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“So I am. Can’t you see that I was teasing you, precious? And of course you took the bait like a well-famished trout.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Dare drew himself up imperiously. “Rest your mind,” he said. “I am doubt.” Then he held out his upturned hand and demanded, “Now would you please be so kind as to return my lucky rock?”

Freeboard hefted the weight. “Where do you want it?”

“I’ve already set up cameras on timers here and there,” explained Case as he added more cream to his coffee. “Please don’t trip over them,” he cautioned with a smile. He was sitting at the end of an oblong table amid the remains of a savory brunch that had included a bacon-and-onion quiche, prawns sautéed in a coconut mustard sauce, varied jams and assorted pastries and breads. Croissant crumbs speckled the white linen tablecloth and no butter knife was unsmeared. At the opposite end of the table sat Dare, with Freeboard at an angle close beside him, while Trawley sat close to Gabriel Case. The psychic had changed into a gauzy turquoise dress and from her hair a scent of jasmine rose. “I’ve had all the phones turned on and all that,” continued Case. “If you’d like to make a note, the number’s 914–2121. Awfully easy to remember. In the meantime, as for now there isn’t anything for anyone to do except relax and be terribly observant; and, of course, report anything unusual to me.”

The drumming of rain on mullioned windows looking out to a wood filled a momentary silence. Then Dare cleared his throat and looked at Case. “Have you ever caught a ghost on film?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Well, that’s honest,” the author admitted. He nodded.

Case sipped at his coffee and then set down his cup. It made a faint little pewtery sound against the saucer. “Mr. Dare,” he said, “I do hope you won’t take offense but I’m finding the mask a little bit of a distraction.”

“Then perhaps you have Attention Deficit Disorder.”

Dare wore a Phantom of the Opera mask.

Freeboard reached over and ripped it from his face.

“Thank you,” Dare quietly told her.

“You’re welcome.”

Freeboard folded her arms across her chest, looked away and shook her head with an exasperated sigh. From a pocket Dare produced a transistorized tape recorder. He set it before him on the table.

“Dr. Case, do you mind if I record this?”

“No, of course not. Good idea. Go right ahead.”

The author slid a switch on the side of the recorder and a tiny red light flashed on. “There we are,” Dare announced. “You may fire when ready, Master Gridley.”

Case put his arms on the table, leaning forward. “Do you all know the history of the house?” He scanned their faces.

“No, I don’t,” said Trawley. Her voice was barely audible. All through the brunch she had hardly said a word, except in answer to a question about her trip and then another concerning a case she’d been involved in, the search for a missing child in Surrey. Mainly, she’d been fixedly staring at Case.

“It was—”

“Built by Dr. Quandt,” Dare finished over Case, “in the middle of the thirties for his beautiful wife, whom he came to believe was being grossly unfaithful, resulting in his promptly and savagely offing her.”

“I see you’ve done your homework, Mr. Dare.”

The author shrugged. “All I know is what Joanie has told me.”

“Yes, Quandt was a violent man,” Case confirmed.

“I’m not surprised,” answered Dare. “I think surgeons have violent natures, that’s the reason they go into that line of work: normal people couldn’t slice another person into bits and moments later eat a double Big Mac with fries.”

“No, I agree.”

“It’s rude,” added Dare.

“So it is. However, Quandt was not a surgeon,” said Case. “He wasn’t?”

“No, Quandt was a noted psychiatrist.”

The author turned a frirnmled, cool look to the Realtor.

Freeboard stared back at him defiantly. “So?”

“Quandt was also maniacally jealous,” Case offered. “ ‘Physician heal thyself and all that. She was very much younger and he loved her intensely.”

Dare turned back to him. “What was her name?”

“Her name was Riga.” Case glanced up at Morna, who had entered from the kitchen and was quietly approaching