Jane was somewhat roughly thrust into a folding chair and Ursula grabbed her leg andplopped it on another chair, and pulled up yet another chair facing Jane and flung herself into it and leaned forward.

“So?" she said.

“I tripped over a curbing," Jane said, thoroughly cowed.

Ursula shook her head. "No, darling. There has to be more to the story. And if there isn't, there should be. These things happen for a reason, you know. Everything is part of a vast chain of events that weaves us all together. Nice casting job, but a bit tight around the toes," she said, looking at Jane's foot as she started gathering up her belongings from the floor.

Jane cast a helpless look at Shelley, who just grinned and said, "I was with her and it was sheer clumsiness."

“But even so, there was a reason," Ursula insisted. "I was a nurse in 'Nam," she added, as if this explained everything. "And I can tell you there's a LOT the government is concealing. Why, the Denver airport alone—”

Fortunately, two more people came into the room, and Ursula turned her attention to them, though less enthusiastically than when she'd spotted Jane.

The first was a small, slim, precise woman with permed gray hair and a very upright carriage in a trim navy blue and white polka-dot dress. She glanced around at the small group, instinctively identified Stefan as the person in charge and said, "Is the class to take place?" in a tone that sug‑ gested that a simple, straightforward answer was required. "I'm Martha Winstead," she said to those assembled. "Miss Martha Winstead and I'm signed up.”

Stefan knew his place and when he'd met his match. "Yes, Miss Winstead. We've met before," he said obediently.

Miss Winstead said, "Of course we have." She nodded curtly and sat down primly in the front, folding her small, somewhat knobby hands neatly over her handbag. Her exposed forearms were tan, but the hands were white. Apparently a gardener who always wore gloves.