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paranoiac.”
    He unlocked the kitchen door, put the key back under its mat and slipped inside the house. Pushing the door shut, he looked at the kitchen and had to smile. Neat as always. Mom was utterly predictable.
    He grunted, seeing the coffee pot on the stove. God, let there be a cup left in there, half a cup at least. He moved there, lifting up the pot. There was at least a cup. He turned on the gas beneath the pot and stared at it, smiling again. Somewhere, in a closet or acabinet, was the automatic coffeemaker he’d given her some Christmases ago. She’d expressed her gratitude for it, then, when he’d left, put it away, preferring this ancient, faithful pot.
    In a minute, he got a cup from the cupboard and poured it full of steaming coffee. He drank it slowly, savoring the heavy aromatic flavor. Mom was right. This
was
the best way to make coffee.
    He toasted himself a slice of wheat bread, buttering it and spreading on some strawberry jam. Crunching hungrily on it and sipping the coffee, he walked into the dining room and looked at the photographs on the wall. Pop, Mom, Louise and him. All the dogs they’d had: Kate, Ginger, Bart, Ranger. Photographs of the camping trips, of the university. Of teachers at some of Mom and Pop’s weekly get-togethers at the house, him and Louise sitting among them like miniature adults, always welcome. Of Uncle Harry with his perennial bow tie and quizzical smile. Of Louise and him at the university special school.
    Good days, he thought. Mom and Pop always concerned for their growth, intellectual and otherwise. Opening their minds to “possibilities.” Exposing them to science, to culture, to philosophy, to nature. He sighed, wishing that his father hadn’t died in the air crash. How much nicer it would be for Mom if she wasn’t alone now, if she had his company and could still have fun with him as she did in the old days when they were all together—Pop, Mom, Louise…
    Louise.
    His head jerked around and he looked at the telephone. It would be reassuring to hear a word or two of sanity in the midst of all this. He and Louise had always gotten along well, no rivalry of any kind. Maybe that was because she was five years older than him. Not that he thought they’d have been competitors in any case.
    He moved to the phone and picked up his mother’s tooled leather address book, opening it to Louise Jasper. He glanced at his wristwatch. It would be about 1:30 P.M. in New Hampshire. He hoped she was there as he picked up the handset and tapped in her number.
Be home
, he thought.
I need a kind word, Louise.
    The handset on the other end was lifted on the third ring and he heard her voice: “Hello?”
    “Thank God,” he said.
    “Chris?” she asked.
    “Yeah.” He smiled with relief, licking the last of the strawberry jam from his fingers. “How ya doin’, sis?”
    “Fine,” she said. “How are you?”
    “A little rattled.”
    “Oh, God,” she said, “is he back again?”
    He was confused. “Is
who
back again?”
    “That man,” she said.
    “
What
man?” He felt his stomach muscles pulling in.
    “Chris, come on,” she said. “Did that man show up at your house again?”
    He didn’t know what to say.
    “Chris, are you all right?” she asked.
    He swallowed, tasting the coffee in his throat. “What are you talking about?” he asked uneasily.
    She groaned. “Sweetheart,” she said. “Did you or did you not call me last night?”
    He felt his mouth slipping open.
    “Did you or did you not tell me that the man who’s been trying to intimidate you and Maureen came to your house last night?”
    Chris shuddered and heard the old man’s voice repeating in his mind, “
Do you so wager?
”

6
    He tightened.
No.
He wasn’t going to buy this.
    “Chris—?” she started.
    “You’re telling me you got a call last night and—”
    “Chris, what is going on?” Louise demanded.
    “What time was this?” he asked.
    “Uh… about ten-thirty, our