’s ears.

As Blunt, Applewood, and Campanella hustled away giving each other congratulatory high-fives, Mabel scrambled to her feet.

“Van!” Mabel knelt and touched him on the shoulder. Van gasped for a few more seconds in an effort to regain his breath. For a minute or so more, he lay on the pavement with a stunned expression, before pulling himself, with painful slowness, to a hunched standing position.

“Okay…” he uttered, “I’m…okay.” Then he turned and stared at Mabel, though she had the sense that he was looking through her, not at her, and he said, “I…I gotta go…”

“Where?”

“See Doctor Rotter!” he answered. Van took off at a run. A much faster run than Mabel would have thought possible given the blow he’d just received.

“Van wait,” called Mabel. “Should I get your parents?”

“No!” he yelled without stopping.

Should I go with you, she asked silently. What does he need Dr. Rotter for? Is he hurt worse than I thought?

She caught sight of the glass vial, which had slipped to the outside of her shirt when Reb had thrown her.

“Van will be okay,” Mabel quietly reassured herself, as she walked toward the library next door.

Mabel found Patience sitting forlornly at a table, staring at a print of Vincent Van Gogh’s painting “The Starry Night.”

As Mabel sat down beside her, Patience looked up from the swirls of color and light, and said, “Is he a man or a monster? And how can I love him? For only a monster would threaten my family.”

Mabel nodded, then shook her head, unable to think of a response.

Patience continued. “But something in my heart tells me that there’s still a man beneath the beast. What can I do? Mabel, what would you do?”

Mabel shrugged slightly. “Patience,” she said, “I think you’ve been crying too much. You’re probably dehydrated. I’m going to get you a cup of water.”

Near the ladies room stood a water cooler, with a tubular dispenser of pointy-bottomed paper cups attached to it. The water in the cooler burbled as Mabel filled a cup, pulled the stopper out of the vial with her teeth, and poured in the remainder of the liquid.

“Here,” Mabel said, handing the cup to Patience. “Drink up. You need it.”

Patience smiled gratefully and took a sip. “How piquant,” she said, looking at the water, before continuing to drink.

Mabel looked at the floor and noticed, with sudden dismay, that it would be a rather hard surface to faint on, but Patience merely swayed slightly before regaining her equilibrium.

“I’d…I’d like to go home now,” said Patience, “and ponder. You were right Mabel, I did need water. It has expelled at least a few of the cobwebs from my soul.”

“Everyone’s home, Patience,” Mabel said. “The Peales are out of jail. And the Halfslips, and my parents too!”

Patience grabbed both of Mabel’s hands. “Thank you for being the bearer of good news,” she said.

“You can join us for dinner,” said Mabel, “in ten minutes.”

“Mabel, you’re one of my heroines,” said Patience, “but I feel a need to paint just now.”

*******

Mabel entered Mona Lisa’s dining room to find that several tables had been pushed together to accommodate their larger than usual group. All five Halfslips were at the table, interspersed by Mr. and Mrs. Peale, Colleen, and Mabel’s own parents.

Mabel looked at her father, in a clean denim shirt, chatting and laughing with the others. And her mother, who had obviously put effort into grooming for dinner, and still managed to look slightly disheveled. As happy as she felt to have found the older Crocketts, and as much as she wanted to see them again, her parents, she knew, were right here at this table.

“Van had to go see Doctor Rotter,” said Mabel, taking an empty seat. “I’m not sure about what, but it seemed to be important.”

“A man of science, our boy,” said Mr. Peale.

“Is the baby alright?” asked Mrs. Crockett, turning to Mary Halfslip.

Mrs. Halfslip nodded, with obvious relief that this whole episode had ended. “He’s on an automatic watering device,” she said. “Everything seems to be fine.”

Colleen perused her menu with great relish. “Citrus,” she said. “I want something with citrus. Ivy, what are you going to have?”

“Teriyaki vegetables,” Ivy replied. “And rice pilaf.”

“Sounds yummy,” said Colleen. She sat as if thinking for a few minutes while conversation continued around her. “Ivy and I talked a little about her plant,” Colleen said, turning to Porter and Mary Halfslip. “I understand it’s a vigna?”

“Yes,” said Porter, seeming pleased to discuss the matter, “a vigna carmelata.” He paused and began to butter a roll. “The root system, though,” Porter continued, “belongs to a nepenthes spectabilis. It’s a graft…for sturdiness.”

“You familiar with the spectabilis?” asked Parker. “Dumb question,” he chided himself, “guess there aren’t many plants you don’t know.”

“Yes,” replied Colleen, “I know the spectabilis.” For a few seconds, Colleen sat quietly. Then she said, “Ivy’s going to get sick again.” The statement drew stares from around the table. “Unless…” Colleen continued.

“Unless what?” demanded Porter.

Colleen was quiet for a few seconds more, and a grin slowly crept across her face. She started to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Porter asked again, looking slightly offended.

“Porter,” Colleen said, “your daughter is a carnivore.”

“What?” blurted Porter.

“Porter,” began Mrs. Halfslip slowly, “the nepenthes spectabilis…”

“Is,” Colleen continued, “carnivorous. It’s a meat-trapping, meat-digesting plant.”

“Like a venus flytrap?” asked Mabel.

Colleen nodded.

Porter looked at Parker. “I just didn’t think…it never occurred to me that…”

“Sometimes our roots can surprise us,” said Colleen simply, smiling at Mabel. Mabel grinned, and nodded back.

Ivy, who had been following the conversation with increasing animation, finally said, “Well, I guess that explains my cravings.”

“You’ve been craving meat?” asked Mrs. Halfslip.

Ivy nodded and shrugged.

“Okay,” continued her mother, “as long as it’s you and not me. Do you want to, uh…try something?”

“How about tuna?” asked Ivy.

Mrs. Peale jumped up from the table. “One tuna steak,” she said, “broiled, and served with lemon butter, coming right up.”

Colleen gratefully accepted the offer of a room at the co-op until such time as Peter Crockett could take a helicopter back to the spring to assess the condition of the Shooting Star.

As the Crocketts and the Halfslips prepared to leave the restaurant, Patience entered the gallery. “I’ll walk out with you,” she said, pulling a sweater around her shoulders.

The windows of River Street reflected bronze in the setting sunlight.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” said Patience, as she admired the streetscape. “But I can’t dwell on such things. I’ve come to a crossroad in my life, and I now know which way to turn.”

“Oh?” responded Mabel. “So which way are you going to turn?”

Patience straightened her posture. “I’m going back to Doctor Rotter.”

“To do what?” asked Ivy.

Patience looked fondly toward the house at the end of River Street. “He’s old,” she said. “He’s worked so hard, and he’s all by himself. He needs someone. He needs a helper.”

“Patience,” argued Mabel. “You like art. You said yourself that you’re not any good at science.”

“I can learn,” insisted Patience. “I’m going to see him. Now.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Mabel. “I want to make sure Van’s okay.”

“Don’t stay long,” said Mr. Crockett. “There’s a little thing called school you’re going to have to get back in the habit of doing. Starting tomorrow.”

At the wrought iron gate in front of Dr. Rotter’s, Mabel watched Patience straighten the hat on Marty the vulture, then tighten the ribbon on Igor. How in the world, Mabel wondered, could Patience ever function as a lab assistant?

The front door creaked open. Dr. Rotter stepped out onto the porch and dropped a cigarette butt on the floor, then crushed it with his shoe.

“Came to get Van, didja?” he grunted, as Mabel and Patience approached. “He’s been a great help to me this afternoon, I’ll tell ya what.”

“Dr. Rotter,” began Patience. “I’ve decided to come back. To be your laboratory assistant.”

Dr. Rotter raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“I’ll do so much better now,” Patience continued. “I’m sure I can. You must give me another chance!”

“Sweetheart,” Dr. Rotter said, putting a fatherly hand on her shoulder. “It’s not your thing. You’re an artist. You know it. I know it. Besides,” he continued, leaning against a porch column with a satisfied smile, “I think I’ve got a lab assistant.”

“But Van’s too young,” argued Patience. “He has years of school ahead of him.”

“Who said anything about Van?” replied Dr. Rotter. He opened the screen door and leaned inside. “Hey,” he called, “could you step outside? There’re some ladies here I’d like you to meet.”

A great lumbering thump resounded in the hallway. The screen door flew open with a bang, and out onto the porch lurched Tim Tutter, followed by Van who was making a valiant effort to keep him upright. Mabel tried hard not to laugh with surprise at the sight of him. He was dressed in yellow, flowered hospital scrubs. A freshly repaired scar ran the length of his left cheek, and his hair, formerly a moussed pompadour, looked electrified.

“Oh,” cooed Patience, “isn’t he sweet! How well I remember when my legs felt just like that.”

Tutter grabbed the porch railing for support and looked at Mabel. “Hello, young lady!” he said, extending a hand. Then he looked at Patience. “You know,” he said, “I can’t think of a time when I’ve seen a more artfully arranged pair of X chromosomes. Actually though…there’s not much I can think of.”

Patience, looking a bit perplexed, smiled back.

“Don’t worry Tim,” said Dr. Rotter. “You have years to create memories.”

“If you particularly stunning people will excuse me,” said Tutter, “I’m right in the middle of the logarithm section of a little worksheet Ern gave me.” He lowered his voice secretively. “I think it’s supposed to be some kind of test, but I’ll tell you what…it’s more fun than checkers. I think I’m acing it.” He chuckled and gave a quick thumbs up, then staggered back into the house.

“Ern?” said Mabel.

Dr. Rotter smiled and shrugged. “You know guys?” he said. “I think this one’s gonna take.”

“Well,” agreed Mabel, “he seems to be into the math stuff.”

“He’s a natural,” said Van.

“Okay, so how’d you do it?” asked Mabel. “Not fry his left brain, I mean.”

“It was Van’s idea,” said Dr. Rotter. “He barged in here this afternoon hollering about trying a new neuronal pool site. Sounded nuts at first, but he was right. Turns out that the high concentration of excitable nerve tissue in the lower abdomen makes it an ideal location to plug in the probes, without jolting the brain so directly.”

Mabel stared at Van.

“It worked,” he said simply.

Patience embraced Dr. Rotter and kissed him on the cheek. He reddened slightly but looked very pleased.
“I’m more happy for you than I can say,” she said. “This is a wonderful turn of events, but I feel left in a bit of a quandary.”

“Patience,” said Mabel, “I didn’t think this lab assistant thing was right for you anyway. Maybe you can teach art.”

“Well,” mused Patience, with a sad smile, “I suppose at every crossroad there are several directions in which one might turn. Perhaps I should go home and talk to the other teachers. Maybe they’ll have some advice.”

“Yeah,” said Van, “it’s late. Let’s go.”

Very little daylight remained, and the lights of River Street were in fierce competition with the stars overhead, as Dr. Rotter walked Mabel, Van, and Patience to the gate.

Suddenly, the traffic circle was flooded in the glare of headlights, and a black car halted abruptly in front of Dr. Rotter’s house. Mabel looked at Patience whose face, in the lamplight, instantly drained of color. “It’s…it’s…Reynolds,” she stammered.

“Manderley?” said Mabel.

Reynolds Manderley stepped out of the car. His hair was combed, and the beard stubble gone. He seemed very much like the confident Manderley Mabel had first met in Bumper’s Stuff Shop. But there was a determination in his expression that Mabel could not read. Wordlessly, Manderley reached inside his jacket and removed the slim, black wallet which Mabel recognized from the Halfslips’ parking lot. He opened it and briefly flashed his badge.

“What?” said Van in annoyance. “Are we under arrest again?”

Still without a word, Reynolds closed the wallet, reached back like a major-league pitcher and hurled it, badge and all, forcefully in the direction of the river. Mabel, Van, Patience, and Dr. Rotter stood in stunned silence as the black wallet arched over the treetops in the moonlight then landed with a splash, followed by a slurping flush, as the Willibunk swallowed it whole.

“They fired you?” asked Mabel tentatively.

“I quit.” replied Manderley.

With a scream of delight, Patience flung herself into Manderley’s waiting arms.

“Oh, man,” muttered Van, looking away. “Now they’re going to kiss all night.”

“So how ‘bout the rest of us go home?” said Mabel. She waved goodbye to Dr. Rotter, and gave Van a quick tug in the direction of the co-op.

“I knew they’d work things out,” said Mabel, smiling at Van. He merely grunted in reply.

*******

It was pre-dawn, a chilly Monday morning. Mabel typed the last few lines of her Logjam history essay and hit PRINT.

“No,” stated the computer, “I’m sorry. No printing until you’ve run a spell-check.”

“Okay Clemmy,” said Mabel, “run a spell-check.”

Clemmy began to hum a bit more insistently, and seconds later came to a halt. “Stumpworth,” said the computer. “I do believe you forgot to hit the spacebar. Wouldn’t that be stump and worth? And, in my opinion, a stump can’t be worth much.”

“Clemmy,” said Mabel patiently. “Stumpworth is a name. He used to be the foreman at the Logjam Mill in 1915. When Colleen was leading protests.”

“Well,” said Clemmy a few hums later, “everything else seems to be correct. And the title of this piece would be?”

“Colleen Wickers–Advocate for the Willibunk.”

Clemmy’s hard drive light strobed off and on. “Don’t you find that just a bit cumbersome?” he said.

“It stays,” said Mabel, “until you can think of something better.”

“Fine then,” responded the computer. “It’s an interesting slice of history. I’ll send it to the printer at once.”

The printer began to buzz and whirr as its paper feed came to life. “Speaking of history,” said Clemmy, “you might be interested to know I have some bits of binary code which originally appeared in the Elliot 803 model, built in 1962.”

“You’ve told me,” said Mabel. “Very impressive. Can you get my email for me now?”

Clemmy’s hard drive hummed a bit more, and a bing-bong signaled the downloaded email. “Let’s see now,” began Clemmy, “Are you interested in accepting credit cards at your business?”

“I don’t have a business,” replied Mabel.

“Trash, then?”

“Trash.”

Clemmy whirred a bit more. “Do you wish to subscribe to Surfman’s All Rad Online Newsletter?”

“Trash,” said Mabel.

“One more,” said Clemmy, “from haycraft at cochiti dot net.”

“That’s from Margie!” said Mabel. “I want that one.”

A page of text opened on the computer’s monitor.

Dear Mabel, I was thrilled to learn that
Colleen Wickers, one of my personal heroes,
is not only alive and well, but that you found
her! A million thanks for sending me a copy
of volume 2 of her Compendium–It has come in
handy several times already! Do you think Colleen
might be interested in leading an instructional
seminar here at Cochiti Spring? We’d
happily offer her, as well as you and your parents–
all of them–free room and board! My note
must be brief. I’m scheduled to do a presentation
for Professor Lampkin and some of his colleagues.
Write soon. Margie.

* * * * * * *

Mabel looked out the window of the shiny red helicopter, at the Willibunk forest below. Though few leaves had fallen, the treetops were thick in fiery hues of yellow, orange and red.

“I think Colleen is happy to be back at the spring with Jonah and Laura,” said Mabel.

“She’s lived there for eighty-five years now,” responded Mr. Crockett. “It would be hard, I guess, to feel completely at home anywhere else.”

“They’re great though,” said Mrs. Crockett. “Jonah and Laura, I mean. I was a little worried about how I might feel.”

“What do you mean?” asked Mabel.

“I thought I might be a little jealous, or something, that you’re so much more like them than you are like us,” answered Mrs. Crockett.

“Me too,” agreed Mr. Crockett, “but I wasn’t. Now I just feel lucky…that Norton picked your mom and me.”

“Yeah,” said Mabel, “I’m lucky too. So, what’s going to happen with the Shooting Star?”

Mr. Crockett’s face looked slightly pained. “It’s going to take me a while to rebuild that tail,” he said, “not to mention the landing gear. Guess we’ll be going back when I get the parts together.”

“And when will that be?” asked Mabel.

“‘Round about Christmas?” answered Mr. Crockett.

Mabel sat up excitedly. “We’re going to spend Christmas at the spring?”

“Cool,” said Mrs. Crockett nodding. “I like that idea.”

Under the descending helicopter, russett-hued leaves, caught in the current of the spinning blades, danced in a frenzied whirlpool. The leaves dispersed to reveal the Willibunk, breaking free of the thick forest to run the length of East Logjam. There was the flat roof of the Eurus Press building, and across the street a flatbed truck dumping a load of lumber behind the Fairweathers’ house. Down Rocky Creek Road rattled a green van with a freshly repaired windshield, and a newly lettered side reading, “Mona Lisa’s Delivers!”

As the helicopter set down in the airfield Mabel felt, with utmost certainty, that Logjam was in for a stretch of very fine weather.

THE END

“I told you, honey, I’m not magic,” replied Colleen. “He’s good and drowned.”

“Oh, no, no, no…” moaned the helicopter pilot, pacing rapidly back and forth while tugging at his bushy hair. “This is NOT good. This was a very important person…a very important charter…this will not be good for the company…I might even…lose my job!”

“Well,” said Norton, “we’ll all vouch for you, explain how it wasn’t your fault.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” whined the pilot. “You just don’t take a client off to…drown!”

“Whatever we do,” said Jonah, “it’s going to have to be done in the morning. It’s getting too dark to see a darn thing.”

The mood was sober as Colleen escorted the men to her cabin before joining Mabel, Ivy, Laura, and Miss Penny in the Crocketts’ cabin. Sparkle and Sig scurried in too, at Mabel’s feet.

“Okay,” said Laura, as Colleen grabbed a broom to sweep the last of the water out the door, “Let’s hope we can find some dry bedding in here somewhere!” She rummaged through a wooden trunk, and began to toss out an assortment of blankets and quilts, all knit or woven from the same flaxen material of which their clothes were made. Mabel caught a few quilts on the fly and passed them to Miss Penny and Ivy. The next she held onto. Despite some damp edges, it was soft and warm, and she gratefully made herself a nest of bedding on the floor alongside the others.

“Good nest,” said Sparkle placing Sig next to Mabel’s bent knees, then settling down herself. “Nicely patted out.”

“Nicely patted out,” said Sig. Mabel looked at him in surprise, then scratched his little ears. Sparkle proudly gave him a robust licking.

Laura patted the mattress on her bed which responded with a squishing sound. “Guess we’ll be joining you on the floor tonight,” she said. “There’ll be some bedclothes to dry out tomorrow.”

Morning sunlight, seeping through the cottage windows with irresistible warmth, drew Mabel out of her fluffy bed on the floor.

