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guess.”
    “Secured, sure.” That was clear enough. Perry pushed his plate away. “Thanks for breakfast and everything. I guess I should get back now.”
    Nick gnawed his lip. “I’ve been thinking about that. I don’t think you should stay in your apartment till you know how this bogey is getting in and out.”
    “I can’t afford a hotel,” Perry said hopelessly. “Last night I was desperate, but…” He offered a quirky, shame-faced smile. “I’m short my rent money now. I spent -- I spent too much this month.”
    Nick’s face said it all.
    “Then have MacQueen give you another apartment.”
    “There aren’t any. Except Watson’s, and all his stuff is still there.” Perry shivered.
    Nick said grimly, “You do what you want, kid, but I’d get the locks changed on my door ASAP.” After a moment he added reluctantly, “I can loan you money for that.”
    “Thanks,” Perry muttered humbly. “Thanks for everything.”
    Nick shrugged this off. He was doing the breakfast dishes as Perry retrieved his suitcase and trudged off down the hall.
    Unlocking the door to his apartment, he stuck his head in and stared around
    suspiciously.
    Everything seemed quiet and normal. He might have dreamed the events of last night.
    It all looked like it had before he left, giddy with happiness and excitement, for San Francisco. He remembered locking his rooms with the feeling that he was shutting the door on a chapter of his life.
    A wave of depression hit him.
    Dropping onto the nearest chair, he put his head in his hands and tried to deal with it.
    He was glad he’d managed to sleep a little and eat some breakfast, because otherwise he’d be 26 Josh Lanyon
    falling apart right now. The homey rattle of the fridge, the tick of the clock; these familiar sounds seemed desolate now. Usually he liked the rain, but it wasn’t helping matters today.
    Rising, he carried his suitcase into the bedroom, pausing by the bathroom door just to verify that it was body free.
    Everything looked spick-and-span.
    Depositing his suitcase on the bed, something caught his eye. Something lay on his pillow. A bird. A brown dove, dead.
    Hand shaking, Perry picked it up. It felt soft in his hand, and cold. Its neck hung brokenly.

    The Ghost Wore Yellow Socks
    27

Chapter Three
    Nick knew what the pounding on his door meant before he peered out the peephole.
    He swore and opened the door.
    Perry Foster stood there cradling a bird in both hands. “It’s…dead,” he got out.
    A dead bird. Nick processed the news. Assess and respond, that was the program, and he had best respond fast because more alarming than the dead bird was the fact that the Foster kid was blue in the face and gulping for air.
    Why me? he thought. I’ve got my own problems. He took the dead bird in one hand and hauled the kid inside with the other.
    “Sit.”
    Foster collapsed on the sofa, braced his hands on his knees, and struggled to breathe. It was not pleasant to watch. Nick felt helpless, which made him angry.
    “Where’s your…what do you call it? Inhaler?”
    Foster ignored him, gulping like a landed fish.
    “Shit!”
    The boy’s eyes shot up toward Nick’s face, and he realized he was probably making it worse. Did people die from asthma nowadays? He didn’t know anything about it. He took a turn around the living room and paused by the couch. Awkwardly, he patted the kid between his bony shoulder blades.
    “Calm down, kiddo. You’re fine now.”
    Foster nodded. Courteous to the last breath.
    The attack went on for what seemed like forever to Nick. Absently he smoothed his hand up and down Foster’s back, feeling the links of spine through the soft cotton of his Tshirt -- and why the hell was he running around wearing a T-shirt in this kind of weather?

    28 Josh Lanyon
    “Try to breathe slowly,” Nick ordered, half-remembered TV shows flitting through his mind.
    Eventually Foster’s breathing calmed. “It…was on my pillow,” he managed at