. And yet the secondary emotion was one of suspicion. He reached out a hand gropingly, sagged, and toppled out of the chair to the floor, where he lay very still. My goodness gracious. “When did you look up my mother’s records at the Joliet library, Michelle?” Lucy asked, trying not to incriminate herself by sounding confrontational. “I think,” he said, “I was a little too mystical about beauty the other day. Melusine came back to the present to discover that tears were rolling down her cheeks. You do not make me afraid like this. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote.
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