Ivy was sitting in the corner of the room rolling a walnut for Sig, who awkwardly pounced after it while trying not to fall on his face. “They’re cooking out there,” said Ivy. “And it smells pretty good.”

Mabel stepped onto the porch to find Jonah and Norton sitting on the steps with steaming ceramic coffee cups.

“I hope your daddy won’t be too put out with me,” said Norton, “but we aren’t going to make it back to Logjam in the Star.”

“You’ve checked it?” asked Mabel.

“Yep,” nodded Norton. “I guess he’s going to have to come out here himself and do some fixin’.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Halfslip,” said Mabel. “I don’t think anyone besides you could have even landed that thing.”

“Besides,” added Jonah, “that’ll give me a chance to meet the folks who raised my little girl.”

“Do you mind?” asked Mabel.

“Mind what?”

“That someone else raised me?”

Jonah looked at Mabel with paternal pride. “I’m eternally grateful to them,” he said.

Laura walked up the steps and handed Mabel and Ivy cups of hot chocolate.

“Thanks,” said Ivy. “Where do you keep the cow?”

“No cow,” replied Laura, laughing. “Beans. It’s soymilk.”

Mabel felt a sudden urge to grab Laura and hold on. “You’ll come back to Logjam with us, won’t you?” she asked hopefully.

Laura hugged Mabel as warmly as she could without causing a hot chocolate spill. “You know Jonah and I can’t leave,” she said. “He can’t be away from the spring for that long.”

“Anyway,” added Jonah. “We’re not the ones you need. That would be her.” He pointed to Colleen who was hanging clothes out to dry on a lengthy line.

“Colleen’s coming?” said Ivy brightly.

“We need her,” said Norton. “This whole mess has to do with those DIS yahoos misidentifying a plant that Colleen’s been an expert on since she wrote her doctoral dissertation in 1912. If she can’t straighten them out, then nobody can. Thing is, nobody knows she’s still around. Fortunately,” he continued, “Mr. Cupsy has agreed to fly us home in his whirlybird.”

Mabel looked at the helicopter and shuddered. “What about…” she began.

“Don’t worry honey,” Laura said reassuringly, “we put him in a bag.”

“Why can’t we just bury him here?” asked Ivy.

“It wouldn’t be right,” said Norton. “There’s got to be next of kin somewhere, and the police will want to know what happened.”

“That’s what worries me,” said Jonah. “An investigation could bring more people like Tutter out here. It will not be a good thing.”

“Maybe…they won’t have to come,” said Mabel. She looked toward the other cottage from which Van had just emerged carrying hot chocolate. Mr. Cupsy, the bushy-haired helicopter pilot was sitting on the steps, nervously downing coffee. Mabel headed toward them. “Mr. Cupsy,” she said, “can we make a call from your helicopter?”

“Well, there’s a radio,” he replied. “Might still work.”

“We need to use it,” Mabel said grabbing Van and pulling him along with her.

*****

The pancakes were deliciously nutty and oaty, and Mabel enjoyed them immensely. Ivy seemed so grateful to have an appetite for something other than her green drink, that she ate more than Van. Even Miss Penny was eating like a soldier, when a leaf floated gently down and landed on her pancake stack.

“Phooey,” she said. “Can’t argue with these trees, but I’ll be glad to get back to my own yard.”

Colleen gazed appraisingly at Ivy. “You look so much better,” she said.

“I feel better too,” replied Ivy. “I just hope it won’t happen to me again.”

“No,” said Colleen, “let’s hope not.”

Jonah and Laura Crockett hugged everyone, including Mr. Cupsy, as each person climbed into the red helicopter. Mabel felt a new and unfamiliar pain as she hugged them goodbye. Her mind was equally occupied by thoughts of her parents in Logjam. She hoped desperately that, with Colleen’s help, they, along with the Peales and the Halfslips, would be released.

Mr. Cupsy set the blades in motion, and soon the copter ascended straight into the air. Mabel found it a far stranger sensation than she’d ever experienced in the airplane.

“It’s too weird, isn’t it?” said Van, slumping into his seat.

“What?” asked Mabel.

“Tutter,” he replied. “In the baggage compartment.”

“Van,” Mabel replied, “don’t even talk about it.”

Mabel looked down. The day was clear and the view of the Willibunk Forest stunning. Whereas yesterday the leaves had merely a dusting of red and gold, today they were blushing brightly. She found her appreciation of the forest’s vastness was far greater now that she no longer felt the burden of having to navigate.

“Where are we going exactly?” asked Mr. Cupsy from the cockpit.

“It’s an airfield, in East Logjam,” replied Norton. “You’ll see it from the air.”

The trip was slower and decidedly calmer than Norton’s flying circus piloting style, and Mabel was feeling guardedly optimistic as the helicopter descended into the field, which was empty except for Verdon Arbogast’s duct-taped van. It was strange to see the Shooting Star missing from its usual place, but Mabel was quickly distracted by a black panel truck, careering recklessly across the field from the direction of Rocky Creek Road.

“It’s from the coroner’s office,” said Mabel hastily, as the black truck screeched to a halt and the helicopter landed.

“How did they know…” Norton began, with a suspicious edge to his voice.

“We called,” said Van. “From the helicopter. Before we left. Didn’t want him to get…you know…stinky.”

Mr. Cupsy shrugged and climbed out to open the baggage compartment. A hooded figure emerged from the black vehicle, and the two of them hauled the awkward bag from the copter’s hold, to the back of the truck. Quickly, the hooded person slammed the back hatch shut, stumbled back into the driver’s seat, and roared off.

“Okay,” said Norton, as if that settled that. “Mr. Cupsy, would you like to drive to the police station with us? They might want your side of the story.”

Mr. Cupsy waved his hands. “Thanks, but no thanks,” he protested. “I’ve had enough for two days. They’ll know where to reach me if they need me.”

Mabel, Van and Ivy bounded out of the helicopter followed, with slightly less speed, by Norton, Colleen, and Miss Penny.

“Guess we’ll be borrowing Verdon’s car,” said Norton. “I have a feeling that woman’s going to keep a pretty tight grip on him for a while.”

“I’m not goin’ either, no sir,” said Miss Penny. She glared at a mapleseed whirlybird spinning to the ground in front of her face. “I’m going home. Hate to think how many of these things must’ve landed in my yard since yesterday.”

“Me too,” said Sparkle. She scooped up Sig and trotted toward the botanical center.

“Pop pop,” said Ivy, giving Norton a gentle tug. “Let’s go. We need to get them out of jail.”

Verdon Arbogast’s van was hardly a luxury vehicle. Norton and Colleen occupied the only two seats, in the front, while Mabel, Van and Ivy were bumped and jostled in the completely empty rear.

“I th-th-think were g-g-going over the b-b-bridge,” said Mabel, as they rattled over a bumpy stretch of road.

A few minutes later, a rapid right turn threw them into the wall.

“This would be near the Middle School,” said Ivy. “We’re almost to the police station.”

Her hunch was confirmed as the van clanked to a halt in a parking lot at precinct headquarters.

Norton threw open the van’s back doors. “Let’s go,” he said.

A scrawny woman with eggplant-colored hair stared blankly from behind a reception desk as Norton, Colleen, and the children entered the station.

“I’m Norton Halfslip,” said Norton to the woman. “I understand my family, as well as the parents of these children are being held here. We’d like to speak to whoever’s in charge of the investigation.”

“That would be Reynolds Manderley,” offered Mabel a bit disdainfully.

“Agent Manderley is on administrative leave,” said the receptionist.

“He’s off the case?” asked Van. “Why?”

The receptionist merely stared in response, then said, “I’ll page Agent Boots for you.”

“Children!” barked a scarily familiar voice from across the room. Stomping toward them in noisy high heeled shoes, and freshly applied makeup was an irate Mrs. Pilderjack. She spun on her heels and waved an accusing finger at Norton. “I’ll have you know sir, that temporary custody of this child has been granted to ME, in the best interest of her welfare!”

“You don’t say,” said Norton.

“And you children!” she continued, turning to Mabel and Van. Mrs. Pilderjack took on a sudden air of great worry, and clasped her hands to her chest. “Children, children, why did you frighten me so?”

Van looked at Mabel, who shrugged. “We were in a walking mood?” he suggested.

“Thank you Mrs. Pilderjack,” broke in a no-nonsense voice. “I’ll take it from here.” Agent Boots surveyed the group through her cat-eye glasses. “I understand someone here needs to see me,” she stated.

“I do,” said Colleen.

Mabel looked at Colleen and smiled gratefully. Just the sound of Colleen’s voice, calming and authoritative at once, lent some sanity to the occasion.

Agent Boots looked at Colleen and nodded slowly, as if she found her slightly peculiar. “Shall we, uh, sit down then,” she suggested, pointing to a table in a spare conference room.

Everyone entered. The children stood together and allowed Colleen and Norton to take the two chairs opposite Agent Boots, who sat down purposefully, and loudly smacked several folders onto the table in front of her.

“If I understand correctly,” began Colleen, setting a satchel down at the foot of her chair, “the parents of these children are in police custody on suspicion of importing, growing and selling an illegal botanical.”

“Quite right,” stated Boots matter-of-factly. “And a dangerous drug it is, too. Banned on four continents. Makes people behave in highly unpredictable ways.”

Colleen slipped a notepad and pencil out of her satchel. “And the scientific name of this plant is?”

Boots looked around nervously. “Alright,” she said. “I don’t believe it would jeopardize the investigation for you to know. Its amazonias pernishionus.”

“Do you happen to have a sample I might look at?” asked Colleen.

“Well,” replied Boots. “We’ve actually compiled quite a few exhibits, plus several live plants from the greenhouse.” She opened a folder. “I have a small cutting right here.” From the folder she removed a sealed plastic envelope in which was a pressed leaf cluster. Several spinach-green leaves, resembling long, narrow arrowheads branched off from a central stalk.

“May I?” asked Colleen. She picked up the bag and held it up to the buzzing fluorescent lights over the table. “Yes,” she said simply. “That’s what I thought.”

“What?” said Boots.

“Let me show you something,” said Colleen. She bent down to her satchel and removed a second item. It was a book. An old, heavy book, bound in green, with gold print embossed on the cover.

“A Compendium of Healing Plants, Volume II,” read Van.

“Volume II?” said Mabel suddenly. “You have Volume II? Margie Haycraft wants a copy of that. Where did you get that?”

“Mabel,” said Colleen with a smile. “I wrote it.”

“Oh,” said Mabel, “you did, didn’t you?”

“Let me see that,” said Boots. “I’ve heard of it. Wait a minute, let me get Agent Bufo, he’s the botany man on the team.” Boots pushed a button on an intercom box. Moments later, the bald DIS agent scuttled into the room.

“Bufo,” said Boots. “Maybe you should sit in.”

“Wow,” said Bufo, fingering the lettering on the green volume. “Volume II of the Compendium. These are really hard to come by. I’ve never actually seen one before. Where’d you get it?”

“I wrote it,” said Colleen.

“Right,” scoffed Bufo. “Colleen Wickers wrote it. In 1913. She’s been dead for longer than this thing’s been out of print.”

“I’m Colleen Wickers,” stated Colleen simply.

Bufo let out a loud snort, but then squinted and stared at Colleen. “She’s dead,” he repeated.

“No she’s not,” said Norton, with a grin, “she’s sitting right here.”

“And you’ll find,” said Colleen calmly, “if you turn to page 117…” She waited until Bufo did so. “You’ll find that there are some subtle, but critical differences between amazonias pernishionus, and amazonias sagittatum, which is the name I gave in my book for the plant these people are presently calling amazonias claracrockett.”

“Like what?” asked Bufo.

Colleen looked at him questioningly. “You’re the botany man on the team, you say? Look at the inner edge of the leaf, please. You’ll notice tiny striations on the pernishionus which do not occur on the sagittatum. This information is also right there on page 117. But the differences are more than cosmetic.”

Bufo and Boots stared at Colleen expectantly.

She continued. “The hallucinogenic properties of the pernishionus are completely absent in the sagittatum. Apart from the one chemical, they’re almost genetically identical, but the sagittatum is completely safe.”

“Who conducted these studies?” demanded Boots importantly.

“I did,” said Colleen. “For my doctoral dissertation. In 1912.”

“So,” said Norton, leaning into the table. “Why don’t you just let all the nice folks out of the clink, and we’ll get out of your hair?”

Boots stiffened. “We cannot release suspects, on their own recognizance or otherwise, without verification of these matters
from an expert witness.”

“I’m an expert witness,” stated Colleen.

“Colleen Wickers would be an expert witness,” protested Bufo, “no-one would argue with that…but she’s DEAD!”

“I’m not dead,” said Colleen. “I’m sure my identity can be verified.”

“How?” demanded Boots.

Colleen smiled. “I was involved in a good many demonstrations in my youth, as these children have read. Naturally, we occasionally clashed with the authorities.”

“And?” said Bufo.

“I’ve been arrested,” said Colleen. “Two or three times. I’m certain my fingerprints are somewhere in this county’s police archives.”

Boots turned to Bufo. “Get on it,” she said. “In the meantime, the rest of you can sit in the waiting area.”

Bufo nodded briskly and hurried out of the room. Boots collected her files and followed him.

“Excuse me,” said Mabel, “where is the bathroom?”

Agent Boots pointed a finger toward a hallway as she took off in the opposite direction.

“Okay, I’ll meet you guys back here in a few minutes,” said Mabel trotting toward the ladies room at the end of a lengthy corridor.

The bathroom was clean and efficient, and did the job, but something about its tiled sterility made her miss the rustic woods settlement she had just left. She gave her hands a few shakes under an electric hand dryer and started back toward the waiting area.

Small offices branched off of the hallway down which Mabel walked, many full of secretaries tapping at computers, or uniformed officers in animated phone conversations. On the left was a lounge, occupied by a large, unkempt man with his head in his hands. Mabel’s feet stopped in place. It was Manderley. As disheveled as he looked, she still knew it was Reynolds Manderley.

Driven by a mixture of annoyance and curiosity, Mabel entered the lounge. Manderley looked up. His appearance was almost frightening. His eyes were red and dark-circled. His hair was completely uncombed, and two days of razor-stubble shaded his chin and cheeks.

For a moment Mabel just stared at him, then she managed a small, “hi.” He nodded back, with a weak smile.

“So, what’s administrative leave, anyway?” asked Mabel.

“It means I screwed up,” he replied hoarsely. “It means I did something wrong. It means I’m in trouble.”

“Are they going to fire you?”

Manderley laughed dryly. “I don’t know. They might.”

“What did you do that was so bad?” Mabel asked, although she was pretty sure she already knew.

Manderley began reciting, as if from a list. “Failure to detain witnesses,” he said, pointing at Mabel. “Allowing unauthorized use of a department vehicle. Allowing unauthorized use of department communications equipment. And…” he continued, straightening up slightly, “failure to report on these events in a timely manner.”

“Oh,” replied Mabel. “What happened to your hand?”

Manderley looked at his left palm, which was wrapped in gauze. “I’m not sure,” he replied. “I was in the greenhouse…feeling really…frustrated, and I shook a tree.”

“You shook a tree?” repeated Mabel.

“Yeah. Some kind of goofy tree with gourds growing all over it…and something screamed…then it bit me.”

“Okay,” said Mabel, trying not to laugh. “So, why did you do that stuff? Why didn’t you come after us, since you knew you were doing your job wrong?”

Manderley raised his hands as if ready to explain, then slumped again into a despairing posture and began to shake. It took Mabel a few seconds to realize that he was crying, and she stood stock-still for a moment, not knowing what to do. Part of her wanted to sneak quietly out of the room, but she found herself saying, “Is there some way I can help you?”

Manderley looked up, and his eyes were desperate. “Talk to her. Talk to her for me. I’m afraid…she’ll never want to see me again…tell her I love her, but…”

“Why did you arrest the Peales if you love Patience?” asked Mabel.

Manderley laughed a mirthless laugh. “I always wanted to be a cop,” he said. “That’s all. Law enforcement has been my life. I’ve never had regrets, no reservations…but then, she…happened to me. I’ve never felt anything like it before.” Manderley looked at Mabel, his expression utterly tormented. “The law is everything to me,” he said in an agonized voice, “but…Patience…”

At the utterance of her name, Manderley again slumped into a posture of such despair, that Mabel found herself, to her surprise, feeling terribly sorry for him. She put a hand to her chest, and felt something. A vial. Margie’s vial. But, Mabel asked herself in protest, what about Paulo? He’s okay, was the answer she herself supplied. He and Mrs. Remini like to fight. It’s their sport. Use the vial.

“Agent Manderley,” asked Mabel, “can I fix you a cup of tea?”

Manderley nodded dispiritedly.

A coffee cart stood against the wall, complete with styrofoam cups and hot beverage percolators. Mabel put a teabag in a cup, and added hot water. “Cream or sugar?” she asked. Manderley shook his head. Carefully, with her back to Manderley, Mabel removed the stopper from the glass vial, and poured half the liquid into the cup of tea, then stirred with a plastic straw. Then she walked to Manderley and handed him the cup.

He gave her another weak, but grateful smile and took a sip. Then he sighed, and downed the remainder in three gulps. He sat up, gave Mabel a questioning look, and promptly rolled out of his chair and passed out on the floor.

“That thing better not mess with my corn,” muttered Jonah.

“WHAT?” asked Laura, trying to hear him above the din of the chopping blades.

“IT’S BLOWING THE CORN,” Jonah began, as the copter’s blades slowed and became quieter. “It was blowing the corn around.”

“Big day for visitors,” said Colleen, squinting at the red helicopter. “Whoever it is must’ve seen your plane.”

Mabel looked at the bushy black hair and sunglasses of the pilot. She did not recognize him. Then the side door of the craft opened and a small set of steps flipped outward.

“After YOU, my GOOD Madam,” said an all too familiar voice. But first, a tiny, wrinkled little woman stuck out a cane and hopped down the steps. Sparkle’s tail began to whap the floor enthusiastically.

“Miss Penny?” said Mabel. “You followed us?”

“HE says I oughta,” replied Miss Penny, pointing a bony finger behind her, as Tim Tutter stepped out, gingerly patting his hair back into place.

“YES, young lady, I DID,” agreed Tutter. “Miss Penny, that flyover should have given you a FEEL for the SCALE and ENORMITY of this VAST wasteland you inherited. Maybe this CLOSE-UP look will enable you to SHARE my point of view, that it COULD be put to much BETTER use.”

“Miss Penny,” asked Van, “you own the forest?”

“Oh yeah,” said Miss Penny gazing about critically, “my old grandaddy, he left me all kinds of acreage.”

