She had not realized Josef could speak so loudly. His voice overrode hers, and Mark's reply to her suggestion.
"The problem began when we moved in-never mind old Hiram, Mark, his ramblings are not evidence. We need not risk Kathy again. It obviously reacts to her. I am the most logical person to try next. As for the charge of chauvinism-"
"I'm bigger than you are," Mark said, glowering at his mother. "You just try."
"Your father would have let me try," Pat said.
It was dirty pool, and she knew it. Mark's face went white. Pat was only dimly aware of the reactions of the other two; she was concerned with Mark.
"You're bigger and stronger and younger and tougher than I am," she said. "If any material danger comes along, I'll gladly let you rush to my defense. But this is not a physical danger."
For once, Mark was incapable of speech. It was Josef who replied.
"You're crossing bridges too far in advance, Pat," he said mildly. "The first attempt is mine, that's only fair. If nothing happens tonight, we'll discuss the next step. Okay?"
Pat could only nod. The sight of Mark's hurt face made it impossible for her to pursue the discussion, which had to do with basic issues far more important than the trivial question of ghosts or no ghosts. Some day it would have to be settled, but she couldn't push her son any farther now. At any rate, her argument had stupefied Mark to the point where he was not battling with Josef for the honor of being next in line for the poltergeist's attentions.
"That's settled," Josef went on. "You can all perch on the tree outside and watch, if you like; I'm not so stupid or heroic as to refuse help. But if you plan to spend the night on guard, you might consider having a nap this evening."
Mark, recovering, shook his head.
"I'll be perching in the tree, Mr. Friedrichs, don't worry. But I want to talk to Jay tonight."
"You aren't going to tell him what happened, are you?" Pat asked.
"Out of the question," Josef said.
"Why?" Mark demanded. "We'll get more help from him if he knows all about it."
"Oh, Mark, no," Pat said. "We can't have this spread all over the neighborhood."
"Especially," Josef added, "if I have to sell the house. It would certainly have an adverse effect on the price."
"What?" Mark stared at him.
"Surely you must realize that that is the final solution," Josef said. "If nothing else works, and the manifestations continue, I have no alternative."
Obviously the alternative had not occurred to Mark, or to Kathy. Her blue eyes opened wide in distress, and then turned to Mark. Their glances met, touching as palpably as a handclasp, reflecting the same consternation. Josef was aware of the intensity of their speechless communication. His lips pinched together.
"I'll sell the damned place," he repeated. "It may be the only way out of this."
Pat knew he was right. She also knew he had failed to consider one consequence of this threat-for so it would be regarded by Kathy and Mark. Faced with such a challenge, and such a loss, Mark would stop at nothing to find another solution.
Five
I
Pat had known Norma Jenkins well enough to exchange greetings when they met in the grocery store, but she had never been in the Jenkins house. Slight as her acquaintance with Norma had been, Pat suspected the elegant, well-groomed woman would have keeled over in a faint if she ever saw what her renters had done to her neat split-level house. It had been rented unfurnished. It was still unfurnished, by normal middle-class standards. One disheveled sofa, its fabric fraying, a number of large squashy pillows, bookcases built of boards and bricks, and a few tables were the only pieces of furniture in the living room. But the wall-to-wall carpeting-which probably served as bedding for transient guests-was fairly clean, and the dog, industriously scratching on the sofa, looked healthy and bright-eyed, except for its hypothetical fleas. After all, Pat thought charitably, it might just have an allergy.
Her host did. He apologized, thickly, as he blew his red nose for the third time.
"It's the damned flora," he complained. "My sinuses clog up when anything blooms, even dandelions."
He had drooping mustaches and a scraggling black beard. Small dark eyes blinked at Pat through reddened lids and very thick glasses. He wore the inevitable jeans and a torn blue T-shirt with " Arizona State " printed on the front. Pat liked him. He had a nice smile and a firm handclasp, and he had had the courtesy to put out his cigarette when she came in, though the room still reeked with the sickly, cloying smell of marijuana.
"I didn't realize you were having a party," she said apologetically. "You should have told Mark."
Jay looked blankly at the other guests, a round dozen or more, who were disporting themselves on the pillows in various uncouth poses. One young man, his dirty blond hair streaming down his back, was trying to coax music out of a battered guitar.
"It's no party," Jay said. "Just… you know. Sit down, Mrs. Robbins. Uh, wait a minute." One hand swept the dog off the sofa; the other gestured at the vacated seat, with a grace worthy of a Spanish don. Pat sat down and Jay continued hospitably, "Let me get you something. Uh…" From his facial contortions Pat deduced that he was rapidly and despairingly running through a mental list of available refreshments.
"Beer?" she suggested, picking what she assumed to be the least evil of the possibilities. Jay's face brightened. "Right," he said.
Kathy and Mark were sitting on the floor listening to the guitarist. Mark had given her a lecture on how she was to behave as they walked down the street; she could have done without it, but she was doing her best to present the proper image.
Josef had refused to come. He had work to do, if nobody else did, he had remarked austerely. At least he had agreed to work at her house, instead of returning to his own. She wasn't quite sure she could trust him, but she intended to return long before the witching hour.
It took Jay some time to bring her beer, and when she saw the damp glass he proffered with naive pride she knew he had had to search for a glass, and wash it. His usual guests probably drank from the can. She sipped the beer and tried not to shudder. She didn't really like beer, and this was not a good brand.
"It's nice you could come," Jay said, squatting on the floor beside her. The dog had returned to the sofa and was sprawled beside Pat. "I've been trying to get up nerve enough to visit you; I mean, your house is really fascinating. But I didn't want, you know…"
"That was thoughtful."
"Oh, well, like, you know-" Jay waved his can of beer. Some liquid slopped over onto the dog, which roused itself and licked its stomach appreciatively.
"I meant to visit the historical association too," Pat said. "You know how it is; when you live in a town, you never see the important sights."
"Well, I wouldn't say the building is that much of a historic landmark," Jay said. "It isn't as old as some of the houses in town. But it was donated and, well, you know how it is. You should have seen the place when I took it over. What a mess! The old guy who had been curator for like a hundred years had good intentions, like, but he was just too old for the job-lately, I mean. I've been working my-I mean, I've been putting in fourteen hours a day since I started, just getting the library more or less in order."
Pat realized that for all his uncouth appearance Jay was interested in his subject and was probably good at it. She made encouraging noises, and Jay went on, "You really ought to come over and look at some of the material on your house. It's interesting. And up till six months ago you couldn't have even found it. I mean, like, it was buried."