Diane spooned warm apple-rhubarb pie onto the girl’s plates, topping each with scoops of ice cream. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. “But you’re dating Mike now, and I’m dating John. “I’ve been,” she said, “forbidden to come. "To the best of my belief, Thames Darrell has been murdered by you. Celeste he knew. "Red apples and snow!" she sent back at him, her face suddenly transfixed by some inner glory.
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