“That is so,” added Tutter. “In fact, MY research has pointed to your own MISS PENNY as the sole heir to the Logjam Millworks LEGACY. Which, as you can SEE, my good Miss Penny,” continued Tutter, taking a swipe at a pear tree with his polished alligator loafer, “amounts to LITTLE more than MILES and MILES of USELESS TREES…YOWCH!” Tutter bellowed as three pears pelted him on the head. He took a step backward, tripping over a protruding root, and landed squarely on his bottom.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Laura, helping Tutter to his feet, “it’s just that we generally treat the trees a bit more respectfully.”

“WHO CARES?” sputtered Tutter, “They’re just trees!” He hastily composed himself, and patted his hair back into place as best he could. “IMAGINE,” said Tutter, making panoramic sweeps with his arms, “ACRE upon GROOMED ACRE of FUN and ENTERTAINMENT for people of ALL ages to escape to! CAN’T you PICTURE it?”

“Are you talking about that Billy Bee idea?” asked Mabel incredulously. “You want to turn the Willibunk Forest into some kind of bee-themed amusement park?”

“BILLY BEE,” said Tutter rapturously. “I know children like YOU, all over the WORLD will come to QUIVER with EXCITEMENT at the thought of meeting BILLY BEE in PERSON, right here in TUTTERLAND!”

Van rolled his eyes. Ivy made a cuckoo gesture. Tutter didn’t seem to notice.

“Miss Penny,” said Mabel, “you wouldn’t sell the land to him, would you?”

Miss Penny was hobbling about picking up fallen leaves and stuffing them into her sweater pocket. Finally she threw her hands into the air. “All these darn leaves! Whoever thought I’d want all these darn leaves anyway,” she said with mild disgust.

“Then you’re WITH ME!” said Tutter excitedly. “We can chop them down, level this whole place…well, except for a few…people like a few trees. PICTURE this IF you WILL…over there…Tutter’s TIME WARP…over there something scary, like…TUTTER’S TERROR TOWN…and, for the little one’s…TUTTER’S TUMBLING TOT TRAIL!”

Miss Penny turned her sweater pockets inside out and shook vigorously, scattering leaves everywhere. “Well…” she said, watching them fly with a defeated fondness, “guess they gotta fall somewhere…and better here than in my yard.”

“Miss Penny,” said Tutter, chuckling awkwardly, “I don’t believe I quite heard you correctly…you ARE with me, AREN’T you?”

Miss Penny looked squarely at Tutter. “I ain’t sellin’,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” said Tutter, as if he hadn’t quite heard, “what was that?”

“She ain’t sellin’!” said Mabel, Van and Ivy in unison.

Tutter huffed, then he harumphed. His face took on an injured expression, and he slunk to the end of the porch and sat down. The helicopter pilot, who had exited the cockpit, approached Tutter and gestured at his watch. Tutter shook his head. “Let’s give her a while to get good and sick of these precious TREES,” he said sarcastically. “Maybe she’ll start to see reason.”

“Reason, humph…” muttered Miss Penny. “He may have looks, but he’s got no brains if he thinks he can reason with an old lady. Hey! Who IS that awful man?” she added in exclamation.

Mabel looked quickly toward the orchard. “It’s Arbogast,” she said. “I guess he is okay.”

Arbogast, looking even more scratched and dented from his trek through the woods than from the crash landing, staggered into the clearing.

“No, not him,” insisted Miss Penny, “that other, awful looking man. Hey! Mister! Where’s yer’ friend?”

“Friends, madam,” replied Arbogast, “are a bother I generally prefer to do without.”

Jonah, gazing intently at Arbogast, pushed as much white hair as he could out of his eyes. “Verdon?” he asked tentatively. “Is that you Verdon?”

Arbogast returned the gaze. His face registered first confusion, then surprise, and finally, it seemed to Mabel, annoyance.

“You’re old,” said Arbogast. It was a statement tinged with disappointment.

“Yes,” replied Jonah. “And you’re not.”

“Oh, you have no idea, Jonah,” said Arbogast, drawing nearer to the group, while examining the old faces. “But tell me this Jonah,” he continued. “You’re 105 years old. Why aren’t you dead?”

“Oh, I’ll die soon enough,” replied Jonah with a chuckle. “But I’ve stayed healthier than most.”

“You’re going to die?” asked Mabel. She was gripped by a sudden fear of losing these people whom she’d barely met.

Laura put an arm around Mabel. “Honey, we’re well over one-hundred years old. The spring has helped us, but we can’t live forever.”

“How long?” asked Mabel.

“We don’t know,” answered Colleen. “No-one knows. No-one needs to know. You just live life one day at a time. But Verdon,” she continued, turning to Arbogast, “you’ve managed to remain remarkably…spry.”

“Yes,” replied Arbogast. “So I have. But after following the Crockett’s daughter all this way…well, I was not counting on finding them so…aged.”

Recognition seemed to dawn on Jonah’s face. “Verdon,” he said “you thought I was after immortality, didn’t you?”

Arbogast returned the questioning gaze.

“That was just you Verdon,” continued Jonah. “All I ever wanted was a healthy life.”

“And it seems you’ve achieved success on your own, Verdon,” added Laura. “But I’m curious…how did you know we had a daughter?”

“Jenny told him,” said Van, matter of factly.

“Jenny…?” said Colleen slowly, looking at Jonah and Laura. She turned back to Arbogast. “You’re with Jenny?”

“I guess they do know her,” said Mabel quietly to Van and Ivy. “She must get around.”

From beyond the spring the leaves began to rustle in the trees, with a bit more insistence. Mabel felt what she took to be a large raindrop splatter across her face.

“How close are we to the river?” said Arbogast, with sudden panic in his voice.

“There’s a branch one-hundred yards through the trees, that way,” replied Colleen, motioning toward the spring.

Arbogast looked at Jonah appraisingly, and shuddered. It seemed, Mabel discerned, that white hair and wrinkled skin did not appeal to him.

“Excuse me,” said a tiny voice which seemed to be right by Mabel’s ear.

“It’s those tree voices again,” said Van.

“It’s Lida,” said Colleen. “Mabel, come with me. I’d like you to meet her.”

Taking Mabel and Ivy by the hands, Colleen turned toward the orchard. Just as in the orange garden at Cochiti Spring, Mabel had the peculiar sensation that she wasn’t certain whether she was looking at a person or a tree. But after a few seconds of focusing she realized that the individual next to the pear tree looked remarkably similar to Dun, but with more closely-cropped hair, and tinier features. Her dress was leafy and flowing, and her large light brown eyes took in Mabel with twinkling pleasure.

“Dun did speak to you,” said Lida, smiling at Mabel.

“Yes,” replied Mabel.

“We are all feeling much happier for our friends,” said Lida. “But you must take care. Gennawoc is angry. We will be your only safe place.”

“Thank you Lida,” said Colleen.

Lida smiled as broadly as her tiny mouth would allow, and then Mabel was looking only at a pear tree.

“Poor old Verdon,” said Colleen, with a wry laugh. “But he brought it on himself. Nothing we can do.”

The wind was gradually growing stiffer, harsher, and colder. For a few minutes Mabel huddled with the others, while Colleen spoke with the group. Bits of mud began to soar through the treetops, as if catapulted, and a misty, splashy rain was swirling in the air.

Arbogast glanced about agitatedly as if considering which direction to run in, then he looked at Jonah, Laura, Colleen, and Miss Penny critically, and shook his head.

“You can’t do it by yourself, can you Verdon?” said Jonah. “We’re all old.”

Arbogast snarled slightly, and looked, as did everyone else, in the direction of the river. A funnel of water spun toward them through the trees, slapping leaves in its wake, and spritzing everyone and everything with twigs and wetness.

“Jenny,” shouted Arbogast, over the wind, “I DO NOT need you! Did you hear me? I NO LONGER require your SERVICES!”

The spiraling funnel of water began to spin faster and faster until it seemed to Mabel that it was not a funnel at all, but rather a person…a woman…an exquisite woman, the color of everything. All the hues of the forest sparkled off her hair and skin like the glittering of the sun on rippled water. She smiled entrancingly, and glided out of the trees and into the clearing. It was almost impossible not to look at her, but in Mabel’s peripheral vision she could see Van raising his glasses and blinking, then replacing them.

The glittering woman stopped, struck a rather teacherly pose, and looked, with exaggerated disappointment, right at Verdon Arbogast.

“Oh, Arby,” she said in a voice mellow, bubbly, and delicious. “You know I hate it when you let yourself go.”

Mabel sneaked a glance at Arbogast, and cold shock gripped her chest. Where Arbogast had been standing was the decrepit, bony horror from Franklin’s Guest House, so deteriorated he might have been dug from a crypt.

“There’s that awful looking man!” piped up Miss Penny. “Didn’t I tell ya’ I saw ‘im?”

“Don’t say such things about my Arby,” said the water-woman, moving, dance-like, in a circle around Arbogast. “He can be so cute if he tries.” As she circled, rain, from nowhere in particular, sprinkled the horribly decaying creature, and he became, with instantaneous smoothness, the younger Arbogast. He seemed to be swaying slightly, and looked at Gennawoc with an equal mix of fear and infatuation. Just as instantaneously he shook it off, as if trying to clear his head.

“What a show, Jenny,” said Arbogast curtly. “I’m sure you’ve impressed one and all.” He took a step away from her and pulled himself up straight. “What you’ve failed to realize…darling…is that sixty years with you has taught me some handy tricks of my own. I’m now quite adept at pulling that off on my own power.”

Gennawoc smiled demurely, and looked directly at Mabel with the condescending and conspiratorial sort of smile one might use when sharing gossip. Alone, it was a harmless gesture, but Mabel saw something flash in Gennawoc’s liquid eyes that told her to brace herself.

“YOU HAVE NO POWER!” shrieked Gennawoc suddenly in a voice that thundered like the crashing of gale-force waves. Van fell down, Norton gripped a tree for support, Ivy covered her ears. Only Jonah, Laura, and Colleen seemed to have been ready for the storm that had brewed in seconds. From the direction of the river came a churning and sucking of horribly disturbed water. The wind kicked up, and seemed to swallow all other sound.

Strong hands gripped Mabel’s head. It was Colleen, yelling directly into her ear. “YOU MUST GRAB AND HOLD A TREE NOW! DO NOT LET GO UNTIL I TELL YOU!”

Mabel nodded dumbly, and took hold of a nearby walnut tree. She watched as Colleen, Jonah, and Laura gave the same message to each person in turn before finding trees of their own. The bushy-haired pilot looked terribly confused and frightened as Jonah hollered in his ear, but he made his was to a gum tree and gripped it uncertainly. Only Tutter seemed unconvinced, and he rolled his eyes as Laura delivered the warning, but he casually put a hand on a dogwood as the wind began to shriek.

A stinging, pelting, cold rain stabbed Mabel in the face, but she forced herself to look toward the trees where Gennawoc had stood. There was Arbogast, waving his arms and yelling protests which the searing wind made inaudible, but she could not distinguish the form of the water-woman. What she saw instead nearly made her heart stop. Rolling through the forest, from the direction of the river was a wave.

Combing through the trees, glowing green where the sun penetrated the translucent water…she was looking at a wave larger than any she’d ever seen in the ocean, and it was heading right for them. Mabel took a quick scan of the others. All were gripping trees, even Sparkle and Sig who had taken refuge in the exposed roots of a tulip poplar…all but Tim Tutter.

Tutter stood, momentarily gaping at the sight of the tremendous wave bearing down on him. Then he turned, and ran full tilt toward the helicopter. Mabel could see Colleen attempting to call him back, but her words were lost in the howling wind.

Tutter entered the copter’s cabin in a single leap and slammed the door shut behind him.

Mabel had no time to think about him. In the second it took her to turn her head around, she realized she was inside the curl of the breaking wave. She would be crushed, pulverized…she would drown as the horrible sensation of inhaled river-water suffocated her…she would…she would…calmly watch the water pass gently over her head, from the safety and muffled silence of a tree-sized bubble.

It felt like slow motion, then slow-motion played in reverse, as the wave, which Mabel assumed would crash and dissipate through the trees, merely crashed. But she could barely hear it. Her protective bubble was eerily silent. The only noise she could identify sounded like a man’s voice calling out “Jenny! Wait!”

The wave crashed. Then it uncrashed. It rolled backward as if all the water had been recalled by the river. Mabel watched the white foam retreat over her head, then her bubble dissolved, and sound returned. The water rolled back through the trees to the river. Verdon Arbogast was gone.

Slowly, everyone began to look around. The ground was drenched, the trees dry. Mabel, Van and Ivy looked at each other and began to laugh with relief at having witnessed and survived such a deluge.

“Well, well,” Miss Penny cackled. “I guess all those trees are good for somethin’. Guess that Tutter feller’ll be changin’ his tune now.”

Mabel froze. Then she looked at Colleen, whose face registered sudden horror. Colleen sprinted twenty yards to the helicopter with Mabel on her heels. The red helicopter stood as shiny as ever, while a steady stream of water seeped through the cracks around the doorway. Mabel and Colleen stepped aside as the bushy-haired pilot fiddled with the door handle until it opened and he was knocked off his feet by the torrent of water escaping from the copter’s cabin.

As the flow subsided to a stream, Colleen climbed inside. She emerged seconds later and shook her head. “It’s too late,” she said. “He’s dead.”

“Airbags?” Van choked out. “Whoever heard of airbags in an airplane?”

“Oh…yeah…” replied Mabel, dazedly, as the purpose of the fabric dawned on her. “My mother insisted…on really big ones.” In front of Van and Ivy, two more large white bubbles sagged into empty sacks.

“Are we there?” asked Ivy, stirring on the seat beside Mabel.

“I think so,” answered Mabel. “Mr. Halfslip, are you okay?” She took a quick look at Sig who, though slightly shaken, was wagging his tail and placed him on the floor with Sparkle. Then she released her seat belt and peeked around into the cockpit.

Norton was critically examining his eyeglasses, half of which he held in each hand. In front of him the entire instrument panel was draped in deflated airbag.

“Maybe we can fix them,” said Mabel. “Let’s get the hatch open.”

“Excuse me, Mabel,” piped up the ever-chipper voice of Bailey. “While all the instrument systems seem to be intact, I would advise a thorough examination of the exterior of the aircraft before our next flight. I perceived the landing to be more turbulent than usual.”

“Yeah…” said Mabel. “Yes, it was. Thanks Bailey.”

“I shall shut down until further notice,” said the computer, and its hard drive whirred to a stop.

“Wait a minute, Mabel,” said Van. He sounded oddly nervous. “I don’t think Arbogast held on so tight…”

“What…” began Mabel, looking over her seat back. Arbogast, slumped awkwardly against the wall of the airplane, appeared to have been thrown from the life-vest stack into the opposite wall. A rivulet of blood ran from his brow, down the side of his face.

“Hey,” called Mabel, “Mr. Arbogast…”

There was no response.

“Van…is he dead? Maybe we need to do something…” said Mabel. She wondered fleetingly why she should feel remotely responsible for him, but you couldn’t just leave a guy if he needed help.

“Hmmm,” came a humming sort of voice from behind Mabel and Van. They turned to see Norton pushing himself with painstaking slowness around the bank of seats they were leaning over. Norton nodded and lowered himself into a hunched crouch at the side of Arbogast. He squinted at the wound under Arbogast’s hairline, then gently put two fingers to Arbogast’s wrist to find a pulse. Satisfied, he looked up at Mabel, Van, and Ivy who had joined them, and gave a smile and a nod.

“Is he okay?” asked Van.

“Mmm,” replied Norton, with another nod. It was the most noise Mabel had ever heard him make.

“Okay,” said Mabel, “let’s leave him here to wake up. I want to go see where we are.” She picked up Sparkle, who grasped Sig by the scruff, then climbed through the cockpit and released the hatch. Mabel gave Ivy a hand over the side onto the wing, and Van came behind assisting Norton.

A clutter of branches which the Star had accumulated in its descent lay scattered about on the wings and tail. Otherwise everything looked normal, except for one of the tail fins which appeared to be bent at a strange angle. And the entire plane was leaning rather heavily to the left, though Mabel couldn’t see why. The Star appeared to have run smack into a group of trees which were standing, most unusually, all in a row like kids holding hands in a line, in a game of Red Rover. She slid off the wing onto the ground, then reached to help Ivy down.

Ivy seemed barely awake. When Norton slid down, with an assist from Van, he crouched and patted the forest floor. It was soft. Mabel could feel its springiness through the soles of her shoes. Norton sat against a tree and indicated that Ivy should be next to him. She willingly slipped into place, her shoulders under his arm, and head against his shoulder.

“They’re going to wait,” said Mabel.

Sparkle retrieved Sig, who was determinedly tugging at Van’s shoelaces, and nestled on the other side of Norton.

Van nodded. “Where to?” he asked.

Mabel scanned the woods around them. For a site in the middle of the Willibunk forest the trees were surprisingly non-random. Two rows of them led away from Van and Mabel, forming a sort of overgrown curving corridor. Mabel supposed they were now somewhere in the swirl she had seen from the air. “The path,” she said, “unless you have a better idea.”

“Nope,” he replied.

Mabel glanced around again. Except for the curving path ahead, there was no direction one could pick to set off in that looked different from any other. The trees seemed to go on forever in moist green darkness. Mabel felt grateful for the sky poking through the treetops above. It was the only thing keeping her from feeling panicked by the absence of distinctive landmarks.

“What was that?” asked Van, doing a quick spin.

Mabel followed his gaze. “Van, there’s nothing there. It’s trees.”

“Something moved,” he insisted.

“We’re in the forest,” Mabel replied. “Stuff lives here.”

“Yeah,” said Van in a not-reassured voice. “Sometimes stuff has teeth.”

The path curved to the right, and was reasonably passable as long as they stepped carefully over the vines which crept thickly from one wall of trees to the other. Occasionally they had to stop and detach briars from their jeans, but after ten minutes of steady trudging they were in a place which looked…remarkably the same as where they’d started. Except for the fern. There around the next bend, which was the same as every other bend, was the largest fern Mabel had ever laid eyes on. She was quite certain it was taller than her father, maybe even taller than Mr. Peale, and its feathering fronds spread broadly in every direction.

“It’s a jerfinia,” she exclaimed, running her fingers along the black-dot sori on the underside of a frond.

“Well,” replied Van, “it’s some kind of fern, anyway.”

“No,” Mabel insisted, “I know it’s a jerfinia.”

