Aimee hesitated, then pulled out the photo image she'd deciphered for Soli Hecht. "Do you recognize this?"

He stared intently. After a moment, he shoved a pile of invoices aside to reveal a group of faded old photos on the wood-paneled wall. There was a blank spot.

He shook his head. "There was a photo here. Similar, but no Nazis. Maman hated Nazis. Never touched anything German."

Abraham jiggled the bottom desk drawer open. Inside were several empty envelopes addressed to the Centre de Documentation Juive Contemporaine, the Contemporary Jewish Center, at 17 rue Geoffrey l'Asnier, 75004 Paris.

"She donated to their Holocaust fund." He stood up, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "I can't think of anything else." He shook his head. "I don't believe the past has anything to do with this."

More than ever, Aimee wanted to tell him about Soli Hecht. However, the last thing she wanted was to put Abraham in any danger.

He threw up his hands. "I can't believe she would have gotten involved in some operation. But she did mention recently she had been seeing ghosts."

"The antiterrorist squad…"

He interrupted her. "I don't want trouble, I live here," he said. "What about the present…the massacres in Serbia? I'm sick of the past, it's over. Nothing will bring her back."

She felt his denial was to avoid pain. Something she had tried to do with her own father's death.

Outside in the light well, a black crow, shiny as licorice, cawed incessantly. She stroked the crocheted bedspread, brushing against the knitting basket, and stopped. A scrap of paper in bold, angular handwriting was stuck in the variegated wool.

"What's this?"

He shrugged.

She carefully spread the wrinkled paper. On it, colors were listed in a row with check marks next to them:

navy blue ivory

dark green

Scribbled on the side were the names. Soli H, Sarah,