And Polly Paget was tall-a good five ten, with long legs, small breasts, and wide shoulders. She looked a hell of a lot more like the wolf than the lamb.

And the clothes: Today she was dressed entirely in brand-new denim that made it look as if she’d gone shopping for her trip to the West. Lots of silver and turquoise jewelry, and bright red fingernails that were so long, she couldn’t possibly type even if she wanted to.

“You got any losh?” she asked as she came out of the bathroom. “So my hands don’t dry? I’ve got the worst problem with dry hands. They crack if I don’t use enough losh. I have some in one of the other bags, but it’s out in the car.”

Neal winced. Polly didn’t say the or they; she said de and dey, and she seemed to have a little ventriloquist hidden in her throat that made her words sound as if they were coming out of her nose. And she didn’t say car; she said caw.

Karen said, “I think I have some lotion in the bedroom. I’ll go get it.”

“I’ll go get it with you,” Neal said.

In the bedroom, Karen found a plastic bottle of lotion while Neal rummaged through the chest of drawers.

“What are you looking for?” Karen asked.

“A revolver,” answered Neal. “One bullet or two?”

Karen smiled and grabbed Neal’s shoulders.

“Her hair is so big!” she whispered. “I’ve always wanted to meet a woman with big hair like that.”

“But do you want her staying here for a month or more?”

Karen looked at him sharply.

“Neal, the woman was raped!”

“The woman says she was raped.”