“Okay, whatever,” said Van, hitting the path again, “but why don’t Norton’s jerfinias grow that big?”

Mabel walked on thoughtfully for a few minutes, then said, “There’s something here that makes them healthier. It makes everything healthier.”

“And there they are,” said Van, waving toward the path ahead, “some more healthy specimens.”

He needn’t have told her. Mabel already knew. She could smell them. She briefly closed her eyes and felt she was in the Halfslips’ greenhouse, helping Norton repot baby ferns. But here the sensory experience was even stronger. It was earthy, heady…welcoming. Breathing the air here was like breathing life. There were more ferns, growing in clusters. Some were small, and some even larger than the first one they’d passed.

“Van,” said Mabel, “what’s that called when you feel like you’ve been somewhere before, even if you haven’t?”

“Déjà vu?” he suggested.

“Yes,” Mabel replied, “and I’m déjà vuing like crazy here. It’s like when I walk into Eurus Press and I’m happy ‘cause I’m home? That’s what it feels like here.”

“Oh, that’s very nice for you,” said Van,” stomping grumpily between two thickets of ferns. “I’m glad getting lost in the woods is such a homey experience for…”

Van stopped, body and expression frozen in place.

Mabel stopped two steps behind him. “What?” she said. “What is it?”

He turned his head slightly. “Water. I hear running water.”

Mabel listened too, and her mouth slowly lit into an grin. “It’s the spring,” she said. She felt enormously delighted. Suddenly she knew, with utmost certainty, where they were and why they had come. “It is the spring. It’s Cochiti’s sister!” Mabel broke into a run. “Come on!” she yelled.

“Who’s Cochiti?” said Van, to no-one. Then he followed.

The last twenty yards of path were barely passable, being all but overgrown with jerfinias, but Mabel was undeterrable as she stormed through one last thick curtain of ferns, and found herself looking at…a garden.

It was a square, and very neatly tended, garden plot, roughly the size of a small living room. Carefully tied string beans grew in a row, followed by several lines of squash, tomatoes, and tall tasseled corn stalks. Looking beyond the first plot, Mabel saw several others, one of which she could identify as potatoes, one as some kind of grain, and another low and green one which she recognized as herbs.

“Apples,” said Van, snatching something off a tree as he joined Mabel at the edge of the clearing.

“Where?” she said.

He pointed up.

They were standing under a heavily laden apple tree, which was part of a line of many fruit trees ringing the entire garden area. Mabel reached up and plucked a ripe apple, striped red and yellow, and put it in her jacket pocket.

“We should bring some for Norton and Ivy, too,” she said, noticing that the supply seemed limitless.

“Mabel Crockett,” said a woman’s voice, and Mabel’s attention quickly shifted from the apples to the garden.

“It’s the teacher lady,” whispered Van in an awed tone.

Mabel looked at the tall, willowy woman, now waiting for them by the corn plants. “Miss Wickers,” she said with certainty. There were the same strong cheekbones, the same eyes, the same kinky hair, they’d seen in the yearbook photo. But old. Astonishingly, beautifully old.

“How can she look that good?” whispered Van. “She must know Arbogast’s girlfriend, too.”

“No Van,” Mabel whispered back. “She’s not like Arbogast. She looks old.”

“Hi,” said Mabel to Miss Wickers, before glancing, with slight embarrassment, at the second apple she had been planning to pocket.

“Don’t worry,” said Miss Wickers, approaching. “you’re welcome to anything we have here. And I’m used to being called Colleen.”

Colleen was dressed in a flax-colored, loosely woven jumper, over a shirt of a similar material, dyed yellow. Mabel had never seen anyone who, though so obviously aged, looked so flexible, bright and healthy. Her white hair was full and long, and tied at the back with a strip of the same yellow material her shirt was made of.

“Do you know me?” asked Mabel.

“You seem to know me,” replied Colleen, smiling.

“We’ve seen a picture of you,” said Mabel. “In a yearbook.”

“I unfortunately have never seen a picture of you,” responded Colleen, “but it makes no difference. You look so much like Jonah.”

“Jonah,” said Mabel, “is he here? Are…they here?”

Colleen laughed. “Of course,” she said. “We’ve been expecting you.” Then she looked inquiringly at Van.

“Miss, um, Colleen,” said Mabel. “This is my friend Van Peale.”

“I’m delighted to meet you Van,” responded Colleen, taking his hand.

Van turned slightly pink. Almost, Mabel thought, the way he acted around Patience.

“I just happened to be working with the potatoes,” said Colleen, indicating her soiled knees, “and I heard you come in. Jonah and Laura are this way.”

She led them past the vegetables, between the flax and potatoes, and around the herbs, then through a break in the fruit orchard ring between two pear trees. Water rippled more audibly here. They were near the spring, Mabel was certain.

To their right, on stilts which held them several feet above the ground, stood two small huts, on either side of a larger one. The three buildings were expertly and sturdily crafted of wood, each with a fireplace of stacked river stones, and three steps leading up to a broad front porch.

“That one’s mine,” said Colleen, indicating the nearest hut. “That one is Laura and Jonah’s, and the one in the middle is where we do most of our work.”

The front door of the center building opened, and a second woman came onto the porch, carrying two buckets. She was a good bit shorter than Colleen, with a softer, rounder build. Her silvery hair was pulled loosely into a braid, and she wore an outfit much like Colleen’s, but with a blue blouse.

“There’s your Mom,” said Van quietly.

Mabel looked at Van, then back at the woman on the porch. Perhaps she should have been taken aback by the idea, but somehow she felt interested and curious rather than surprised.

“Wow,” said Laura, smiling and shaking her head. “You did it.” She set down her buckets and almost bounced down the steps, and over to Mabel, Van and Colleen. “Wow,” she repeated taking Mabel and Van by their hands. Laura’s hand surrounded Mabel’s with a confident grip. The bones were broad, and the fingers long. Mabel felt oddly as if she were holding hands with herself. Again she was struck by how radiant and lovely a person of such obviously advanced years could be.

“This is my friend Van,” said Mabel, not really knowing what else to say to this small woman whose hand felt strangely familiar in her own.

“And I’m Laura,” said Laura. Her hazel eyes soaked Mabel in. She looked profoundly satisfied. “Wow,” she repeated. “Welcome. Well… let me take you to Jonah. Then we can talk.”

Laura led Van and Mabel through a small grove of dogwoods and mountain laurel opposite the buildings. Large gray rocks, smooth and flat, formed a loose wall before them, enclosing, in a semicircle, a pool of lively water. Opposite the semicircular rocks, embedded in an uphill grade, a pair of boulders sat, one on top of the other. Where they met, the spring, spilling from the earth behind them, had worn away at the rock, forming a natural spout from which water tumbled into the pool.

“It’s like Cochiti,” said Mabel to the two women with her. “What do you call the spring?”

“We call it Owissa,” said a man’s voice. “But the spring was named long before we got here.”

Mabel looked again at the pool. This time she noticed the man seated with his back against the rock wall, in the chest-high bubbles of the pool. He looked directly at her and she couldn’t keep herself from smiling. She knew Jonah. She’d seen him in the yearbook picture with Arbogast, and in the same way that she knew Laura’s hands, she knew Jonah’s eyes and face.

“I’ll be getting out,” said Jonah. “Maybe we can all sit on the porch.”

The porch, thought Mabel, like at the Halfslips…

“We have to go get Norton and Ivy!” she exclaimed, feeling slightly appalled that she’d nearly forgotten about them. “They’re back at the plane.”

Laura and Colleen looked at each other.

“Norton came?” asked Laura. She grinned at Jonah. “Norton Halfslip?”

“Yes,” said Van. “But he doesn’t get around very well.”

“And Ivy’s really sick,” added Mabel. “It will be a long walk.”

“It’s not as far as you think,” said Colleen, leading the children back toward the houses. “Where are they?”

“We landed in…one of the outer rings of trees,” said Mabel, wishing she could provide a more specific location.

“Yes,” said Colleen, “right down that path.” She motioned to her left.

Mabel looked. Then she squinted and looked again. A straight, passable path, lined thickly by trees, led directly through the woods to where the sun glinted off metal.

“Okay…” said Van, raising an eyebrow. “I think…that looks like the plane.”

“Show me,” said Laura, taking off down the path. Van, Mabel, and Colleen followed.

Within five minutes the entire group had returned to the spring settlement, Norton using Laura as a crutch, and Ivy riding on Colleen’s back. Sparkle trotted along with Sig struggling as usual to keep up with her.

“We’re heading back that way Jo,” said Colleen to Jonah, who was approaching them from the direction of the spring, dressed in baggy pants of the same fabric as the women’s jumpers. “This baby needs a dip.”

“In fact,” added Laura, “all of you will feel better.”

“But first go change,” said Colleen, pointing toward her cottage. “You’ll find some wash and wearable clothes in there.”

When they emerged from the cottage, Van and Norton had found flaxen pants like Jonah’s, and the girls were wearing similar lightweight jumpers.

“I hope the water’s warm,” said Van as they entered the spring’s mountain laurel clearing.

“If it’s anything like Cochiti,” replied Mabel, “you won’t care.”

Van shrugged, and tentatively stuck his toe through the pool’s bubbling surface. Then he gave an affirmative grunt, and climbed all the way in. Mabel followed, taking Norton’s hand to help him to a seat in the pool, and Colleen gently guided Ivy into the water. Colleen, Laura, and Jonah sat on the edge of the pool and dangled their feet in the ripples. Sparkle took a drink, then bathed Sig with her wet tongue.

Mabel closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Just as the water of Cochiti had done, Owissa completely leveled her out. All the knots and tensions and worries seemed to smooth to nothingness, and she felt absolutely wonderful. One glance at Van revealed that he, too, was feeling good.

“So how are the woods treating you geezers?” asked a raspy voice. It was almost, but not quite, Parker Halfslip’s voice, and it took Mabel a few seconds to realize Norton had spoken.

“Pop pop,” said Ivy, now with her normal blunt enthusiasm, “I knew you could still talk.”

“Just haven’t had much to say,” replied Norton.

“And how are you feeling Ivy?” asked Colleen.

Ivy seemed to be stopping to think, but to Mabel she looked colorful, fresh, and no longer wilted.

“I’m feeling really good,” said Ivy.

Laura handed everyone a woven flax towel, and they patted themselves dry before following Jonah to the front porch of the center hut.

“Wait right here a minute,” said Jonah. He and Laura disappeared into the cottage. A few minutes later they emerged carrying trays of food which smelled almost as delicious as a meal from Mona Lisa’s.

“Everyone dig in,” invited Laura, and they sat on the steps and dug in. There were loaves of aromatic crunchy grain bread, a corn and squash casserole, apples and pears to dip in an unusual assortment of nut butters, and a noodley fish soup.

“That smells really good,” said Ivy, passing on the soup, “but I don’t eat meat.”

“Oh,” said Colleen, looking at her thoughtfully, “that’s alright, you just be sure to get plenty of everything else.”

“If I may steer this conversation back to Norton’s question,” said Jonah, helping himself to a large slab of bread, “the woods have been real hospitable to us geezers.” Mabel couldn’t help but notice a slight tremor in Jonah’s hand, but he seemed untroubled by it as he ate.

“It took a little while to get used to the neighbors,” said Laura, with a laugh, “but now we’re very fond of them.”

“The dryads?” asked Mabel.

Jonah nodded. “They drive you a little nuts with all the appearing and disappearing, but it seems normal after a few decades.”

For a few minutes they busied themselves with eating. The dogs had a plateful of noodles and fish which they were noisily polishing off. Colleen began to gather dishes and pots, then she turned and looked at Mabel. “You have questions,” she stated. “You should ask them.”

Mabel looked at Laura and Jonah. How could two people, so unknown to her, seem so familiar?

“Aren’t you guys…” she began, unsure of how to phrase her question.

“What she wants to know,” said Van, “is, aren’t you two too old to have a thirteen year old daughter?”

Jonah grinned. “We sure are,” he said.

“Then you’re not…?” began Mabel. It startled her to feel disappointed.

“We sure are,” laughed Laura. “You are our daughter.”

“Explain.” said Ivy.

“I’ve been trying to explain for years,” said Norton, leaning forward on the step, but I couldn’t get the words out.”

“Now you can,” said Ivy. She squeezed his hand.

“Go get me a jerfinia frond,” instructed Norton. Mabel hopped off the porch and pulled a large one from a nearby plant.

Norton took the frond as Mabel extended it. He turned it over. “What do you know about these?” he asked, running a finger along the black dots on the frond’s underside.

“They’re called sori,” answered Mabel. “They hold the spores, which are like seeds.”

“Like any old seed?” prompted Norton.

“No,” replied Mabel. “They can last longer. They can just sit around for a long, long time…years I guess, until they find the right place to grow.”

“Jerfinias are special,” explained Norton. “The outer shell of the spore is a little more forgiving than most.” He rubbed several of the spores off the frond and rolled them around in his palm. “With a tiny, almost microscopic hypodermic needle, I can suck the fern’s genetic material right out of its casing.”

“Why would you do that?” asked Mabel.

“So he can replace it,” answered Laura.

“With what?” asked Mabel, taking a sorus from Norton’s hand and examining it as closely as she could.

“Something tiny and precious that needs to be kept safe for a long time,” replied Laura. “We just didn’t know how long it would be.”

The conversation she’d had with her parents on the flight from Cochiti Spring came flooding into Mabel’s memory. Tiny babies…small cluster of cells…transplanted to a different mother…, and she began to realize, unbelievably, what Norton had been trying to show her for years. “You’re saying…are you saying…,” Mabel took a deep breath. “Could you be saying that I lived in a jerfinia spore?”

“For sixty-one years,” said Jonah, smiling at Mabel. “You were barely more than a tiny ball of cells.”

“But why did you do that?” asked Mabel. “Why didn’t you just have me, all those years ago?”

“We weren’t going to have children,” said Laura quietly. “We didn’t feel right about making a child live here with us, away from other people. But I got pregnant. Colleen realized it right away.”

“And the dryads called Norton,” Colleen continued.

“All those woods critters like me,” said Norton.

Colleen nodded. “And Norton thought of a way to keep this infinitesimal bud of a baby safe until we found a cure for Jonah, and could leave the spring.”

“But there was no cure,” said Van, “was there?”

“No,” replied Jonah. “There is still no cure for ALS. My symptoms would worsen whenever I was away from the spring, so I don’t go far. I bathe every day.”

“Finally,” continued Laura, “we entrusted you to Norton. We knew he’d find the right parents for our baby.”

“He did,” said Mabel. “He really did.”

“Then Norton never came back,” said Jonah, looking at Norton. “It was a long time before we knew that you’d been born.”

“Pop pop had a stroke, after Granny died,” said Ivy.

“Didn’t know I could fly, until today,” acknowledged Norton.

“There’s something I’d like to know,” said Ivy. “It would help me with the history essay I’m writing for school. Why did you all leave Logjam the night of the fire, and why did the logs really turn to sticks?”

“Part one,” responded Colleen, “is that there were many people who really thought I did it. Mob mentality can get pretty ugly, and there were death threats. Someone did set that fire, and we luckily got out. I knew of this place, and I knew it would help Jonah.”

“So you didn’t do it,” said Van, “I mean the log and stick thing?”

Colleen, Laura and Jonah all began to giggle as if this subject had always amused them.

“No,” Colleen replied. “I’ve got some skills, but I’m not magic. We don’t know who did it, but we suppose it was someone from the river.”

“Who lives in the river?” asked Mabel.

“There are several river spirits,” answered Colleen. “It could have been Talu, Gennawoc, Wendeera…we don’t know.”

Mabel looked at Van and Ivy, who returned her skeptical gaze. But not for long. Seconds later, all were staring at the tree canopy where the branches were whipping about frantically. The chop-chop-chop of helicopter blades quickly became deafening, and the adults held onto the children for support against the violence of the air being thrown about, as a fire-engine red flying machine began to descend into the clearing.

Mabel followed Van into the plane’s hold. Behind them, Arbogast paused and eyed Norton critically.

“I think I remember you,” he said with a slight grimace. “The years have not been kind.” He returned his gaze to Mabel and almost smiled. “You kids know nothing about the perils of aging.”

Norton seemed barely to have noticed Arbogast at all. He had fitted Peter Crockett’s pilot cap onto his head, and was exploring the Star’s controls with reverence and obvious delight.

Sparkle, nesting with Sig at Ivy’s feet in the passenger hold, thumped her tail in acknowledgement as the kids entered the hold. But as Arbogast climbed down behind Mabel, the fur on Sparkle’s back bristled and she emitted a low growl.

Arbogast glanced at her distastefully. “Throw them out,” he said, waving his weapon toward the dogs.

“We can’t” said Mabel. “You’re just going to have to believe me. If you want to go where we’re going, we need the dogs.”

Arbogast sneered, but dropped the subject to Mabel’s surprise and relief, since she knew she could offer no better explanation.

Van sat down next to Ivy and patted a spot between them where Mabel could just squeeze in. “I told you there’s no room for you,” Van said, glaring at Arbogast.

Mabel wished he would hush. She couldn’t see any point in antagonizing an armed lunatic, but Arbogast merely raised his eyebrows and smiled.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be sitting,” said Arbogast. “I don’t care for that strapped in feeling. But you, Miss Crockett…” he said motioning toward the empty seat.

“I need to turn on the computer,” said Mabel. “It will help us navigate.”

“Charming,” exclaimed Arbogast. “I should have known. You Crockett’s are always thinking up new ways to solve problems. Go right ahead.”

After a minute of humming and whirring, Bailey’s eager voice piped up. “Good morning, Peter, where to today?”

“Bailey, it’s not Peter, it’s Mabel,” said Mabel, hoping the computer’s voice recognition software was programmed to know her.

“One moment please,” said Bailey. Mabel could hear the computer’s hard drive spinning, first fast, then settling to a low hum.

“Mabel Crockett,” said Bailey, “yes, you’ve been voice-printed as a safety precaution. I’ll rephrase my question. Good morning Mabel, where to today?”

Arbogast crouched against the plane’s wall, fixing Mabel with a questioning gaze. “Indeed, Miss Crockett,” he asked, “where to?”

“North,” replied Mabel.

“That’s a rather non-specific directive,” said Bailey. “I hope you’ll narrow that selection down once we’re airborne.”

“Bailey,” said Mabel, trying to sound more confident than she felt, “we’re going to be relying on the way things look from up there.”

“Well,” responded Bailey, “it’s not my place to protest, but I trust you’ll give me more information when it becomes available.”

