Seated as they all were, only Princess Val could easily look up and see the unicorn. She had just offered to answer questions when the creature reached the group of villagers, and walked around them on the cove side to reach Princess Val. She carefully laid her chin on Val’s shoulder and brushed the woman’s cheek with her ear. Then she turned to the villagers and dipped her head three times.
“I think the sign is clear,” Malcolm Drye said. “Val belongs among us.”
Hyacinth woke up and saw the unicorn. She pushed herself up on her chubby legs and ran to it. It lowered its head and neck so she could rub its nose. The unicorn licked Hyacinth’s face, turned again to the group of villagers, nodded as if to bid them farewell, and walked around them, down the beach, to the switchback stair and climbed up on the mountain again.
“Yes,” Ben said, “Val belongs among us. Does anyone here see things differently?” He surveyed the villagers. No one offered a contrary opinion. “Then I suggest she move into the cottage next to Dickon and me,” he said. He waited again for dissent. There was none. “If we don’t need to say anything else, I suggest we eat,” he said, and got up to pour himself a cup of tea.
Roomers and Rumors
Vanna left the vicinity of the burning Folded Arms flophouse without looking back. She walked over an hour to a quiet neighborhood in Las Tumbas’ low-rent district. There she took a small apartment under the name of Sara Toga. It had a sitting room with a Murphy bed, a bureau, a large, although shabby, recliner, and a tiny kitchen, with a two-burner electric hot plate and a very small refrigerator. Vanna settled in, and went looking for work.
She had some difficulty finding work, since she didn’t have a valid Social Security number in Sara Toga’s name. She didn’t, of course, dare to use her Vanna Dee number; Vanna Dee was officially dead. She was also afraid to adopt the Donna D’Schuys identity and arrange for a Social Security Number for that name. Donna might still be a “person of interest” to the Dry Bone City police. It required some discreet inquiries on Vanna’s part, and rather more cash than she wanted to let go, but at last she obtained a Social Security number and card in Sara Toga’s name. She found work, then, as a cleaning woman at a small suite of offices in a nearby strip mall. Little as she liked cleaning, it offered a kind of anonymity other work didn’t, and didn’t require a resume that could be checked by an employer. It had other advantages, as well. It was close enough she could walk to work. The evening work was light, and she ordinarily completed it by midnight. She usually ate a small meal at her apartment, went to sleep, and got up in the late morning. That left her afternoons to pry into the progress of the San Danson Village.
The Las Tumbas Epitaph offered few articles on the small cluster of cottages. Not much happened in San Danson to pique a newspaper’s interest. Vanna began with editions of the Epitaph from her trial days, and read forward. Eventually Vanna came across the wedding announcements for the four couples, and the obituary for La Señora. Frustration rankled in Vanna’s soul that she could take no revenge on the woman who had so weakened her psyche.
Greater by far was her frustration that Dickon had apparently found a happy romance. She had never forgiven him for being less than the charming (and groveling) prince she had dreamed of marrying in her girlhood. It made not a whit of difference to her that he had never promised to be such a prince. He had, in her perception, failed her most terribly, and he should suffer forever for it. He was still alive. She could hurt him. Very little else had happened at San Danson. Vanna didn’t discover the birth announcement for a certain Hyacinth Sharif to Deputy DiConti Sharif or San Danson.
Six weeks after Vanna moved into her apartment she came home one night to find the corridor on her floor musky with a mushroom scent. Something troubling and earthy about it tickled her hind-brain with unease. She had smelt it before, more dilute than this occurrence. Snorting to clear her nose, she let herself into her own apartment. She was thankful the smell had not penetrated her rooms. A week later, the scent permeated the corridor again. It aroused Vanna’s primitive fear centers again. The unease it prompted disturbed her rest, and for several days she did no concrete planning about revenge on San Danson.
One afternoon she discovered the source of the distressing fungal odor. She was crossing the porch to walk down the street to work when a voice accosted her.
“I know you,” the voice said. “You’re from the bus.” Vanna turned, her stomach churning with remembrance of the roborant and Idabet’s family history. It was, indeed, she.
“Yes,” Vanna said shortly. “I’m off to work. Can’t stop to talk.” She plunged down the stairs to the street and strode off toward her job. She pointedly ignored Idabet’s promise to see her later.
