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conventionally. I had
thought she'd put me on her right, the better to talk shop, and Jay on
Keith McDonald's right, but there I was, sitting next to the incendiary
guitarist, he of the effulgent blue gaze. Across the table, Del Wallace
gave me a morose leer and poured himself a slug of wine from a
carafe in front of him.
    Jay, Angie, and Bianca were chatting up a storm at the other
end of the table with the two central places vacant. That gap
explained itself as Mike entered bearing a tray of steaming soup
bowls followed closely by his mother carrying baskets of bread. They
served us rapidly, then Marianne joined us. Mike took the empty tray
off and returned to the spot on my right. I gave him a smile he was
too shy or sullen to return.
    When all the bread and butter and wine passing were over, I
took a sip of soup. It was a light oyster stew, almost a contradiction
in terms, but full of tiny succulent Shoalwater oysters. Luscious.
Learning to cook was teaching me to appreciate other people's
cooking--or not, in some cases. Marianne Wallace was not a cook, I
decided as I sampled the bread. She was a chef. The wholemeal
bread, faintly Tuscan, smelled of rosemary.
    Someone was groping my knee. McDonald--not a difficult
deduction. To all intents, he was listening to Del Wallace grouse
about something agricultural, but the hand groped, warm through
the crinkled fabric of my skirt. I edged my chair to the right.
    Mike said something.
    "I beg your pardon?"
    "Please pass the jam."
    I obliged and took a sip of wine. The groping hand made
contact again. At the other end of the table Jay was chewing oblivious
bread and looking happy. He bent to hear something Marianne said. I
didn't catch his eye.
    Wallace took a gulp of wine and began slathering a piece of
bread with butter.
    McDonald's hand was moving up my thigh.
    I said, "Professor McDonald--"
    "Keith."
    "Keith, then. I'd like to share my thoughts with you."
    The blue eyes beamed.
    I kept my voice low. "I have a nice salad fork here which I
am about to stab into my left thigh. The odds are good the tines will
intersect the hand you finger things with." I picked up the fork in my
left hand.
    Face impassive, he withdrew his hand. Del Wallace gave a
small snort and caught my eye. He winked.
    I gritted my teeth and turned to Mike. "So. Michael. Taking
any interesting classes this term?"
    Mike's mouth was full. He chewed and thought. "Yeah.
Anthropology. I like it but it's hard."
    "Cultural or physical?"
    McDonald and Wallace were talking. Wallace kept watching
me.
    "Physical," Mike said. "You know, like skulls and stuff. Mrs.
Horton, she's the teacher, brought a real skull last week."
    "Fun for you," I murmured.
    "Well, it was. Prof... I mean, your husband says forensic
anthropologists are real important in crime investigation these
days." Clearly he thought Jay was terrific. I could deal with that.
    Marianne said something and Mike shoved his chair back.
"Gotta go." Mother and son went off. I sipped wine and wished the
meal was over.
    "You read poetry," McDonald said, supercilious now that he
couldn't play his little game. "I suppose you were an English
major."
    "I had a double major in English and P.E."
    "P.E.?"
    "I played basketball for Ohio State," I said coldly.
    I think that did startle him. He blinked again. "Your mother's
a poet."
    "So I've heard. I'm a little surprised you have." He hadn't
come to the signing.
    He gave me an earnest smile. "Lighten up, Lark. I can take no
for an answer."
    "What was the question?"
    He looked away.
    I said, "I understand you're a folklorist. Do you study
Nekana myths and legends?" The Nekana were a local tribe, part of
the great coastal civilization that once ranged from Alaska to the
Columbia.
    He shrugged. "What with Marianne here as resident
informant, I'd be remiss not to have looked into Nekana stories.
They're pretty derivative."
    I thought he was pretty derivative, by Lord Byron out of the
Kingston Trio, but I didn't say so. He was