“Okay then,” said Van impatiently, “let’s go.”

“Mr. Halfslip?” said Mabel to Norton. “North.”

Norton turned and looked down at the kids. He grinned again, gave another enthusiastic thumbs up, and turned back to the controls.

“I hope,” whispered Van, “he knows what he’s doing.”

“It sounds okay,” said Mabel as the Star began to vibrate with the rattle of its engine. “And he looks okay.”

Indeed, from the rear, Norton appeared to be handling the controls with the same ease that he repotted ferns. He began to taxi, then turn, and it still felt quite normal to Mabel. The Star now faced the length of the field which served as a runway.

“Here we go,” said Mabel quietly, in anticipation of rapid acceleration.

Rapid was a completely inadequate word to describe what happened next. No sooner had the Star gained an inch of ground when the kids were pinned to their seat backs with the force of speed.

“Cripes,” said Van growing slightly pale, “does…it always…feel…like this?”

By the time Mabel could even formulate a response, the nose lifted, and she could feel the Star gaining altitude at a rate she’d never experienced flying with her father. She looked at Norton. His wrinkled head was bobbing with obvious glee. The engine’s roar kicked up a notch as the Star gained yet more speed.

“He thinks,” said Van, looking a bit ill, “he’s in Billy Limpit’s Flying Circus!”

Mabel winced. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t try a loop-de-loop.”

“Miss Crockett,” broke in the voice of Verdon Arbogast.

Oh gosh, yeah, he’s here, thought Mabel. She looked behind her and saw Arbogast, struggling not to tumble into a stack of life-vests and parachutes.

“May I suggest you attend to the business of navigating,” he said with clipped impatience.

“If you don’t know where we’re going,” said Van, turning around, “then why are you so hot to get there?”

Arbogast gave Van a condescending smirk. “Yes,” he said. “It’s unfortunate that I’m not privy to the information I’d need to find Jonah Crockett myself. There’s only one person whom Crockett is that anxious to see. Only one whom the forces that he must have befriended have seen fit to supply with two and two.”

“Two and two?” asked Mabel.

“Yes, Miss Crockett,” said Arbogast. “And if you’re a bright enough girl to put two and two together, you’ll find that they make four…and that’s,” he continued, “why we’ve become such good friends.”

“Right,” said Mabel.

“You have seemed pretty sure about getting us this far,” said Van to Mabel. “Now what?”

Mabel leaned over Ivy’s lap and looked out the window. The landscape below was solid green, with subtle frostings of red and gold. Forests, north of Logjam, stretched as far as one could see, the treetops broken only by the snaking crack of the Willibunk River. But Mabel’s head felt vacant. There was something she was supposed to know, and it just wasn’t there.

“What do you need Jonah Crockett for?” Mabel asked Arbogast, to change the subject.

“We’re old friends, your father and I,” replied Arbogast. He chuckled darkly. “Emphasis on old.”

It sounded too strange. Mabel could not envision a father apart from the one she knew.

“School chums,” continued Arbogast, in a vaguely distant voice, “class mates, study partners…and he was smart, too. Knew his sciences cold.” Arbogast settled onto a pile of life vests as Norton eased the Star to a slower cruising speed.

“Yes, and Jonah was discreet. I wouldn’t have had anyone else to my house…didn’t want anyone else to know.”

Mabel had to ask. “What didn’t you want them to know?”

Arbogast let out a bitter laugh. “That my father was a doddering, drooling, helplessly infantile pile of ancient bones. But mother would not institutionalize him, oh no. She dressed, bathed, and spoon-fed him, for anyone who walked in the house to see. It mortified me.”

There was silence, then Bailey’s voice. “Mabel Crockett, I await further instructions when you are ready.”

Mabel leaned over Ivy, who had fallen asleep, and again peered out the window. The curving line of the Willibunk had begun to sprout occasional branches as tributaries from the east and west fed into it. Her mind was still blank. “I’ll let you know, Bailey,” she said, hoping fervently that something about this trip would start to make sense.

“You got something against old people?” asked Van.

“The helpless indignity of it all,“ replied Arbogast with a shudder. “I could not envision ever finding myself in that condition. I studied for years, quite hopeful that somewhere in my studies I would uncover a secret to maintaining indefinite health. And Jonah…forgot…”

Sig maneuvered himself into a cozy position under Mabel’s hand, and she scratched his back absentmindedly.

“Hey, Mr. Arbogast,” began Van in a tactless tone which Mabel knew well. “Help us out here. Are you a lot older than you look, or are you just totally wigged out?”

“My chronological age,” answered Arbogast, “is 105.”

Mabel gasped slightly. She’d seen the yearbook photo, but how could this be?

“So,” continued Van, “as you’ve so obviously found the scientific key to youthfulness, why haven’t you shared it with the world?”

“Yes…” replied Arbogast thoughtfully, “the scientific key. We were just teenagers, but we agreed,” he said glaring accusingly at Mabel. “We agreed that we would share our findings with each other!”

“You mean you and Jonah?” asked Mabel, cringing slightly.

Arbogast raised his eyebrows and nodded.

Mabel continued. “What happened to Jonah?”

“Many unfortunate things,” replied Arbogast, rearranging his bench of life vests. “First,” he continued, raising an index finger dramatically, “he became obsessed with pretty little Laura, and no longer needed his old friends. Then the two of them became equally obsessed with that teacher…that Wickers woman, and Jonah lost his grasp of scientific rationality. All he would talk about was plants and healing, and other airy-fairy mumbo-jumbo. Nonsense.”

“And then the fire,” said Mabel. “What about the fire?”

Arbogast rolled his eyes and snorted slightly. “Ah yes, the fire. Picture this if you will. My friend, who undeniably made a pact with me, dumps me, fakes his own death…and then, when he finally discovers a key to longevity, conveniently forgets that he ever knew a Verdon Arbogast…’Verdon…who’s he…can’t say I know anyone by that name…’”

“Mr. Arbogast,” said Van impatiently, “Pardon me if I’m overstepping my bounds here, but your story has some major loose ends.”

Arbogast folded his arms across his chest and turned his head toward Van. “I’ll pardon you. Ask away.”

“If you haven’t discovered the secret to youth and beauty,” asked Van, “how is it that you’re even still alive?”

“And,” continued Mabel, “what makes you so sure that Jonah Crockett is still alive?”

“Fair enough,” replied Arbogast. “I’ll take Mr. Peale’s query first.” He resettled himself on the life vests and leaned forward. “I scarcely learned a useful thing. People are born, people get old, people die. It was quite depressing. The future, to my way of thinking, looked bleak…I used to sit by the river. Found it pacifying, you know, the noise the water makes. Well, one day, as I sat there, I met a…a woman.”

“Ooh,” said Van, “a woman…let me guess…your fairy godmother?”

“You’re too cute for your own good,” replied Arbogast. “And a lot closer to the truth than you meant to be. Jenny does have special ways about her…”

Arbogast leaned back against the wall of the plane and, momentarily, a dreamy look relaxed his face so his expression was almost pleasant. But it was a fleeting change. Just as suddenly the tension and sarcasm returned.

“Typical female,” Arbogast continued. “Disturbingly possessive…wants everything her way. So, yes…I’ve borrowed a few tricks from her. But my abilities fade if I’m apart from her for long, which is why…” Arbogast said with a sudden directness Mabel felt was aimed her way, “I was so interested to learn that Jonah Crockett had not burnt to a crisp so many years before, but in fact had fathered a daughter…a mere thirteen and a half years ago.”

Mabel was again almost painfully aware of Arbogast’s gaze, boring into her, but now she was tired of avoiding it. “Okay, fine,” she said with mild exasperation. “How do you know Jonah has a daughter, and what makes you so sure it’s me?”

“It seems,” replied Arbogast, “that your father and my lady friend have some mutual acquaintances. Now, I’d be the first to admit that it sounds like utter nonsense, but it has something to do with trees…”

“Dryads,” said Mabel.

“Yes,” responded Arbogast. “And I happened to overhear a conversation between Jenny and a particularly annoying little creature called Lida referring to how Jonah and Laura were so anxious to see their daughter, who lived in Logjam, and how they were making efforts to summon her.”

“So what are you bugging Mabel for?” asked Van. “Why didn’t you just ask Lida how to find Jonah?”

“Those things won’t talk to me,” Arbogast said curtly.

“Then you should have asked your girlfriend,” replied Mabel.

“I did discreetly inquire,” said Arbogast looking pained. “Perhaps I’ve neglected to mention…Jenny has a bit of a temper problem.”

“She got mad?” asked Mabel.

Arbogast grimaced. “To put it mildly.”

“Why?” asked Mabel.

Arbogast sighed and stretched his legs out. “Jenny is, unfortunately, extraordinarily perceptive about certain things. She correctly surmised that if I got what I wanted from Jonah Crockett, then I might no longer feel committed to our…relationship.”

“So she wouldn’t tell you,” concluded Van.

“No,” replied Arbogast. “Which left me with one means to find Jonah. Locate the daughter and follow her. And believe me Miss Crockett, in a town the size of Logjam it was not a difficult task to pick you out.”

Mabel repositioned Sig on her lap and gently ran her fingers along the white streaks on his back. “What do you think Jonah is going to do for you?” she asked.

“Let’s do some math,” replied Arbogast. “If my old friend Crockett is now 105 years old, and his daughter is 13, then how old was Crockett when his daughter was born?”

“He was 92,” answered Mabel.

“With a wife of 91,” continued Arbogast, “And how many nonagenarians do you think become parents on a routine basis?”

“It can happen,” said Van, “at least with the dad.”

“To be technical, yes,” acknowledged Arbogast, “but to be fathering children at such an advanced age would seem to suggest that a man had retained more than the usual amount of sprightliness, wouldn’t you say?”

“Okay,” said Mabel.

“And given Crockett’s interest in such subjects as health and longevity, I would conclude that he’s learned some tricks that he has neglected to share with his old school mate.” Arbogast smiled, and continued. “Tricks that might prove very useful to someone like myself who hopes to free himself from the confines of a rather suffocating relationship.”

Van peered over the seat back. “So once Jonah ‘fesses up about how you too can maintain your youthful good looks, you can dump Jenny.”

“So to speak,” replied Arbogast.

“That sounds really dumb,” said Mabel.

Arbogast sniffed. “Easy to say when you’ve barely broken the decade mark.” His gaze hardened a bit. “But let’s not neglect the task at hand, Miss Crockett. Have you yet any clue where we’re going?”

Again Mabel felt a sinking sensation that she was responsible for directing this plane-load of people, currently flying aimlessly north over the Willibunk forest. Still feeling nothing but blankness and confusion, she looked at the ground below. The only change in the landscape was an increase in the number of tributaries feeding into to Willibunk. As the river zig-zagged north to south, many more cracks broke the treetops creating the appearance of a lightning bolt turned upside-down. Rather, she noticed, like the pattern she was stroking on Sig’s fluffy back.

Sparkle edged her soft muzzle under Mabel’s other hand. “Handsome, isn’t he?” came her silent words.

“Yes…” said Mabel, tracing her finger along Sig’s central white stripe. The streak veered from straight along his backbone, to a sharp left, then a gentle right leading back to a straight bit. She abruptly shifted her gaze to the river below. The line of the Willibunk headed due north, shifting acutely to the left, then gently back to the right, where it continued for a piece in a north-south line. “No…” said Mabel quietly.

“No what?” asked Van.

“Wait,” she replied. On the puppy’s back, diagonal streaks shot out from the central stripe, a crooked one on the right just below a straight one on the left.

“No way…” she said as she returned her gaze to the river. On the east bank of the Willibunk a crooked creek fed into the river, while just to the north, on the west bank, a ramrod straight creek joined the river’s flow. “And next,” Mabel said, still tracing her finger along Sig’s back, “an even wider creek will flow in at a right angle, from the west.”

“Well, yeah,” said Van, pointing out the window, it’s right down there for anybody to see.”

“I’m going to tell you the next one without looking, Van,” said Mabel. “On the east bank you’ll see a skinny little stream wiggling east, then making a right angle and heading north before it disappears.”

“Did you memorize this stuff?” asked Van.

“No, Van, it’s right here,” Mabel replied stroking Sig’s back.

“On the dog?” he asked incredulously.

“See this star?” said Mabel pointing to the marking on Sig’s left shoulder. “That’s where we’re going.”

Van looked at the puppy’s back. “Yeah,” he said before rolling his eyes, and putting his head in his hands. “You better tell Norton.”

Mabel put Sig gently down on her seat and leaned over Norton’s shoulder. “Mr. Halfslip,” she said. “We need to begin going down. See the creek coming in up there from the northwest?”

Norton nodded excitedly.

“Just where it veers to the west and becomes too small to see…that’s where we’re landing.”

“In the trees, Miss Crockett?” interrupted the sharp voice of Verdon Arbogast.

“Yeah,” replied Mabel, her confidence growing.

“Mabel, there’s no landing strip,” protested Van.

“We have to,” insisted Mabel, and already Norton had edged the Star into a descent.

Arbogast hoisted himself off his life-vest pile and pushed Van out of the way to get a better look out the window. “What kind of fool would attempt to land an airplane there?” he asked agitatedly.

“A stunt pilot from Billy Limpit’s Flying Circus,” replied Van, as if the answer were obvious, “and if you don’t mind, I’m a little squashed here.”

“Let’s hope that’s the most squashing you’ll get today,” said Arbogast. He paled slightly and edged himself wobbily back onto the life-vest stack.

The Star jostled its passengers as it descended through turbulent air toward the point Mabel had indicated.

Bailey whirred for a few seconds. “I’m sorry my programming was not of use in navigating this flight,” the computer voice said. “But I can, at this point in our descent, strongly recommend the use of seat belts.”

“Thanks Bailey, in a minute,” said Mabel, still looking over Norton’s shoulder at the forest into which they were now rapidly descending. Just where the creek bent in a westerly direction, she noticed a difference in the appearance of the tree canopies. In contrast to being packed in randomly, as the trees grew in the rest of the forest, the treetops on the south bank of the creek resembled a swirl. Concentric swirls, in fact, creating the appearance of a large green fingerprint.

“That’s where we’re going, Mr. Halfslip,” she said. Norton nodded enthusiastically, and vigorously made some equipment adjustments.

Mabel returned to her seat and strapped on the belt. “The dogs, Van,” said Mabel, scooping up Sparkle and placing her in Van’s arms. Then she did her best to secure Sig.

“Okay, everybody, hang on,” she said before experiencing an unexpected pang of guilt. “Mr. Arbogast,” said Mabel, “grab onto something and hold tight.”

Mabel took a brief glance out the window, noting that the treetops were frighteningly close. She cradled Sig with her arms and lap and shut her eyes tight.

The Star hummed as Norton activated the landing gear. Mabel’s stomach did a somersault when the plane dropped several sudden feet. Then she heard nothing but the rush of a thousand branches whipping the sides of the Star, and earth and plane collided, sending the Star into a lurching, spinning cartwheel which ended in an abrupt, but surprisingly soft dismount as if the plane had come to rest against an embankment of springs.

“Sure,” replied Van, “anybody could. It’s like a toy. But I think you may be nuts about the Shooting Star. You really planning to fly an airplane?”

Mabel tried to feel confident. “I don’t know, but there’s you and me…and Bailey. Besides, there’s no other way.”

Sparkle trotted out of the shed, followed closely by Sig, who was still having to work amusingly hard to keep up with his mother.

“Funny little guy,” said Van, scratching Sig on the head.

“You’ll be leaving soon,” said Sparkle. “You’ll need us.”

“Why?” asked Mabel.

Van gave Sig’s tummy a rub. “Well, he’s funny because he’s little and…”

“That’s not what I meant,” interrupted Mabel, looking intently at Sparkle.

“You need us,” repeated Sparkle.

“We’re taking the dogs with us,” said Mabel to Van.

Van looked from Mabel to Sparkle and back, then rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say. I guess there’s always room for one…I mean two more.”

The crunch of car tires sounded loudly from the bottom of the driveway.

“Pilderjack!” said Van.

“It’s a coat-man,” corrected Sparkle leading Sig back to the safety of the potting shed.

“No,” said Mabel to Van, “It’s not Pilderjack, but we better get out of sight.”

Mabel and Van followed the dogs into the potting shed, and pulled the door all but closed. Van crouched, and Mabel looked over his head as a black sedan pulled into the parking lot and Reynolds Manderley stepped out.

“Crud,” whispered Van, “what’s HE doing here?”

Manderley scribbled something onto a notepad, and returned it to his coat pocket. He glanced around, then entered Greenhouse 3.

“Collecting evidence,” Mabel seethed. “How can he be such a creep? How can he do this to Patience?”

“He has a job,” said Van flatly. “He has rules to follow. More to the point, we’ve gotta get out of here. Without him seeing us.”

“Okay,” said Mabel, “I’ll go get Norton and Ivy. When I wave from the front door, pull the golf cart up to the porch. Fast.”

Through the greenhouse glass Mabel could see Agent Manderley’s mustached face, bending over and squinting at plants as he worked his way toward the rear of the building. Slowly, to keep the door from squeaking, Mabel slid through the opening and made her way across the parking lot to the house. She hoped fervently that the gravel crunching under her feet was not as loud as it seemed to her ears.

“Pop-pop doesn’t want to leave things a mess,” explained Ivy, as Mabel entered the kitchen. Norton had just finished rinsing the last bits of green nutrition concoction out of a pair of drinking glasses.

“Mr. Halfslip,” said Mabel, “let’s go down the hall. We’re going to give you and Ivy a ride. Come on Ivy.”

Mabel took Ivy by the hand and helped her off the sofa. It was clearly taking all of Ivy’s strength to walk to the front door. Norton shuffled along at the rear, one hand on Ivy’s shoulder and one on his cane.

Mabel paused at the door at peered through the screen. Van, crouching beside the golf cart, gave her a discreet wave.

Now or never, Mabel thought to herself, giving Van the go-ahead signal.

Van gave a furtive glance toward the greenhouse, then climbed behind the wheel of the golf cart. He shot Mabel a quick thumbs-up and turned the key.

The engine reverberated with what seemed a painfully loud put-putting. Mabel held her breath as Van put the cart into reverse and circled around to approach the porch where she and the Halfslips were waiting.

Keeping hold of Ivy’s hand, Mabel held the door for Norton to shuffle out, then she and Ivy followed him onto the porch. At that moment she realized Manderley had seen them.

“Van! Hurry, he’s coming!” she yelled, leading Ivy to the edge of the decking.

Van looked at the greenhouse in a panic. Manderley first waved his arm, then began to sprint toward the door.