Indeed, Vanna ignored Idabet for several more days, until her weekend left her at loose ends. She had gone to the communal bathroom to use the facilities, and was returning, planning to spend a little quiet time napping and sorting out her thoughts. Idabet had other plans, however. She waylaid Vanna in the corridor.
“You’re not very friendly,” she whined to Vanna. “I’ve tried to find you at home several times, but you didn’t answer.”
“I work a lot. I don’t have much time to be social.” Vanna tried to step around Idabet. Idabet moved in front of her.
“I’m lonely, lady. I need company, somebody to talk to.”
Vanna scowled at Idabet. Most people would have quailed under that glare. Idabet did not. She straightened a little and stared back at Vanna.
“You don’t fool me,” she said to Vanna. “You can call yourself Sara Toga, but I know who you really are.”
“Oh? And who do you think I am?”
“Somebody called Vanna Dee. You’re supposed to be dead in the desert, but I know your face, wrinkled as it is.” Idabet cackled. Fury welled in Vanna’s psyche. She pushed it down. It wouldn’t do to strike Idabet here and now. How could she explain a dead body in her corridor? Especially if Idabet had been inquiring about her with the apartment manager, or someone else in the building. Vanna couldn’t know what connection Idabet might have claimed to her.
“I don’t want money,” Idabet went on. “I have plenty of money.” She patted her bosom. “I want company, a girlfriend to pal around with.” She patted Vanna’s arm. Vanna stared at her blouse sleeve, expecting corruption to erupt on it. “How about dinner, tonight?”
“And if I don’t have dinner with you?” Vanna said through clenched teeth.
“I’ll call my old friend, Sheriff Dan Druff, and tell him where to find you. Dinner is better for you, I think. Your treat, of course. Someplace nice, like the Shiitake Shanty, for a steak. I fancy a steak with mushrooms.”
Vanna’s angry retort was on her lips, and her muscles were tightening to strike Idabet with a fierce fist when a glimmering idea occurred to her. She had many insults to avenge. Idabet was only one of many offensive people who needed a comeuppance. If Idabet, who hadn’t even known her could recognize her, others who had known her well, like Bertha Van Nation and Barry Cooda, might recognize her at any time. Step one, Vanna decided, would be to change her appearance. Either mass murder or cosmetic surgery was required. That would cost. She didn’t know how much money Idabet might carry in her brassiere, but any amount would help.
“You win,” she said to Idabet. “Let me get dressed, and meet me in half an hour, on the porch. I’ll buy you a steak at the Shiitake Shanty.”
“We’ll have something nice for dessert, Dearie,” Idabet said. She stood aside so Vanna could pass. “Half an hour, now. I’ll be waiting.”
Vanna clenched her nostrils against the fungal essence emanating from Idabet and went to her apartment. She opened her door and went in. Her mind whirred furiously over possible plans to rid herself of Idabet and cash in on Idabet’s assets. A half hour of whirring mind brought her no nearer a solution to Idabet’s presence in her life, so she affixed a tight smile to her face and
went to the porch to meet her nemesis.
Supper at the Shiitake Shanty
The Shiitake Shanty was a quiet secret long-time Las Tumbas residents kept for themselves. It was not a large place. It only had twenty two-person tables, allowing for feeding about forty people at one time. The hour was early, and Vanna and Idabet easily found a table for two. Idabet ordered the T-bone steak smothered in sautéed shiitakes, the most expensive item on the menu. Vanna preferred the steak salad, a far more modestly priced meal. Idabet fell to with a will, plying knife and fork with speed and skill. Vanna marveled to see a woman eat with such gusto. Idabet had little to say until she had scoured all the flesh from her steak, consumed the mound of French fries accompanying it, and daintily patted her greasy lips with the provided napkin. Vanna was still working on her salad.
“Right good, Dearie,” she said to Vanna. “How’s your salad?”
“Quite adequate,” Vanna said. “I’m not a big eater.”
“Oh, I am,” Idabet said. “I can eat a horse three times a day, and want a side of cow between meals. Always was a hearty eater, down home on the farm.”
“I see,” Vanna said. She took another mouthful of salad. It seemed to turn to dust in her mouth. She chewed valiantly, and swallowed
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