… Sudden fog rising up on the road late at night near the old church cemetery…
… The farmer discovered his faithful horse, Justice, by the drinking pond, “torn apart and covered in flies.…”
… Claimed to see a gray man in a long coat and a tall black hat out in the field during a lightning storm…
… Claimed to see a man in a tall hat standing in the graveyard under a yellow moon…
… Claimed to see a man in a tall hat leading a band of ghosts into the dark woods…
As the last of his convenient illusions tore away, Will turned off the light and slipped into bed.
But sleep did not come for a very long time.
Sam and Evie stood in line at the main branch of the New York City post office, watching the large wall clock’s filigreed hand tick off precious minutes. The post office was surprisingly busy. Long lines, and it wasn’t even Christmas. At window number six, a statuesque redhead grew exasperated with the addled clerk, who couldn’t seem to locate her package. “Could you look again, please?” the woman asked in a clipped, slightly British accent. “It was sent parcel post two weeks ago from Miss Felicity Worthington and addressed to Mrs. Rao, Mrs. Gemma Doyle Rao.”
“Excuse me, but aren’t you Sam and Evie?”
Evie turned around. A young woman in a flowered hat beamed at her, excited.
“Guilty!” Evie said, preening.
The woman gasped. “I adore your show! Oh, do you think I could get an autograph for my mother? It would make her so happy, and—”
“Sorry, sis, we’re not in the Sam ’n’ Evie business just now,” Sam said, shutting her up.
“That was rude,” Evie whispered to him through clenched teeth.
“We don’t need the attention right now, Sheba. This is why it’s good not to be famous.”
Evie’s eyebrows shot up. “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard come out of your lips, Sam Lloyd. And you say a lot of stupid.”
“Next,” the clerk called, waving Sam and Evie over.
“How ya doin’, Pops?” Sam said. “We need some help with an address.”
“No kidding,” the clerk deadpanned without looking up. “Where to?”
“Oh, no, we’re not mailing anything,” Evie said. “We’re curious about an office here in this very building.”
The clerk glared over the top of his glasses. “Two years away from a watch and a pension,” he said with a sigh. “What office is that?”
Sam handed over his mother’s mysterious file. The clerk frowned. He disappeared into the mystical recesses of the post office. A few minutes later, he returned. “Sorry. I can’t help you with that unless you’re with the United States government.”
“What do you mean?” Evie asked.
“That office is restricted. Belongs to the feds. Or it did once. It’s not in use anymore. Sorry.” He handed back the file. “Next!”
“How’re we gonna get back there?” Evie asked as she and Sam walked away from the window.
Sam thought for a minute. “What we need is a distraction. Something that’ll get us a big crowd in here.”
“You want a big crowd?” Evie repeated.
“That’s what I said.”
“I just wanted to be sure. Sometimes you mumble. Here. Sign this.” Evie handed Sam a scrap of paper and a pencil. She signed her name beside his. “Leave it to me.”
Evie pranced past the line of impatient people, swinging her beaded handbag on her arm. The young woman who’d recognized them was at the clerk’s gated window now.
“I am terribly sorry to interrupt,” Evie said, smiling at the woman. “Here’s your autograph, darling.” To the clerk, she said, “I’ve already forgotten—which stamp do we need for the marriage license again?”
The clerk only looked confused, but the girl gasped, then bit her lip.
“On second thought, never mind. I’m sure I’ll find it. Can’t keep the justice of the peace waiting,” she said, winking at the girl.
Humming, Evie tottered away, then hid herself in a spot with a view of the telephone booth.