“Bring the cart!” yelled Mabel, but Van had thrown the cart back into reverse, and was suddenly streaking in the opposite direction. At the precise moment Manderley reached the greenhouse door to open it, Van rammed the rear of the golf cart, with an enormous bang, into the outside of the door.

Mabel stared in momentary shock as Manderley rattled the door in an effort to push it open, but the golf cart didn’t budge.

“Okay,” said Mabel, thinking aloud, “what do we do now?”

“Well,” replied Ivy in a calm voice, “Agent Manderley left his car right there, and I’ve noticed something about these guys…they rarely take the keys out of the ignition.”

Mabel turned and looked at Ivy incredulously, but only for an instant. Ivy was right. They would take the car. “Ivy,” Mabel began, “what about Buster? He’s stuck in there with Manderley.”

Ivy managed a small, but slightly wicked smile. “Buster’s okay. I’m not sure about Agent Manderley.”

Van was still sitting in the golf cart, staring at Manderley as if frozen. Manderley was gesturing wildly, and seemed to be trying to reason with Van through the glass.

“You only need to know forward and reverse,” said Ivy quietly, her big hazel eyes focused on Mabel’s.

Mabel ran to the black sedan and opened the door. The keys were in place. She turned them as she’d seen her parents do many times, and the engine roared to life. Manderley began to yell like a crazy person.

“’R’ for reverse,” Mabel said to herself, moving the shift handle into position. The car lurched backward, then rolled slowly. When it reached the golf cart she pressed the brake pedal and the car lurched again, this time to a halt.

“Come on!” she said to Van, who hastily left his golf cart perch, and ran around to the passenger side door. Manderley looked like a mess. His hair had completely abandoned its moussed into place style, and he mouthed the words “What are you doing” at Mabel through the glass.

Mabel looked at him and shook her head. “You are not a true friend,” she said back.

“Come on,” urged Van. “Let’s get those guys and go!”

Manderley appeared to be considering whether he could put a brick through the glass. Then he grabbed the door handle and again rattled it violently.

“Patience will never trust you again,” Mabel said to Manderley, hoping that he could read her lips. Manderley dropped the brick, and slumped against the glass wall, a dazed expression on his face.

“Accelerate GENTLY,” said Van, as Mabel switched the gear lever to “D” for drive and moved, with a bit less jerking, back to the porch to collect Norton and Ivy.

“Van,” said Mabel, “you want to drive?”

“Uh, no,” he replied, “you’re doing great. I’ll help Ivy and Norton.”

Van hopped out onto the porch and held the door for the Halfslips. Ivy climbed in first and slid to the far side of the back seat where she leaned back and exhaled as if the exertion had been taxing. After Norton had creaked into his spot Van slammed the door, jumped back into the front and said “Let’s roll.”

Mabel accelerated, with more force than she had intended, then slammed to a halt at the top of the driveway. Sparkle was sitting patiently to the left of the driveway, with an expectant expression. Beside her Sig rolled on his back, nipping at his mother’s feet.

“Get in,” said Mabel, opening her door.

Sparkle grasped Sig by his scruff and scrambled across Mabel’s lap, then settled herself on the front seat between Mabel and Van.

Mabel started more gently down the hill, beginning to have a feel for the sensitivity of the brake and accelerator pedals.

“You were supposed to stop there,” said Van, as Mabel rolled off the botanical center driveway onto Rocky Creek Road.

“Oops,” she replied.

Luckily, thought Mabel, there’s no other traffic. And driving this thing is actually pretty easy, except for… “Duck! Duck Van!” Mabel suddenly exclaimed.

A pink car roared toward them from the opposite direction.

Mabel proceeded toward the airfield, fully expecting the pink car to screech to a halt as they passed, but Mrs. Pilderjack did not turn her angry painted face toward them. She passed without looking and squealed up the botanical center drive without slowing down.

“Don’t worry, she’ll be back,” said Van as he returned to an upright position.

“Okay, then let’s go,” responded Mabel, pulling the car off the road, onto the airfield.

The Shooting Star sat ahead of them looking, as always, ready and eager for its next adventure. Mabel applied the brake and stopped. She was suddenly overwhelmed with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. It was a mixture of confusion and fear which, until this moment, she had deliberately ignored.

“What do we think we’re doing, Van?” she said in a half-whisper.

Van fiddled with the lock on the glove compartment, then turned to look at Ivy and Norton in the back seat. Ivy was silent, and Norton gave Van an encouraging nod.

“You know what we’re doing, Mabel,” Van said resolutely.“ We’re finding some people who can get our parents out of trouble.”

Mabel took her foot off the brake, and the car began to drift.

“Park,” said Van, “you’ve gotta put it in park.”

Mabel nodded and hastily moved the shift lever to P. The engine gave a sputter and stalled out. “Okay, good,” she said, “it’s off.”

A radio in the dashboard crackled and a garbled voice said something unintelligible.

“What?” said Van.

The voice broke through more clearly. “Walrus, come in Walrus, this is Hightops…”

“That’s Agent Boots!” said Mabel.

“Don’t let her hear you,” whispered Van.

“She can’t,” Mabel assured him. She picked up the handset and pointed out a red button on it. “I’d have to push this button to speak.”

“Walrus…” crackled the voice again, “come in Walrus…”

“Say something,” said Mabel, shoving the handset at Van.

“Why?” he asked.

“So she’ll think he’s here and won’t come looking for him.”

Van cleared his throat and pushed the red button. “Walrus here,” he said in an unnaturally guttural voice.

There was an awkward silence, then the radio crackled again.

“Sir…” said the voice, “Elsa has lost her charges…they’ve gone missing sir…”

“That’s us,” said Mabel.

Boots appeared to be waiting for a reply, as the line transmitted only static.

“Oh?” grunted Van into the handset.

“Suggest sir, that Cueball and I look for them in town…” the voice said between crackles.

Van cleared his throat and pressed the red button again. “Roger Hightops, over and out.” He released the button. “And don’t,” he said, turning to Mabel, “expect me to say anything else.”

“Fine,” Mabel agreed. “Wait a minute…” There was something cardboard with crinkly cellophane under her seat. “Wow, look what he left!” She held up a full box of powdered sugar donuts.

“Maybe he’s not such a bad guy after all,” said Van, opening the box and offering it to the backseat passengers. Ivy declined, but Norton grinned and grabbed a donut. “We’ll just take these with us,” said Van, handing a donut to Mabel, who gave half to Sparkle.

Mabel got out of the car and looked at the Shooting Star. She knew how to get in, she knew how to boot up Bailey…but flying. That sinking feeling again began to well up. We’ll figure it out, she told herself firmly. Because we have to.

Mabel scrambled onto the wing and opened the hatch, then watched as Van helped Norton and Ivy out of the car.

Ivy, looking paler and more tired than she had thirty minutes ago, exited on one side, and out the other, hunched and shuffling, came Norton. At first he seemed confused about where he was, and he squinted at the sunlight reflected off the top of the Shooting Star. But as he adjusted his glasses, and refocused on the airplane, recognition seemed to light his face. He hobbled over to the plane, and chuckled as he ran his fingers over the vines and animals painted on the Star’s body. Then he glanced up at Mabel, gave a satisfied nod, and made an effort to pull himself onto the wing.

“Van, help Norton,” said Mabel, realizing that he’d never make it without a boost. So, with Van boosting, and Mabel pulling, Norton managed to clamber onto the wing of the star where he sat looking rather delighted. Van and Mabel brought Ivy aboard in a similar manner, then Van handed Mabel the dogs and the donuts. Lastly, he pulled himself onto the wing.

“Okay, Mabel,” said Van, casting a dubious eye at the open hatch. “Who’s sitting in the pilot’s seat, you or me?”

Mabel looked at him hopefully. “You drove the golf cart,” she said.

“You drove the car,” he countered. “And, you’ve watched your dad.”

“Yeah, I guess, but…what?” Mabel turned toward Norton who had gently taken hold of her elbow. He was looking at her and shaking his head, his crinkly face creased into a patient smile. With painstaking care, Norton grabbed his cane and pulled himself to his feet on the wing of the plane. Then he shuffled the few steps to the open hatch, and looked expectantly at Van.

“He’s waiting for you to help him get in,” explained Ivy.

Mabel looked at Van, then at Norton. “Mr. Halfslip?” she said. “You want to…”

“Fly the plane,” said Ivy quietly. “Golly Mabel, just because someone can’t speak…you didn’t think you were going to do it did you?”

Mabel looked at Van to discern what he was thinking. Van shrugged. Mabel wondered if Norton could possibly, after all these years, and a stroke…fly an airplane. At the same time, she felt greatly relieved that it wasn’t up to her.

“Okay,” she finally said getting in position to boost Norton. “Van, help me out.”

As Van boosted from the left, and Mabel from the right, Norton scrambled over the edge of the cockpit and disappeared head first. Mabel felt slightly horrified, wondering how to help him right himself, when he managed to pull his feet in and push himself into a seated position. Looking no more rumpled than usual, Norton straightened his glasses, gave an enthusiastic thumbs up, and grinned a big yellow grin.

“Okay, Ivy,” said Mabel, “let’s get you in there.” With a slight boost, Ivy pulled herself into the hold behind the pilot seat and disappeared from view. Sparkle grasped Sig by the scruff and patiently allowed Mabel to lift her in next.

“Let’s go start up…whoa…Bailey…and hope a storm’s not coming,” said Mabel as a forceful gust of wind threw her off balance. She quickly sat flat on her bottom so as not to be blown off the wing. River water spritzed Van in the glasses, and several sticks pelted the plane’s fuselage.

“I don’t think it’s a storm,” said Van removing his glasses, “it’s the river.”

“What’s its problem?” wondered Mabel aloud. “Oh no…how fast can we get out of here?” She looked toward Rocky Creek Road. Rapidly approaching the plane was a dark green van, with river mud splattered across its duct-taped windshield.

“Not fast enough,” said Van.

The van lurched to an abrupt halt next to Agent Manderley’s black sedan.

Wind and drizzle seemed to be swirling around Verdon Arbogast as he got out and approached the Shooting Star. He was smiling in a twisted sort of smirk, and even had she not been looking, Mabel would have felt his eyes boring into her.

“We get in quick and shut the hatch,” Mabel whispered to Van, as the two of them edged toward the cockpit.

“Oh, not yet,” said Arbogast silkily, as he pulled something shiny and black out of his coat pocket.

Mabel spoke to Van as quietly as she could. “He has a gun.”

Van looked incredulously at Arbogast. “The plane is full,” he said in the most neutral voice he could muster. He and Mabel stood on the wing, their backs to the cockpit.

Arbogast stood at the edge of the wing, then with remarkably little effort, sprang onto the end of it. He clucked and feigned a look of surprise. “Full, you say?” he repeated. “But I say it’s not!”

“Mmmmm…fresh!” she said, turning around to smile cloyingly at Van and Mabel. Van winced. Mabel tried not to gag. She felt almost overcome by the nauseatingly artificial cherry odor permeating the car’s interior.

“And now children,” said Mrs. Pilderjack, “we’ll go to a special place to spend the night, and you’ll have some nice dinner!”

The ride seemed interminable. Neither Mabel nor Van felt much like talking. They’d crossed the bridge and traveled a good half-hour from East Logjam. It was nearly dark when Mrs. Pilderjack pulled into the drive of a somewhat dingy white ranch house, badly in need of a paint job. Mabel could just make out that the sign in the yard said “Algonguin County Protective Services.”

The children followed Mrs. Pilderjack into the house. A hulking man with a crewcut sat doing paperwork in what used to be the kitchen, but now seemed to be all office equipment with one plug-in hot plate.

“Gotchoo some Peppy Meals,” said the man, grunting as if he were lifting heavy barbells. Without looking up, he reached under the counter and pulled out two colorfully decorated bags, extending them toward Van and Mabel.

Mrs. Pilderjack smiled a squinty smile and nodded at the children.

Van shrugged at Mabel and took both bags, then handed her one.

Mabel ate a chewy, but otherwise unidentifiable, brown nugget, and drank a bit of watery soda, but even had her appetite been better, the odor of Mrs. Pilderjack’s freshly applied pink nail polish wafting across the table would have made food unappealing. Even Van ate very little.

Mrs. Pilderjack stood and clapped her newly manicured hands twice.

“Bedtime!” she said, leading the children down a drab hallway.

Van was ushered into a room to the left, then Mrs. Pilderjack opened a door on the right for Mabel. Two sets of metal bunk beds furnished an otherwise empty room. A bathroom, covered with moss green tiles in an undulating wave pattern adjoined the bedroom.

“Now then,” said Mrs. Pilderjack. “There’s a nighty on the bed, and a toothbrush in the bathroom. I’ll see you in the morning!”

Mabel chose to ignore the nightgown and the toothbrush and stay in her clothes. She barely slept. When the first sign of sunrise crept through the bathroom window, she looked at her watch. 5:24 a.m. Probably Mrs. Pilderjack was still asleep, if she was even in the house at all. The bedroom door creaked only slightly as Mabel peered into the hallway. She stealthily crossed the hall and opened Van’s door a crack.

He was sitting on a bed cross-legged with his chin propped on his hand.

“Welcome to the Ritz Carlton,” he said.

Mabel sat down next to him. “We’ve gotta get out of here,” she stated.

“We will,” he said. “Let’s wait and see if they’re sending us home first.”

They sat on the bed and played rock, paper, scissors, until the door popped open thirty minutes later.

“Oh, no, no, no!” cried Mrs. Pilderjack. “Girls in the girls’ room, boys in the boys’ room!” She carefully removed a hairnet which was holding her beehive in place, and said, “Well, nevermind. You can’t help your upbringing.” She sniffed, then assumed a tone one might use when speaking to a puppy. “Mr. Higglesworth has some breakfast for you in the kitchen!”

Van and Mabel followed Mrs. Pilderjack, who marched purposefully toward the former kitchen. Mabel wondered how Mr. Higglesworth could have obtained breakfast when he appeared not to have moved from his position at the counter. Nevertheless, he grunted as before, and held out a wax paper bag containing two donuts with colored sprinkles, and two cartons of orange fruit drink.

“Thanks,” said Mabel.

Mrs. Pilderjack beamed, then began to reapply her makeup at the table, using a small handheld mirror.

“I do have some news,” said Mrs. Pilderjack. She sighed slightly and continued working on her lipstick. “Though I must say I question the wisdom of this decision, it seems your parents have signed paperwork releasing both of you to the custody of Ramon Somebody-or-other, at the restaurant.”

Van breathed a sigh of relief. Mrs. Pilderjack glared at him.

“I must say, though,” she continued, “to turn children over to someone who wears tribal clothing and doesn’t even have a last name…well…it’s not my decision to make…but, dearie me.”

Mrs. Pilderjack took a swig from a coffee mug which was heavily marked with pink lipstick. “Well, then,” she said, standing up, “shall we?”

Mabel expected dismal weather, to match the dismal events of the previous day, but the sun was bright, and surprisingly warm for Fall. She and Van climbed into the back seat of the pink car, as Mrs. Pilderjack took the driver’s seat.

“There is one stop I must make before I take you children to school,” said Mrs. Pilderjack, sighing again. “I must get that Ramon fellow’s signature agreeing to accept temporary guardianship. So, our first stop is the restaurant, or commune, or whatever it is.” She muttered to herself for several minutes as she drove down the road to Logjam.

They began to pass the trimly manicured lawns of West Logjam. Mrs. Pilderjack managed to stay on the road and reapply lipstick at the same time. Suddenly she straightened up and looked positively perky.

“And oh yes, I almost forgot! The paperwork came last night allowing me to remove that poor little sick child from the custody of the senile old man.” She patted her beehive into place. “So…we can all feel better about that. I understand she needs some serious medical attention.”

Mabel sunk into her seat and looked at Van in horror. He returned the look but raised his hands in helplessness and shook his head. Mabel dropped her napkin onto the car’s floor, made an “oops” face, and bent down below Mrs. Pilderjack’s line of vision.

“Dropped something, huh?” said Van audibly, as he too bent down below the top of the front seat.

“We have to get Ivy,” Mabel mouthed silently to Van.

“How?” he noiselessly replied.

She shrugged and whispered, “No doctors!”

“What was that?” said Mrs. Pilderjack sharply, attempting to see them in her rear view mirror.

Mabel sat up. “I was just saying, there are no doctors in East Logjam,” she said in an earnest voice.

“And so there aren’t,” replied Mrs. Pilderjack. “I’ll be taking the child to the clinic in West Logjam where she can get proper treatment.”

Mabel turned her head so that only Van could see her near-panic expression. The car began to cross the Willibunk River bridge.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Pilderjack?” said Van.

“Yes?” she answered.

“You have lipstick on your teeth.”

The pink car screeched to a jarring halt, throwing Mabel and Van against their shoulder belts. Right in the middle of the Willibunk River bridge, Mrs. Pilderjack flipped down the driver’s side sun visor and began to make toothy faces, examining herself in the mirror.

With surprising agility, Van kicked his door open, pushed the buttons holding both their seatbelts in place, grabbed Mabel by the arm and scrambled out of the car pulling her along with him. They did not stop to talk or think. They tore across the remainder of the bridge on foot and dashed across the front porch of Franklin’s Guest House. There was no time to look, but Mabel felt, as they passed a certain window, that something ancient and decayed was watching them pass.

Mabel and Van stopped to catch their breath behind Jackman’s Drugstore.

“Okay,” Van panted, “we ditched…Pilderjack…now what?”

“We…get Ivy,” Mabel panted back. “Then…I don’t know what.”

“What if someone sees us?”

Mabel looked around. “We’ve gotta make sure they don’t. We’ll cross the street in front of here, then stick to the woods.”

Mabel peered out from the alley between Jackman’s and The Village Grocer. River Street business wouldn’t really get going for another hour or so, and the street seemed clear. “Now,” she said.

“Mabel Crockett!” barked an indignant voice, startling them into freezing just as they reached the opposite curb. Holly Bumper stood at the bus stop in front of O’Boyle’s Soda & Sweets, her hands on her hips. “You’re about to miss the bus, get over here right now!”

Van looked at her momentarily. “Thanks for the warning, Holly!” he shouted before running for the woods behind Minnie Filo’s hair salon. Mabel was right behind him, and they could hear Holly’s voice as they reached the tree line screaming, “Mabel Crockett and Van Peale! You can’t skip school! I’m telling!”

“Okay Holly, whatever,” said Van as they jogged through the woods alongside Rocky Creek Road.

