The first thing I did was look for the stuff Denny's family had missed. Misers always have something they think they have to hide. A basement like that, plain as it looked, had a thousand crannies where things could be squirreled away.

Just as I spotted it a little dirt fell from the under-flooring overhead. I cocked an ear. Not a sound. Somebody was doing a passable job of cat-footing around up there.

I had my feet on Denny's desk and was expanding my literary horizons when Rose and my griddle cakes sneaked on stage. I checked her over the top of the first page of a letter that somehow had a quality of déjà vu. But I didn't pay much attention. The smell of griddle cakes with wild honey, tea, hen's eggs, hot buttered bread, and steamed boodleberry preserves was a bit distracting to a man in my condition.

Rose was distracting, too. She was smiling.

Snakes smile that way before they strike.

When her sort smile you had better check over your shoulder for a guy with a knife.

She placed the tray before me, still smiling. "Here's a little of everything we had in the kitchen. I hope you'll find something to suit."

When they're nice to you, you had better get your back against a wall.

"Your feet hurt?"

"No." She gave me a puzzled look. "What makes you ask that?"

"The look on your face. It has to be pain."

Not a flicker of response, except, "So the old man talked you into it, did he?"