"Sure thing," Dean kept singing, "And we got somebody else comin' up the steps."
The knock was three short taps. Not a slam. Not a fist. Three perfectly even raps.
Edgar set his coffee down. "Well, no rest for the weary. Honey, you get the cats. I'll take the visitor."
He opened the door on the man with the small round spectacles.
"Forgive me, sir. I would not have come back. But a thought has occurred to me which I believe may bear on your situation. I should not be more than a few minutes of your time."
Edgar studied him and stepped back from the door and gestured for the man to come inside. "There's a breakfast in the parlor. What's your name."
"Phineas, sir. Phineas Grove."
"Edgar Hadwin. Come on, Phineas. Join the party."
Phineas picked up his leather case and followed. Edgar closed the door with a careful click, and the two of them walked down to the parlor together.
Rhoda was just coming back from the kitchen with the coffee pot when they appeared at the parlor door. She looked at the spectacled man on her husband's right. She looked at her husband. She looked back at the man. Edgar's eyes were warm. He had decided about Phineas.
"Rhoda," he said. "This here is Phineas Grove. He's come back, sweetheart. He thinks he might be able to help."
Rhoda set the coffee pot down on the trivet by the fire and crossed the parlor with both hands out.
"Mr. Grove."
"Mrs. Hadwin. Madam, I am very sorry to come back when you have asked me not to."
"Don't you be sorry, sweetheart. Edgar's decided. That makes you welcome." Rhoda's hands came around his hands and squeezed once. "Sit down. Anywhere. We're a mess, but we have coffee."
"Most kind, of you." Phineas hesitated. His eyes scanned the room, Maeve in the fireside chair, Lazlo on the settee, the cats settled and rustling, and came back to Edgar and Rhoda.
"If I may, the thought I have brought up the hill is one I would prefer to share with the two of you. Privately. When you can spare the time."
Edgar's hand came to rest on Phineas's shoulder. "Right now we need all the help we can get, son."
"Of course we do," Rhoda said gently. "We can talk later, Mr. Grove."
Phineas inclined his head.
Rhoda turned toward the room. "My daughter Honey. Her young man Roam. And, in the chair by the fire," Rhoda paused, "I'm sorry we didn't catch your name."
"Maeve," Maeve said, without looking up from Pepper. "Maeve Byrne."
"Maeve, then." Rhoda did not blink. "And our friend, Lazlo Varga."
The spectacled man's face warmed with interest. A hint of recognition tucked itself behind his eyes, then his mild expression returned.
"Mr. Varga," he said. "It is a pleasure. I do believe I know you. It may be twenty years, perhaps. Twenty-five. I was a young scholar in Sibiu, and you were generous with your time over more cups of coffee than I deserved. I have not forgotten it."
Lazlo twisted his head, searching his own memory. Warmth flushed his face.
"My dear Mr. Grove." Lazlo rose to greet him. "Of course. Of course. Sibiu. The young man with the questions. Now I remember." His handshake was firm. "Forgive me. I have had so many young scholars over so many years."
"Of course, I never expected you to remember, sir." Phineas nodded.
"I am sure I do." Lazlo squinted.
"You are very kind, sir." Phineas nodded.