“School’s going to know we’re not there anyway,” observed Mabel.

“Mabel,” said Van, pushing his way through the trees, “what are we going to do once we get Ivy?”

“We’ll just have to think of something,” she replied. “I don’t know, hide out somewhere.”

A gentle wind rippled through the canopy of leaves above their heads. Gradually, the rippling moved downward, until it seemed the noise was coming from the tree trunks themselves.

“Weird,” said Van, glancing around.

“Yeah,” said Mabel, “the trees…” She stopped. “No, wait Van…listen.”

A tiny, tiny voice, almost right in Mabel’s ear seemed to say, “they’ll help you.”

“What?” exclaimed Van.

Mabel shushed him. Very quietly she said, “who will help?”

“They’re ready for you. At the spring,” came the barely audible reply.

The breeze dwindled to nothing. The woods were silent, except for a chirping bird.

Van looked at Mabel quizzically. “The spring?” he said. “What spring? And who was that?” Van looked around, slightly frustrated. “Who Was That?” he said louder, as if to the woods.

“That’s all,” said Mabel. “They won’t say anything else. I’ve talked to dryads before. That’s all they’ll say.”

“Mabel,” said Van, shaking his head. “You know the weirdest people.”

Van and Mabel crossed Rocky Creek Road without encountering any cars at all. Even so, they kept to the woods as they climbed the hill to Halfslips’, half expecting that at any moment a chunky pink vehicle would screech up beside them.

But they spotted no vehicles, and entered the house to find Ivy curled up on the living room sofa with something resembling a green milkshake.

“Pop-pop made it with tofu,” Ivy said, managing a small smile. “It tastes pretty good, but I don’t have my appetite yet.”

“It’ll come back,” said Mabel, trying hard to sound confident, but actually thinking that Ivy looked positively wilted.

Norton shuffled into the room. He leaned heavily on a wooden cane, and in the other hand carried a glass of something resembling the concoction Ivy was working on. He smiled at the children, and lowered himself, painstakingly, into a rocking chair.

“Ivy,” said Mabel, sitting down at the other end of the sofa, “we have to get you away from here. Now.”

Ivy read the concern on Mabel’s face. “Why,” she said, “what’s the matter?”

“There’s this lady,” said Van, “a real nut-case. Mabel and I just ran away from her.”

“She’s coming here to take you to a doctor, Ivy,” continued Mabel. “Probably the only reason she’s not here already is she’s looking for me and Van.”

Ivy pulled herself, with obvious effort, into a sitting position. “Where will we go?” she asked, “Pop-pop can’t walk much, you know…and I’m not sure I can either.”

Mabel suddenly began to feel quite clear about where they would go. She looked around the Halfslips’ living room. The decor was largely botanical prints and a poster from Norton Halfslip’s old job with Billy Limpit’s Flying Circus.

“We’re going to a spring,” said Mabel confidently, “to find my…relatives.”

The Flying Circus poster was large and colorful, a painting of exciting images from the airshow.

“And we’ll get there,” Mabel continued, focusing on an illustration of Norton Halfslip waving from the cockpit of a bi-wing, “in the Shooting Star.”

“She’ll be okay,” Van reassured her. “Everybody gets sick and misses school once in a while.”

“Yeah,” said Mabel, not feeling very reassured at all. “Anyway,” she continued, “I’ve got a homework packet for her so she won’t get too far behind.”

The bus made its west side rounds, then jiggled its way across the Willibunk River bridge. Van climbed off at his usual stop, but when the bus stopped in front of O’Boyle’s, Mabel did not get off with the Bumpers and Ricky Fairweather. Holly Bumper, who liked to make sure everything was just so, gave her a questioning look, then shrugged and disembarked when Mabel indicated that she had some papers for Ivy Halfslip. The bus then squeaked and leaned, turning onto Rocky Creek Road. Mabel stood as the driver approached the sign at the base of the botanical center driveway, and he stopped to let her off.

She wondered if Ivy was even feeling well enough to contend with a math worksheet, but reminded herself that, for Ivy anyway, math worksheets didn’t require a great deal of effort.

There was the sound of gravel being ground and spit from beneath the tires of a rapidly moving vehicle. Mabel quickly jumped off the drive and into the bushes in time to see a blocky pink car roar up the hill beside her. The car screeched to a halt, throwing more stones behind it, then backed up in a series of rapid jerks. The driver’s window lowered.

“Little girl!” scolded a woman whose face was barely visible beneath her makeup. Her hair was frosted into stripes of blonde and dark brown, and teased into a beehive hairdo which brushed the ceiling of her car. “This is not a place for children! There are government operatives at work as we speak! Go home!”

Mabel nodded, and took a step backward. The woman, seemingly satisfied that her instructions were being heeded, spun her tires and roared up the remainder of the driveway.

Mabel stood and blinked for a moment. Who was that and what was happening at the botanical center? She decided the best thing to do would be to find out for herself, as long as she could avoid being spotted by the lady in the pink car. She climbed the second half of the hill through the trees at the side of the driveway. When she reached the top, she crouched behind a boxwood hedge and looked across the parking area, with a growing, gut-wrenching sense of dread.

Porter Halfslip was walking out of Greenhouse 1, flanked by two trenchcoated agents. Porter looked across the parking lot toward a DIS car, where Mary and Parker stood together, with two more agents. Porter’s hands were behind his back, and it wasn’t until he and the agents had crossed the parking lot that Mabel could see the reason. He was handcuffed. Mabel felt sick.

The door to Greenhouse 3 creaked loudly. Reynolds Manderley strode across the parking lot speaking quietly into a handheld dictaphone.

I hate him, Mabel thought to herself. Patience has to hate him too. She has too.

“Where’s the child?” barked the lady with the beehive, who had gotten out of her pink car. Then, in a sweeter voice she added, “a little girl, I think?”

“It’s alright,” said Manderley. “She’s going to stay here with her great-grandfather.”

“Norton Halfslip?” said Boots. “Isn’t he involved in this operation?”

“He’s too old, and he can’t even talk,” said the short, bald agent. “Even if he’s had anything to do with growing the contraband plants, he’s too out of it to know what he’s doing.”

Mabel bristled. The stupid agent knew nothing about Norton Halfslip.

“Too old?” said the beehive lady. “Out of it, you say? Yet you’d leave a child in his care?”

“They’ll be fine,” interjected Mary Halfslip. “Norton is quite capable of caring for a child.”

“I see,” said Ms. Beehive, eyeing her suspiciously. “Well, we’ll just have to see about that, won’t we?”

The three Halfslips were hastily ushered into a DIS vehicle, which began to pull out of the parking lot, followed by the other two sedans, and the pink car.

Mabel felt sick and hot and flushed and confused. She remembered her father’s words assuring her that it was all a mistake and everything would be fine. Dad, she thought. I need Dad. She tore down the hill through the woods, not minding the brambles and branches in her way. The woods opened onto the airfield. There was the Shooting Star, just cleaned and buffed by her father, and ready for its next flight. Mabel did not stop. Her lungs ached, but she raced across the airfield and dashed through the path to her backyard.

“Mom!” she yelled. “Dad!” They were not in the house. She ran through the garden and into the back door of the press office.

“Mabelina,” called Paulo, “Mabelina, wait, you must wait here!” Paulo looked upset, shaky, and caffeine-addled. He was carrying papers which piece by piece were spilling from his arms onto the press room floor.

“Where are my parents, Paulo?” Mabel demanded.

“Mabelina, they’re not here…wait Mabelina, you need to wait!” He dropped the rest of the papers. “Okay, don’t wait, I wouldn’t either.”

Mabel barely heard Paulo’s last few words. She had bolted through the front door of the press office and, as hastily as possible, crossed the street. She hurdled several piles of bricks in front of the Fairweathers’ and dodged around the fruit kiosk in front of the grocery store.

Mabel was only vaguely aware of people scuttling out of her way as she tore single-mindedly toward the co-op, until one did not step aside and she ran smack into him. The collision nearly sent her spinning into the railing at the foot of the Willibunk River bridge and she had no idea whether she was about to hit the ground or the sky when a pair of firm and grasping hands placed her in an upright position.

“Are things going poorly, then, Miss Crockett?” sneered Verdon Arbogast, loosening his grip slightly.

Mabel wrenched herself free of his grasp and glared at him loathingly.

“Never…come near me…again!” she rasped.

“Oh!” Arbogast exclaimed. He took a step backwards and assumed an injured expression. “I’m so sorry you feel that way. But I understand. Things are getting a little out of hand around here.”

Mabel’s head began to clear and she took a step back toward the sidewalk.

“My offer still stands, you know,” Arbogast said. His expression darkened. “I can help you. We can help each other.”

“What do you want?” said Mabel, stepping farther away.

“Your father, silly,” he replied. It came out as a snarl. “You know how to find him. I know they told you.”

“Who told me?” asked Mabel.

Arbogast looked darker, angry and desperate. He closed in and clamped a hand around Mabel’s arm. “The dryads,” he said unsteadily. “The bloody…Stinking…DRYADS!”

Arbogast’s grip was tight, and he looked almost rabid. Mabel twisted and yanked herself free, then ran across the foot of the bridge without checking for traffic or looking back. River water splashed at her heals as she ran. The door to Mona Lisa’s was within her reach, and she pulled it open and hurried inside.

It was a different world in the gallery. Plants were thriving, chamber music was gently playing, diners were relaxing over a meal. Van waved from the base of the stairway down the hall.

“Mabel,” he said, “you don’t look so good. What’s wrong?”

“Where’s your dad, Van?” she answered. “We need your parents. Mine are gone.”

Van looked confused, but motioned toward the dining room. “He’s in there,” he said, “and look who he’s with.”

At a corner table, Noah Peale was handing menus to two seated customers.

“I am deeply honored,” said Tim Tutter, “that you would join me this evening, Miss Penny.” He smiled a charming but, in Mabel’s estimate, insincere smile.

Miss Penny chuckled and waved her hand at him. “Anything for a good meal, hon,” she said. “And they cook pretty good here.”

“Karla will be serving you this evening,” said Mr. Peale, before he turned toward Van and Mabel in the gallery. His large brow furrowed with concern when he saw Mabel, scratched, shaken and disheveled, and he gently ushered the children away from the gallery and into the more private hallway.

“What happened, Mabel? Are you alright?” Mr. Peale put an arm around her shoulders, and she took several deep breaths so as not to cry.

“They…took the Halfslips…in their cars,” said Mabel chokily.

“Took?” asked Mr. Peale.

“Arrested,” continued Mabel. “With handcuffs…and I don’t know where my parents are…something happened.”

“Okay…alright…,” said Mr. Peale, thinking out loud. “We’ll need to find a good lawyer…maybe Henders Upshaw…”

Ramon walked through the front door, visibly concerned. “Noah…” he began.

Mr. Peale cut him off. “Ramon, can you host for a while?”

“Yes…but I was going to say that…” Ramon stopped suddenly and looked back at the door. It opened abruptly, almost as if kicked, and in marched four DIS agents, wearing utterly no-nonsense expressions. Reynolds Manderley brought up the rear, then pushed to the front of the group.

“Are you Noah Peale, proprietor of this restaurant?” asked Manderley.

“Yes I am,” responded Mr. Peale gently, “but I think you already knew that.”

“Please stay where you are sir,” instructed Manderley, “and have someone send for your wife Sonja Peale.”

“Ramon?” said Mr. Peale, nodding toward the kitchen.

Ramon nodded uncertainly and left the room. A few moments later, he reappeared with Mrs. Peale, just as Patience came down the stairs. Pleasure at the sight of Manderley lit her face fleetingly before being replaced by fear and confusion.

Mabel looked at Manderley, perceiving that he was aware of Patience in his peripheral visual field. Something agonizingly painful registered on his face until he snuffed it, with a great swallow and straightening of his shoulders. He turned to the Peales.

“Noah and Sonja Peale, you are under arrest on suspicion of the purveyance of illegal botanical substances…”

Manderley continued to prattle for several more minutes about rights and legalities. Mabel’s head began to pound. Van looked stricken. Patience clung to Ramon who had stepped toward her protectively.

“This is Mrs. Pilderjack,” said Boots, as the lady from the pink car stepped into the restaurant lobby. “She is a social worker who will be seeing to the safety of the children.”

“Hello, children,” said Mrs. Pilderjack to Mabel and Van. Her voice was grotesquely syrupy. “And you must be little Mabel. Well, with your parents in federal custody you will need someone to look after you. That’s my job.”

“They can stay here,” said Ramon. “There are plenty of adults here they know.”

Mrs. Pilderjack smiled at him condescendingly. “I’m afraid that’s impossible,” she said, “until their parents have filled out the proper release forms.”

“Give me the paperwork,” said Mr. Peale. “I’ll sign it now.”

Mrs. Pilderjack looked up at him and shook her head as if she couldn’t imagine such a peculiar human being. “It can’t be done here,” she snapped. “Children, please follow me.”

Boots and the bald agent snapped handcuffs onto the wrists of Mr. and Mrs. Peale and gestured toward the front door.

Mrs. Peale nodded at Van and Mabel reassuringly. “It’ll be okay,” she said, “just do as they ask for now.” Then she and Mr. Peale exited the restaurant in the center of the cluster of trenchcoated agents.

“So,” said Van, “do you think Patience and the DIS guy will get together?”

Mabel shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe if he sees what a nice person she is he’ll drop this whole stupid investigation. Otherwise, I think there’d be whatever that’s called–conflict of interest.”

“You’re right,” agreed Van, “Patience would stop liking him real fast if he’s trying to bust her friends for something they didn’t do.”

“Oh man, I can hear him,” said Mabel, as they turned the corner onto River Street. “It’s that voice!”

“So, LADIES and GENTLEMEN! In conclusion, I must COMMEND you for the THOROUGH archives kept by YOUR public library. It has SIMPLIFIED my research greatly, and I have SET UP a meeting with the VERY CITIZEN of your FAIR TOWN who can help ME turn OUR dreams into a REALITY!” Tutter concluded his speech to modest applause and slid, along with his perky blonde assistant, into the waiting limousine.

“I guess we missed it,” said Mabel.

“What I’m wondering,” said Van, “is who is this person, I mean this CITIZEN, who he’s talking about?”

“Don’t know,” replied Mabel. “Tell you what, it’s almost dinner time. I’ll walk you home.”

They crossed the street and headed for the peach stucco co-op, passing by the outdoor terrace, where several tables were occupied by early diners.

“Whoa,” hissed Van, “the trenchcoat brigade! They’re on the terrace. What are they doing?”

“I think they’re having lemonade,” said Mabel, squinting toward the outdoor dining area. “With someone. With Arbogast! Come on, we’ve gotta figure out what they’re talking about!” Mabel grabbed Van by the shirt and quickly, but quietly, hustled past the side of the building and into the main entrance of Mona Lisa’s.

“The kitchen door,” suggested Van. He and Mabel scurried through the kitchen toward the door leading to the terrace.

“Excuse me,” said Mrs. Peale, barely glancing up from several saucepans into which she was dicing onions at blazing speed, “but we wouldn’t be spying on customers, would we?”

“Mom,” whispered Van, “you’ve got to trust me. This is important.”

“Ah, well,” contributed Franz, from his position at the stir-fry griddle, “We were once children too.” He paused and raised one eyebrow. “At least I guess we were. I really don’t recall.”

Mabel put her finger to her lips and pressed her ear to the doorframe. She could make out the skinny form of Verdon Arbogast through the door screen, and his clipped voice was unmistakable.

“I saw you officers taking a break and thought I might add my review, in case you’re going to be in town a few days. If you haven’t had dinner here at Mona Lisa’s, I recommend it highly.”

“What is he up to?” whispered Mabel. “He wouldn’t be friendly for no reason.”

“Unfortunately,” replied the bald DIS agent, “attending to business doesn’t often leave time for socializing.”

“What a shame,” continued Arbogast. “Well, if you find the time, I hear they cook up a spectacular soup. It’s made with an unusual green, grown especially for the chefs here by those creative folk over at the local botanical center. They call it claracrockett something-or-other.”

The DIS agents suddenly looked very alert. The cat-eye agent began scribbling notes on a pad. Agent Manderley looked like his stomach hurt.

“A very interesting vegetable,” continued Arbogast, leaning back in his wrought-iron chair. “I understand plants of its genus are illegal in most of Europe. Thought to have rather dangerous hallucinogenic properties. But I’m sure you people would know what is and isn’t legal.”

The cat-eye and bald agents began to whisper to each other. Manderley looked even sicker.

“Oh, I know!” said Arbogast, suddenly very chipper. “I bet you’d like to know where the Halfslips got this plant in the first place.”

The three agents became very quiet and stared at Arbogast, who seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.

“Oh, it’s flown over on a regular basis,” said Arbogast. “There’s a local magazine publisher. I believe his name’s Crockett, just like the plant. Flies a private plane. He and his wife apparently bring a variety of botanical samples back from their trips.”

Mabel stared at Van to see if he got what she got out of the conversation.

“That dirty creep,” whispered Van.

Mabel nodded, “Whatever’s going on with these trenchcoat guys,” she said, “Arbogast wants to make sure all our parents get in trouble.”

A chair scraped the floor loudly. Mabel peaked to see that the bald agent had stood up.

“We’ve got to talk to headquarters,” the standing agent said.

“Right,” said Manderley, also getting out of his chair. “If you and Boots would call HQ,” he continued, “there’s a bit of investigating I’d like to do around here.”

Cat-eyed Agent Boots, and the bald agent nodded and strode away from the terrace. Arbogast nodded at Manderley. “Well,” Arbogast said, “have a nice evening.”

Mabel and Van returned to the restaurant lobby in silence. Van sat down on the edge of Hippocrates’ fountain. Mabel sat beside him.

“My dad says there’s nothing to worry about,” she said. “The Halfslips haven’t done anything wrong.”

“And if they haven’t,” Van said, “then neither have your folks, or mine.”

The restaurant’s large front door creaked open. Reynolds Manderley walked hesitantly into the restaurant, casting furtive glances around the room as if he expected to get into trouble. This seemed a far different Manderley than the confidant professional Mabel had first met in Bumper’s. Though his mustache quivered slightly, he made an attempt to regain his purposeful demeanor as Noah Peale walked over to the host’s stand. Even tall, handsome Agent Manderley was dwarfed by the mountainous Mr. Peale.

“Good evening, sir,” said the ever-friendly Mr. Peale. “Are you here for dinner?”

“Actually,” began Manderley. He cleared his throat to project a more confident voice. “Actually, I was hoping you could tell me if Miss Patience is in?”

