By the light of the moon

pieces, Mom. One more thing. I'm sure your phone
isn't tapped already, but eventually they might find a way. So when
I come to see you, I won't call first.'
    'Baby girl, I'm scared like I haven't had to be scared since
your hateful father was good enough to get himself shot dead.'
    'Don't be scared, Mom. I'll be all right. And so will you.
You're in for some surprises.'
    'Father Francorelli is here with me. He wants to talk to you.
He's all excited about what happened at the wedding. Jilly
girl, what happened at the wedding? I mean, I know, sure, I been
told, but none of it makes a lick of sense.'
    'I don't want to talk to Father Francorelli, Mom. Just tell him
I'm so sorry I ruined the ceremony.'
    'Ruined? You saved them. You saved them all.'
    'Well, I could have been more discreet about it. Hey, Mom, when
we get together in a couple weeks, would you like to have dinner in
Paris?'
    'Paris, France? What in the world would I eat in Paris?'
    'Or maybe Rome? Or Venice? Or Hong Kong?'
    'Baby girl, I know you wouldn't do drugs in a million years, but
you got me worried now.'
    Jilly laughed. 'How about Venice? Some five-star restaurant. I
know you like Italian food.'
    'I do have a passion for lasagne. How are you going to afford
five stars, let alone in Venice, Italy?'
    'You just wait and see. And Mom...'
    'What is it, child?'
    'I wouldn't have been able to save my own ass, not to mention
all those people, if I hadn't grown up with you to show me how not
to let the fear eat me alive.'
    'God bless you, baby girl. I love you so much.'
    When Jilly hung up, she took a moment to recover her composure.
Then she used a ransom of quarters to place a long-distance call to
a number that Dylan had given her. A woman answered the first ring,
and Jilly said, 'I'd like to speak to Vonetta Beesley, please.'
    'You're speakin' to her. What can I do you for?'
    'Dylan O'Conner asked me to call and make sure you're okay.'
    'What could anyone do to me that Nature won't eventually do
worse? You tell Dylan I'm fine. And it's good to know he's alive.
He's not hurt?'
    'Not a scratch.'
    'And little Shep?'
    'He's standing in a corner right now, but he had a nice piece of
cake earlier, and he'll be fine by dinner.'
    'He's a love.'
    'That he is,' Jilly said. 'And Dylan wanted me to tell you they
won't be needing a housekeeper anymore.'
    'From what I hear happened up at their place, you couldn't clean
it up with anything less than a bulldozer, anyway. Tell me
something, doll. You think you can take good care of them?'
    'I think so,' Jilly said.
    'They deserve good care.'
    'They do,' she agreed.
    Finished with the second call, she would have liked to erupt
from the phone booth in cape and tights, leaping into flight with
great drama. She didn't have a cape and tights, of course, and she
couldn't actually fly. Instead, she looked both ways to be sure the
pay-phone hallway was deserted, and then without trumpets, without
flourishes, she folded herself to the deck overlooking the lake,
where Dylan waited in the last of the Tahoe twilight.
    The moon had risen long before the late summer sunset. In the
west, the night kissed the last rouge off the cheek of the day, and
in the east the full moon hung high, the lamp of romance.
    Precisely at nightfall, Ling reappeared to lead them, and Shep,
down through previously unseen passages and chambers, and finally
out of the house to the dock. The ordinary dock lights had been
turned off. The path was charmingly illuminated by a series of
tapered candles floating in midair, eight feet above the
planking.
    Apparently, Parish enjoyed finding other uses for the power with
which he had deflected and then redirected speeding bullets.
    The great house stood on ten wooded acres, fenced against the
uninvited, and the trees guaranteed seclusion. Even from far across
the lake, with binoculars trained on the candles, no curious soul
would quite know what he was seeing. The lark seemed worth the
risk.
    As though he himself were drifting a fraction of an inch off the
dock planks, Ling led them through the lambent candlelight, under
the levitated tapers, along the dock and down the gangway. The
sound made by water lapping at the pilings might almost have been
music.
    Ling gave no indication that he found the levitating candles to
be remarkable. By all appearances, nothing could disturb either his
mental calm or his balletic equilibrium. Evidently, his discretion
and his loyalty to his employer were beyond question, to a degree
that