"My reaction is that the book isn't worth the trouble of stealing it," Josef snapped. "You can't admit that, can you?"
"I just don't agree, that's all." Mark brooded in silence. Then he brightened. "Maybe if we had some lunch it would stimulate our thinking."
"Lunch! You had breakfast less than…" Josef broke off; apparently he had decided he might as well resign himself to Mark's appetite. It was, after all, one of Mark's lesser faults.
Josef rose. "I'm going in to the office for a few hours. I can't afford to lose my job. It seems clear that my expenses are going to increase drastically in the near future."
He walked out the back door, letting it slam behind him.
"What did he mean by that?" Mark asked.
Pat debated briefly with herself, and then decided this was not the time to tell Mark about her personal plans. Anyway, she hadn't quite made up her mind what she meant to do about Josef. She could hardly marry a man who hated her son.
"I think he was talking about the possibility of selling the house," she answered, for this was certainly true, as far as it went. "He'll take a loss on it if he does."
"That's no solution," Mark muttered. "And you know it."
Before Pat could reply, the back door opened again. Josef looked even grimmer than he had when he left.
"If you think the mess upstairs is bad, come and see a real masterpiece," he said.
"Of course!" Mark jumped up. "Why didn't I think of that? Naturally it would…"
He dashed out the back door. Kathy followed him, and Josef met Pat halfway across the kitchen. For a few moments they stood holding one another, without speaking.
"I feel like the lover in one of those old-fashioned French farces," Josef said after a time. "Looking over my shoulder for the husband to turn up, snatching kisses in corners… When are you going to tell Mark, my darling? Or shall I ask him formally for your hand?"
"He'd love that," Pat said, with a weak laugh. "Can't you see him imitating an outraged Victorian father- 'Begone, sir, never darken our door again!' No, I'll break it to him. I doubt that he will be enthusiastic."
"I'm trying," Josef said, with unaccustomed humility. "I understand how he'll feel… But I can't wait too long, Pat. I feel like some idiot eighteen-year-old; I want to brag about you."
"I'll tell him," Pat promised. "But not until this is over. I can't concentrate on anything else."
"One good thing has come out of this mess, anyway," Josef said. "Damn it, Pat, I can't be too pessimistic. We'll figure it out somehow. We'll sell both the houses, move west, or south, or into New England… the cursed thing must have some geographical limitations. Maybe if we leave, it will give up. After all, it was quiescent for years. You know, I can't help wondering…"
Gently Pat removed herself from his embrace.
"I do know. I've wondered the same thing. Did Mark and/or Kathy unwittingly do something to stir the thing into life? Obviously Mark has information he's keeping from us. But it won't do any good to nag him about it, he's as stubborn as his father. Shall we go and view the damage?"
"It's pretty bad," Josef warned.
Pat tried not to show how shaken she was by the extent of the destruction. Kathy's room was the worst; every small breakable object in the place had been smashed. But the trail of breakage ran from room to room, and down the stairs.
Kathy and Mark were in the dining room. Mark was fingering a deep gouge in the wall. A small but heavy bronze statuette, a copy of the Michelangelo David, lay on the floor. Mark picked it up and weighed it in his hand.
"It must weigh about ten pounds," he said.
Pat leaned against the wall. "I hate to think what the kitchen must look like," she said.
"It went thataway," Mark agreed, indicating the fragments of a crystal bowl that lay in the doorway.
"Not funny," Pat snapped.
"No, I mean it. The living room is intact-didn't you notice? It came down the stairs, into the dining room, and… Let's see."
A short, rather dark hall connected dining room and kitchen. There were no windows, only doors leading to the basement and the back stairs, and to a series of cupboards.
Squaring his shoulders, Josef took the lead. They looked over his shoulder, with surprise and relief, into a sparkling, untouched kitchen.
At first no one could think of an appropriate comment. Mark was, of course, the first to recover himself.
"It decided nobody was home," he said. "So it went to our place…"
"Theories, theories," Josef muttered.
"Well, there's plenty it could have broken here," Mark said.
The statement could not be denied. The canisters containing sugar, coffee, flour and so on were of clear glass; the electric clock hung insecurely from a single nail; and a collection of antique plates was suspended on brackets along the walls. The cupboard doors were closed, but that, Pat imagined, would have been no problem for the poltergeist, and no doubt the shelves behind the closed doors were crowded with glassware and dishes.
"It means something," Mark muttered. "What?"
"It means I don't get to work today," Josef said. "Kathy, we've still got most of the cartons left over from the move. Let's pack the breakables that have survived, and your clothes. We'll go to a motel again tonight. Tomorrow I'll rent an apartment in the District."
"But-" Mark began. He stopped with a gulp and a start. Pat looked sharply at Kathy, who met her eyes with a candid stare. She was, as usual, standing so close to Mark that they might have been Siamese twins, but if she had jabbed Mark in the ribs she had done it very neatly.
"The boxes are in the basement," Kathy said gently.
"Uh," Mark said. "Okay. I'll get them."
He went out, followed by his shadow. They returned with an armful of boxes, and Kathy said, "I'm going to pack my clothes. Mark?"
"Huh? Oh, sure. I'll help you."
As soon as Mark and Kathy had left, Josef reached for Pat's hand.
"You have to tell him now, Pat. I can't leave you in that house. If you think Mark will object to our living in sin, we can get married right away."
"I can't," Pat said agitatedly. "It's confusing. There are too many problems. All my things-and the animals-"
"The dog can go to a kennel for a few weeks, till we find another house. We'll smuggle the damned cat into the apartment, if you insist-"
"Josef, you're moving too fast. I can't decide." Then she saw his face, and remorse swept over her. "Oh, my darling, I don't mean that; I've no doubts about that. It's simply a matter of logistics. Give me a little time."
"I'm sorry." He smiled at her, and her heart thumped. "We'll work it out, Pat. Take all the time you want."
But there wasn't time; she knew that as well as he did. The alternative to the hasty decision he had urged was the unbelievable situation they had faced too long already.
For a while they worked in companionable silence, Josef handing dishes to Pat, who wrapped them in newspaper and stowed them away in the boxes. The monotonous, meticulous task ought to have been soothing; but her mind continued to flutter incoherently from one problem to the next. Close up the house… what would Nancy say? And the other neighbors? Rumors were sure to circulate… Jud hated kennels, he grew morose and melancholy if he was away from Mark… Mark. How would he take the news that she intended to marry Josef Friedrichs? The answer came only too readily. Mark wouldn't take it well. He needed time, not only to rid himself of his prejudices against Kathy's father, but to grow accustomed to the idea that his mother was a person, with needs of her own. He had to be consulted in the decision, not just notified of the grownups' wishes. He thought he could solve the case… His ego would be assaulted on every possible level by what Josef had proposed.