Mabel elbowed Van in the ribs to make sure he was listening.

“Oh, I see,” said Mr. Peale. His tone suddenly became rather fatherly. “Why don’t you have a seat, and maybe these two,” he said, turning to the children by the fountain, “would run to see if Patience is upstairs in the studio?”

“Sure,” said Mabel. She hurried down the hall toward the steps with Van right behind her. “So,” said Mabel with a giggle, “now we know what he wants to investigate around here.”

Manderley jumped hurriedly to his feet as Patience reached the lobby.

“Agent Manderley,” she said in greeting.

“Miss Patience,” he began, taking a step toward her, “I was just wondering if…well, if you haven’t eaten yet…If you’d have dinner…with me?”

Mr. Peale cast a knowing expression at Van and Mabel.

Patience blushed slightly, then looked at Mr. Peale as if for reassurance. “I think…” she began.

“…it’s a splendid idea,” broke in Mr. Peale, “everyone needs to eat. And, it makes the dining room look better if more tables are filled.”

Patience blushed more, but looked delighted. Manderley’s face broke into a besotted grin.

“Wow, I’ve gotta go,” said Mabel, glancing at her watch, “but I’m dying to know how this little dinner date goes. Be sure you pay attention.”

Van rolled his eyes. “I really do not need to watch this guy go all gaga over Patience,” he said, “why don’t you run down after dinner and see for yourself?”

Mabel chortled at him. “Van Rijn, you’re jealous.”

Van merely huffed.

On top of the Fairweather’s chimney sat a geranium-shaped chimney pot. Through a hole Boris Fairweather had knocked in the dining room wall, Mabel could see all the Fairweathers seated at dinner, on chairs Mrs. Fairweather had fashioned out of the remaining chimney pots.

“Boris says they have a few left over,” said Mr. Crockett, holding the press office door open for Mabel. “I’m sure we could use some chimney pot furniture around here, too. Anyway, glad you could make it for dinner.”

“Sorry, Dad,” said Mabel, “there’s some really weird stuff going on around town.”

“Tell me about it,” replied her father, “a couple of those DIS people just left. They were grilling your mother and me about where we get the plant samples we bring back from trips. I think those guys must have too much time on their hands. Anyway,” he said, slapping a stack of papers onto the table, “I’ve got potatoes in the oven, which will incinerate if I don’t get back to the house. Your mom’s on the internet doing some Norway research. If you can pry her away from the computer we’ll be eating in ten minutes.”

“Okay, Dad,” said Mabel.

Paulo shuffled down the stairs with a cumbersome box in one arm, and his ever-present coffee cup balanced precariously in the other hand. When he puts it down, she thought, feeling for the vial hanging under her shirt, I’ll do it.

“Eh, Mabelina!” called Paulo, staggering over to a desk and dumping his load. “How’s yer homework coming?”

“It’s not bad, Paulo,” she replied, as he trotted, always in perpetual motion, into the next room. The coffee cup was unattended on the desk. Mabel took a swift scan of the room, and certain she would be unnoticed, went to the cup. It was empty.

“That stinkin’ coffee percolator,” Paulo said, hustling back into the room. “The stinkin’ thing is broken again. And I just spilled my last cup on the file cabinet. And I won’t have time to be fixin’ it ‘til tomorrow.” He let out a defeated sigh. “Well, I tell you what, Mabelina,” he continued in a brighter tone, “If I hurry up an git home for dinner, maybe Mrs. Remini will have brewed some up, and maybe if I’m not TOO late, she won’t dump it on my head.”

“Okay, Paulo, you’d better hurry up then,” said Mabel. Well, she thought, maybe tomorrow.

Mabel excused herself after dinner, on the grounds that she had a little project to finish up at the co-op.

Van was sitting on the curb out front, drumming his fingers on the concrete.

“So how’s it going?” asked Mabel.

“Do me a favor,” replied Van, “if I ever stare at a girl that way, spray me with a fire hose.”

Mabel hid a smile. “Sure thing, Van…Hey,” she continued, giving the back of his shirt a tug, “let’s go have a peek.”

When they entered the gallery Van gave Mabel a “wait-a-minute” gesture and disappeared through the dining room into the kitchen. Within seconds he emerged carrying two brownies on plates. He and Mabel seated themselves at an tiny table partially obscured by foliage and a statue of a dancing fox. Mabel could see Agent Manderley and Patience engaged in a gently animated conversation, and wondered if they would notice they were being observed. It took only seconds for her to conclude that Manderley’s gaze barely strayed from Patience and vice-versa.

Van faked a yawn then dug into his brownie. Mabel put her finger to her lips.

“I’ve never thought about colors that way,” said Manderley with embarrassing sincerity. Patience gave him a glowing smile, then glanced at the dashiki-robed flute instructor who was currently serving as a waiter.

“I thought you might enjoy some after-dinner coffee,” said Ramon, the waiter, setting down two cups, and a small pitcher of cream.

Manderley nodded his thanks, and began to drink his black. Patience emptied half the cream into her cup, and added a generous spoonful of sugar.

“I can’t tell you how much safer the world feels to me,” Patience said, stirring her coffee, “knowing there are people like you in law enforcement.”

Manderley beamed. Van rolled his eyes. Mabel squelched a giggle.

Patience set her spoon down, leaving her hand to linger on the table near Manderley’s. First tentatively, then with confidence, he embraced her hand with his own. Two pairs of eyes locked and softened into liquid pools of infatuation.

“I’m done,” said Van, standing up abruptly. “I gotta go now.”

“Okay, okay,” agreed Mabel turning to follow him.
They stopped. Four trenchcoated DIS agents, including the bald man and Boots, strode purposefully into the dining room.

“Excuse me sir!” said Boots in a jarring voice.

Manderley jumped, as if suddenly awakened, and turned around in his chair.

“Sir,” Boots continued, “we’ve spoken to HQ and it’s urgent that we meet with you right away. Can you come to the hotel?”

Manderley managed a drugged nod, then turned back to Patience.

She smiled. “It’s alright. I’m sure it’s very important. Maybe you can come around again. I’m usually upstairs painting.”

Boots shot Manderley a severe look, then turned and marched out of the restaurant with the other agents close at her clicking heels.

Manderley gazed at Patience with a strange sort of aching look, then straightened himself up, turned, and walked swiftly out of the building.

“I don’t know, Van,” answered Mabel. “I really haven’t figured out what he wants, but he is right about something.”

“What’s that?” asked Van.

“I have, or had, another set of parents, I mean besides my mom and dad.”

Van raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Okay,” said Mabel, “Just listen. But it’s going to sound weird.”

*****

A few shortcuts through the woods later, Mabel and Van were on the gravel hill to Halfslips’ Botanical Center.

“So,” asked Van, “do you think these people, I mean the biological parents, are around somewhere?”

Mabel stopped walking, and considered the question. “Yes,” she said, surprising herself with her decisiveness. “They are around. But I don’t know where.”

“And we don’t know why Arbogast cares,” added Van.

“Oh no!” said Mabel, coming to a halt at the top of the hill. “That illegal stuff guy is here.”

Van motioned to where two more identical black sedans were parked. “And some of his friends, too,” he added.

Mary Halfslip waved from the front porch of the house. “Ivy’s not feeling great today,” she called, “but she’d like you guys to come in and say hi.”

Ivy was slouched at the kitchen table. In front of her sat a nearly empty glass of her green nutrition supplement, and she gazed at it despondently.

“Still that bad, huh?” asked Mabel, as she and Van entered the room.

Ivy looked as pale as Mabel had ever seen her, and tired, as if just staying in the chair required effort. She grimaced at the glass. “I felt stinky before the latest dose. It’s helped a little, but not much.”

Mrs. Halfslip leaned around the doorway. “You wanted to show Mabel and Van our surprise?” she asked. Although she nodded encouragingly at Ivy, Mabel glimpsed what she took to be apprehension on Mrs. Halfslip’s face as she exited the room.

“Your mom’s worried about you,” said Mabel to Ivy. “Have you been to see Dr. Rotter?”

“Yeah,” responded Ivy, “he’s running some blood tests and stuff.”

Van sat down on the table. “You know,” he said, “Doc Rotter’s one of the smartest guys in the world, but…he doesn’t have a medical license. Have your parents considered getting a second opinion?”

“They can’t,” answered Ivy. “And besides, Doctor Rotter didn’t lose his license for being a bad doctor, it was for taking, you know…spare parts.”

“You said they can’t,” said Mabel. “Why not?”

Ivy swirled her glass and watched the green debris form patterns. “Doctor Rotter’s the only one we can trust,” she said quietly. “If anyone else examined me, they’d find out, and they might tell.”

“Find out what?” asked Mabel.

Ivy rocked the glass back and forth on the tabletop, and thought for a few minutes. “You guys are my best friends,” she said. “Mom said it would be okay to show you my baby brother.”

Mabel exchanged glances with Van, and concluded that he was equally confused.

“Okay,” said Van, sounding remarkably casual, “I didn’t know you had one.”

“Come on,” said Ivy, getting to her feet with visible effort. She walked across the kitchen to a hallway which led to the bedroom wing of the house, then turned and looked expectantly at Mabel and Van. They followed.

The hallway was decorated with photographs and posters. Many of Norton Halfslip, piloting a small bi-plane with his future wife walking the wing. Ivy saw Mabel looking. “Pop-pop’s proud of those days,” she said as she opened a door at the end of the hall.

Mabel had visited the small greenhouse room many times, and knew that Mrs. Halfslip tended the plants there with extraordinary care. They entered the small room, embraced by the increase in warmth and humidity.

“The Vigna, in the corner,” said Ivy, pointing to a sprawling bean plant with enormous leaves. Its clay pot was bathtub sized, and many vines spilled over the edge while others climbed a wooden trellis on the glass wall.

“That’s been there forever,” said Mabel. “I remember helping you water it when we were really little.”

“It is old,” said Ivy, gently stroking one of several pods growing beneath the shelter of a broad leaf. “Way older than me. Of course it has to be.”

“Okay,” said Van, trying to sound very patient, “if it’s older than you, how can it be your baby brother?”

Ivy giggled, though the effort made her wince. “The Vigna isn’t my brother,” she said. “Look.”

Ivy separated several vines, and gently held a cluster of leaves out of the way, then turned her wide hazel eyes to Mabel and Van. “This is my brother.”

Mabel saw what appeared to be an unusually large bean pod growing under the leaves. She blinked and looked again, not quite willing to trust her first glimpse. The bean had kicked.

“Holy Geronimo,” whispered Van, “that bean is moving!”

“It’s not a bean,” said Ivy. “It’s my brother. At least we’re pretty sure it’s a boy.”

“So, Ivy,” said Van, “that’s not exactly the usual way to get a baby brother. Are there babies growing in all these pods?”

“No Van, my father worked with this specific pod only. And, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you this…” Ivy continued, then paused briefly, “…but most vignas don’t have the capacity to carry human genetic material. Dad has done a fair amount of fiddling here. In fact, this vigna’s grafted onto the root system of a Nepenthes spectabilis for durability. They come from places like Sumatra, and can grow in really rough conditions. See, Mom was a little worried about not having a green thumb back then, and she wanted to be sure she wouldn’t kill me by neglect.”

“Kill YOU?” asked Mabel. “Are you saying that this is not the first time a baby has grown on that plant?”

“I am saying that,” replied Ivy.

“Jeesh,” said Van. His gaze alternated between Ivy and the bean plant. “Wow. Well, I guess I’m the last person who should question other people’s origins.” Van shrugged. “That baby really is your brother then.”

“That’s what I told you,” said Ivy.

Ivy closed the door to the greenhouse room as the three returned to the kitchen. “Mom’s worried about a couple things,” she said. “One is, that if a regular doctor finds out that part of my DNA is plant-based, they’ll make some kind of freak show out of it.”

“DNA,” interrupted Mabel. “That means what you’re made of?”

Ivy nodded and continued, “and the other thing she’s afraid of is that somebody, you know, like this DIS guy, would confiscate the vigna and not really understand there’s a baby growing on it. Most people would find that a little odd, you know.”

“Yeah,” said Van, “I know exactly what you mean.”

Ivy looked suddenly very shaky, and Mabel reached to steady her.

“I think I’m going to lie down for a while,” said Ivy. “You guys go ahead and visit Buster and the dogs. Maybe I’ll see you in school tomorrow.”

“Do you think Ivy’s going to be okay?” asked Van as he and Mabel walked across the parking area toward Greenhouse 3.

“I don’t know, Van,” answered Mabel, “but I have this feeling that we need to get her some other kind of help…oh, sorry!” Mabel had opened the greenhouse door right into someone’s trenchcoated bottom. A raven-haired Department of Illegal Substances officer peered at them through her cat-eye glasses.

“Please children,” she said, turning back to the plants in front of her, “I must ask that you stay out of the way while we collect samples.”

“Samples of what?” asked Van.

“I’m sorry,” responded the agent, “but this investigation is classified, and there’s not much I can share with you, if you don’t mind.”

“Okay,” said Mabel. She gestured to Van that he should follow her to where Norton was working with the jerfinia ferns.

Norton grinned broadly, then glanced toward the front of the greenhouse as if to make sure he wasn’t being watched. Then he tapped on his shirt pocket, and Buster’s little walnut head peeked out.

Buster craned his neck to see the DIS agent across the room, then shook his head. “No lady, lady, lady,” he said.

“Is he learning English?” asked Mabel with surprise.

Norton nodded and continued to fertilize the jerfinias. Suddenly he paused, and reached deeply into his trousers pocket, pulling something out.

“Look,” said Buster, as Norton opened his hand to show Mabel what he was holding. Several tiny spherical seeds, the color of earth, rolled about on Norton’s palm.

“They’re jerfinia spores, aren’t they?” asked Mabel, rolling her finger across the little balls.

“Have one, plant one,” chirped Buster, pointing first at the spores, and then at Mabel.

Norton nodded, and extended his hand toward Mabel. Gingerly, she grasped a tiny sphere and dropped it into the watch-pocket of her jeans.

“Stop that animal!” yelled a voice from the front of the greenhouse.

Mabel and Van turned to see Sparkle, her head and tail proudly erect, trotting briskly toward them with something black clenched in her teeth. Directly behind her was Sig, struggling to keep up with his mother without falling over front paws he hadn’t yet grown into.

“That dog has my cell phone!” shouted Reynolds Manderley, beginning to run after Sparkle.

“Sparkle!” chided Mabel. “Give the man his phone back.” Sparkle spit the phone into Mabel’s hand as if it was distasteful.

“Tastes like Old Spice,” said Sparkle, although Mabel was certain she was the only one who had heard. “The coat people are trouble-causers. Just thought I’d give them a little trouble back,” Sparkle added.

“Sorry Mister, here you go,” said Mabel, handing the phone to Agent Manderley. He nodded his thanks and wiped it off with a handkerchief. “Van and I will take the dogs outside,” said Mabel.

“Notice Sig’s beautiful coat,” instructed Sparkle, as she and the puppy followed Mabel and Van out of the greenhouse. Mabel stopped in the grass by Sparkle’s shed to admire Sig who was growing fluffier and more inquisitive by the day.

“Look how handsome he is, Van,” said Mabel as she stroked the puppy’s fur.

“Those are some funny zigzags,” said Van, running his fingers through Sig’s coat. “It’s almost like a lightning bolt, the way these white stripes run together.”

“With a star,” added Mabel, pointing out the distinctive marking beside the lightning-like pattern.

Mabel and Van were startled by a throat being abruptly cleared.

“Pardon me,” said a short, bald DIS agent. “Did you see which way Agent Manderley went?”

“He’s in there, cleaning his phone,” responded Van, pointing toward Greenhouse 3. The agent took off at a trot.

“Mabel,” said Van, “what if that trouble Arbogast was talking about has something to do with these trenchcoat goons?”

“He was talking about our parents, Van, yours and mine,” responded Mabel. “So far whatever this is has only involved the Halfslips. Besides, my Dad says it’s nothing to worry about. They haven’t done anything wrong.”

“But I’m starting to worry.” said a quiet voice. “I don’t like the way things are going.” Mrs. Halfslip had appeared behind them suddenly, and was crouching in the grass scratching Sparkle behind the ears. The fear Mabel saw in Mary Halfslip’s brown eyes made her heart sink.

Mrs. Halfslip continued. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this, Mabel, but I feel that I must. Whatever happens, Ivy must not see a doctor, other than Doctor Rotter.”

“I’ll help any way I can,” said Mabel, trying to sound reassuring, but not feeling at all big enough for the job, whatever it might be.

The gravel on the hillside crunched, and a bicycle crested the hill. Patience coasted to a stop and set the kickstand in place. Her face was flushed and invigorated from the ride, and she waved at the small group visiting Sparkle and Sig. “I’m running an errand for Sonja,” she said. Her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she had on white linen overalls over a baby blue t-shirt. “She’s run out of mint leaves,” Patience continued, “and I said there’s nothing I’d like more than to ride home with the essence of mint wafting through the air.”

“Help yourself,” said Mrs. Halfslip. “Mabel, could you and Van show Patience where the herbs are, in the back of Greenhouse 2? Just follow the DIS crew.”

Mabel looked to see that Agent Manderley was striding purposefully into the second greenhouse followed by his team.

Patience followed Van and Mabel, and her eyes were everywhere. “Do you think they’d mind if I set up my easel here? What a breathtaking array of colors and textures…Oh, and scents…only it’s such a shame that beautiful aromas can’t be captured on canvas…perhaps I could portray them in an abstract manner…”

“If you kids don’t mind,” interrupted the agent in cat-eye glasses, “we’re having an important conference here.”

Three trenchcoated agents were huddled around Agent Manderley who was gesturing, in a no-nonsense way, at notes posted on his clipboard.

“You won’t mind if we snip some fresh mint before we go?” asked Patience. “We’ll only be a minute.”

Reynolds Manderley looked up from his clip-board. “Don’t you people grasp the gravity of this invest…” Suddenly, his expression, authoritative and serious, thawed a notch. His blue eyes looked confused, then softened into gentle little pools. His mustache twitched and he tried to smile. “I’m sorry…” he said, “you want some…mint?”

The cat-eye agent and the bald agent looked at Manderley, then at each other, as if thoroughly confused.

“Yes, please, if you don’t…mind,” responded Patience. An angelic smile suddenly lit her exquisitely scarred face. Moments before she had gazed about the greenhouse as if to absorb every detail. Now her sparkling brown eyes were riveted to one place. Agent Manderley’s blue eyes.