The crude "Seven-and-sevens" they fashioned with lukewarm, six-ounce Sprites purloined from the dining room weren't essential to their reminiscences, but they seemed to help loosen their memories, as well as their tongues.

A month ago, Hattie had taken a header in the day room. She insisted she was only bruised and embarrassed, but the home seized on the occasion to rotate her out for hospital tests long enough to bleed off a little Medicare cash at both ends. The powers-that-be found no fractures but decided she needed a walker—meaning that she was no longer fully "ambulatory" and would be transferred from "independent" to "assisted living." So, exactly two weeks ago, Maranatha won a higher daily rate for Hattie and freed up a bed, and Pearl lost her roommate. She'd tried to visit Hattie on the other side whenever she could, but it broke her heart that she was so miserable. A woman who'd never opened an eye on purpose before 10 A.M. after baby Johnny could find his own milk was suddenly required to present herself for breakfast in the dining room by eight. Worse, a woman who could mesmerize royalty in sentence and song was assigned to take all daily meals with the same three tablemates, all of whom were either deaf or demented.

This just ain't right, Pearl remembered thinking. That's when she made up her mind. She looked down at her friend, hanging on her elbow and moving with her toward the steps.

"Now, Hattie, you just stay quiet 'til Bea and I get you past Anna Mae and to the seat in the back. Okay?"

Hattie nodded, just about halfway between anticipation and fright.

Pearl looked across at Beatrice Knudsen. "Bea, if you would just help me get Hattie up the steps, I'd appreciate it. Just wait 'til Hector goes into his little act." Beatrice winked and caught Hattie at the other elbow.

Pearl tapped Hector Alvarez on the shoulder. "Hector, you ready?" Hector turned and smiled furtively. He played out most of the slack in his oxygen line into large loops. As he drew abreast of Anna Mae he tripped into her magnificently. He grabbed for her upper arms after thrusting the loops over her forearms. She reacted by stepping backward and jerking her arms violently upward, which drew Hector, the lines, the little green cylinder, and its trolley to her—tight. She struggled and shrieked.

Pearl and Beatrice hustled Hattie onto the bus. Bertha pulled up to block the aisle while Pearl herded Hattie to the last seat on the left. "Duck down, dear, while I find Lindell." Pearl unlatched and lowered the top half of their window. She peered out, searching for her inside confederate. Clockwork. Around the end of the building came an imposing orderly, with two suitcases. He muscled the grips adroitly through the window. "Thank you, Lindell," whispered Pearl. "Hattie and I—"

"Uh-UH!" Lindell drew his arms quickly to his sides, palms down and fingers spread, striking his best 'Whachoo lookin' at?!' pose. "I got a Spalding leather basketball signed by Chris Webber and a half-case of Seagram's. That's all I need to know!" Still, he cocked an eyebrow. "Where'd you get that basketball, anyways?"

"Gift from my son, Delroy," Pearl replied. "Just the thing for an 83-year-old cowgirl, don't you agree?"

Lindell approximated half a wave as he strode away, his stern expression barely masking his amusement.

Pearl stashed the cases beneath their seat. She and Hattie donned their best innocence as the shortish bus filled up. Pearl leaned over. "You ready, hon?"

Hattie opened her shoulder bag. Pearl could just make them out, between the Preparation H and the Fig Newtons: A nickel-plated, pearl-handled, .32-caliber semi-automatic pistol with a nine-shot magazine, and a box of cartridges.

"Ready to fornicate, fight, or flee," grinned Hattie.

Pearl smiled. "Let's just stick with the 'flee' part, for now."

Due to their late start, some heavy-duty whining, and Pearl's representation that she was good for it, Anna Mae was persuaded to depart from the usual plan, which was to stop briefly for coffee and relief at Denny's in Placerville, then drive straight into South Lake Tahoe for a late lunch of equivalent elegance. Instead, they motored straight to the Heidelberg Inn, between Pollock Pines and Kyburz, for heavy German food. (Besides the cuisine's desired post-prandial effect, Pearl also hoped that some of the more excitable members of the troupe might be thirsty enough to sneak some fine Bavarian ferment to help things along. She did advise her co-conspirators to "stay sharp," however, since she knew they were already bent in that direction.)

Pearl got back on the bus and summoned Hattie back to a sitting position, placing a Styrofoam "go" box on her lap. "I'm sorry I had to leave you out here, dear, but I couldn't risk Anna Mae finding out that you weren't on her list. You know Anna Mae and her goddamned head-count."

"Are you still worried that Ellie Hathaway might snitch on me?"

"I was, but not so much any more. You've only been gone from independent living a couple weeks, so I don't think she's even noticed. You know how busybodies like her are—so taken up lookin' out the side window to catch the neighbors at somethin' that she doesn't see her husband goin' over the back fence."

"So, did you get 'em into her?"

"The Xonoft? Yup. It didn't come to me until we were all inside that this place probably didn't have any fish dishes, so I got a little worried since I'd made up my mind that tuna salad would've been perfect. Anna Mae was a failed Catholic before she went fundamental, you know, so that 'Fish on Friday' habit dies hard—especially since it still had Hell attached to it when she was a girl. I regrouped and told her I'd order for her, since Earl's folks were German and it was my treat. I snatched up her menu and studied it hard until she went to the Ladies'. Then I grabbed a waiter and ordered the Szegediner Goulasch with Spaetzle for both of us.