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headstones. The wind was stronger now, the trees swaying and rustling, casting moon shadows over the graves.
    Lou gestured toward the headstone.
    The two of them stood side by side at the foot of the grave, facing the headstone. Lou tried to focus on the rustling of the leaves and the shifting shadows of the trees. In the moonlight, the engraved words were clearly visible:
    ANDREA KAPLAN SOLOMON
1953 – 1990
Beloved Daughter, Wife, Mother, Friend
    Lou stepped around the grave toward the marble headstone and placed the stone on the level top surface. He laid it near the one he’d placed there two weeks ago. He studied the new stone for a moment, and then slid it across the marble surface until it was touching the other one. He took a step back. His moon shadow fell at an angle across the headstone. He stared at his shadow as he listened to the rhythmic grinding of the crickets.
    The past year he’d been to her grave about twice a month—several times with his children, once with her parents, other times alone, usually on his way home after work. He still talked to her. Not as much as before, but he made sure she knew about her kids, how they were doing, how they were growing up, how so much of her was in each of them. And, always, how much he missed her.
    But tonight was the first time he’d brought an outsider. Lou glanced back. Ray was still at the foot of the grave, staring at the headstone.
    Ray met Andi freshman year when he came home with Lou for winter break. Andi and Ray hit it off immediately and stayed in touch even after Ray had drifted away from the rest of them. They had a special simpatico—as if they had been siblings in another lifetime. During Ray’s junior and senior years—when he was living off campus and completely out of touch with his freshman year roommates—he visited Andi at Wellesley whenever he went to Boston. They remained pals throughout.
    Ray looked up. The branches overhead rustled and swayed in the moonlight, sweeping shadows back and forth across the plot.
    â€œShe was a helluva gal,” Ray said.
    Lou nodded.
    Ray took a last look at her gravestone and turned to Lou. “Let’s go.”

Part 2: Picking Up The Scent
    $25 million. That’s the ransom for Sirena, Barrett College’s infamous kidnap victim. $23 million for the college plus $2 million for her rescuers, but only if they are alumni. This is strictly a Barrett College affair.
    The two checks will be waiting inside an armored car on the fifty-yard line at the college’s graduation ceremonies next week on June 17 th. Sirena will turn 100 that day, Barrett College will turn 150, and the Class of 1959—the last class to hold her—will celebrate their 35 th reunion. The alignment of those numbers caught the attention of Silicon Valley billionaire Robert Godwin, the wealthiest member of the Class of ’59. His foundation has pledged $23 million to the college—to be known as the Sirena Endowment—and another $2 million reward to her rescuers, but only if she returns in time for the June 17 celebration.
    No Sirena on June 17, no $25 million.
    â€œThe Ransom of the Century”
Newsweek Magazine (June 10, 1994)

Chapter Eight
    Abigail Washburn, spinster sister of the late Henry Washburn, became a time traveler during her ninth decade on the planet. Although her body continued its journey down the narrowing rails of time, her mind occasionally jumped the track. Some days it was terrifying—lost in the woods, stumbling through the underbrush, strange voices in the shadows, searching for a gap in the thicket, a way back to the rails. But on days when she came upon a clearing—oh, that was almost too marvelous. Emerging into sunlight, eyes blinking, watching in wonder as a rerun of a favorite episode of The Life and Times of Abigail Washburn began unreeling. And always with her in the lead role.
    Yesterday, for example. Oh, yesterday had been almost too grand