Margot Talbot plopped herself into the hairdresser’s chair and sighed.

    Immediately, she was draped in a thin, plastic cloak. Betty Ann, her hairdresser asked, "What can I do for you today, Mrs. Talbot?

    "I cannot live with this outdated hair style another second, Betty Ann. I need uplift. I need oomph. I need a new look by six o’clock tonight."

    "Big night with the hubby, huh?"

    "Hardly. Tonight’s the Business Women’s League. They’re giving me some kind of award. Entrepreneur-of-the-Year. I have to make a speech." She sighed again.

    Betty Ann clucked her tongue. "Mrs. Talbot, it seems you are in the news every day. Always some award or another. Everything you touch turns to gold."

    Margot closed her eyes as Betty Ann spritzed her hair with a plastic spray bottle. "Well...not everything."

    "I don’t believe that. You’re a real go-getter, that’s what you are. Didn’t I just read that you took over that old apartment building near the bridge. Going condo, are you?"

    Margot smiled in spite of herself. "I’m thinking about it."

    "So, why so glum today?"

    Margot was silent for a moment and then she quickly glanced around the shop to see if anyone was overhearing their conversation. "Betty Ann, are you familiar with Mrs. Pemberton?"

    "The old lady who lives out in the country? Of course I am. She used to come in every month for a perm. Haven’t seen her for a while, come to think of it."

    "Good! The less I see of Eleanor Pemberton, the better!"

    The intensity of the remark startled Betty Ann. "Well, sure, she’s a little crabby, but...."

    "Crabby? My dear, Eleanor Pemberton is a witch! The woman is torturing me."

    Betty Ann stood back and regarded her client. "How can an old lady like that be torturing you?"

    Margot looked up at Betty Ann. "It’s the truth. Eleanor Pemberton and her husband ruined my life twenty years ago. And it hasn’t stopped."

    "How did they do that?"

    Margot closed her eyes and leaned her head back. "It’s a long story. You see, my father was a brilliant inventor, way ahead of his time. In order to finance his business he took out a loan, using the house as collateral. I was in high school then, about to graduate." She opened her eyes and gazed out the window as if observing those events. "I’d planned a graduation picnic for our class, to be held at our house, out by our pond. Mother and I worked on the menu. The invitations had gone out...."

    "Yes? " Betty Ann prodded Margot who seemed to be drifting off.

    "And then one day I came home from school to find Mother crying. Father’s invention had not been well received. I told you he was ahead of his time. No one could appreciate his genius. The bank was foreclosing on our house." Her voice rose. "We had to get out."

    Betty Ann started rolling Margot’s fine hair in plastic curlers. "That’s awful Mrs. Talbot."

    "We found out later that Eleanor Pemberton and her husband--he was alive then, a little man--had bought our house cheap at a bank auction. Meanwhile my family moved into a small apartment downtown. We were devastated. To go from a 14 room house to a small, dark apartment...you have no idea."

    "A shame," Betty Ann said, starting a new row of curlers.

    Margot clenched her fists. "My mother knew how much the graduation picnic meant to me. She actually went to Mrs. Pemberton and pleaded with her to allow me to have the party at the house. Just that one afternoon. And do you know what that witch said to Mother?"

    "No, what?"

    "She said it was out of the question. The landscapers would be there. Mother was doubly humiliated."

    "Is that so." Betty Ann covered Margot’s head with netting. "Doesn’t her grandson live at the house now?"

    Margot laughed harshly. "That’s her nephew, Edwin. They say he’s crazy. He lives in the boathouse with the bugs and the mice. Paying the old bat rent, no doubt."

    "I heard he was in Viet Nam and came back a little ‘touched’."

    "More than a little judging by the looks of him."

    The hairdresser stepped back. "Come sit under the dryer, Mrs. Talbot. Bring a magazine if you’d like."

    As Betty Ann adjusted the heavy metal hair dryer over Margot Talbot’s head, the woman looked up intently at her. "Believe me, Betty Ann, this subject is not closed. I intend to get my house back. Just you wait."

    "Oh I’m sure you will, Mrs. Talbot," she said, plunking the hair dryer down over Margot’s head and turning it up to high. "I don’t doubt it at all."

    Later that afternoon, while standing in line at the post office, Margot glanced at her watch. She had only twenty minutes to pick up groceries before the stores closed. What was holding up the line? And then she saw the cause of the delay. It was Mrs. Pemberton, leaning over the counter and asking the clerk in a querulous voice:

    "How much to send it fourth class?"

    Margot stared at Mrs. Pemberton’s back. That cheapskate, always trying to save a penny and yet she was one of the richest women in town. Finally, the old lady finished her business though she continued to stand in line counting her change. She then leaned heavily on a black ebony cane and headed toward the door, passing the long line of customers. Just as she approached, Margot reached out and touched Mrs. Pemberton’s sleeve.

    "You remember me, don’t you, Mrs. Pemberton? Margot Talbot. I spoke to you about your house." Margot gave the old lady a wide smile and pressed one of her business cards into her hand.

    Mrs. Pemberton, her face a mass of fine wrinkles, peered at the card, frowning. "Isn’t this the same card you gave me last month?"

    "Oh, is it? I guess I’d forgotten. "She laughed a little too loud. "I just wanted you to remember me in case you decide...."

    Mrs. Pemberton pushed the card back into Margot’s hand. "I haven’t forgotten. The answer’s still no."

    Someone in line behind Margot giggled. When it was her turn at the counter she’d forgotten why she was there.

    "Give me a book of postcard stamps," she snapped at the clerk.

    Outside on the street Margot spotted Mrs. Pemberton getting into a rusted-out station wagon. Her nephew Edwin, his long gray pony tail hanging down his back, sat at the wheel. He didn’t bother getting out to help his aunt into the car. Before he swung out into traffic, he threw a cigarette butt into the street.

    Margot stood on the sidewalk, momentarily engulfed by the station wagon’s diesel exhaust. She watched them drive off, her feelings of anger intensifying. The Pembertons had destroyed her life twenty years ago. She was powerless then, but today she had the means to fight back. And she intended to fight back.

    That evening, Margot and Arthur Talbot had pre-dinner drinks in their den that overlooked a swimming pool. Margot restlessly paced the room, smoking and arranging magazines. Arthur, who’d been reading the sports page, put the newspaper down and asked his wife, "Is there anything wrong, dear? You seem agitated."

    Margot expelled a long stream of smoke and crushed her cigarette out. "You’re a lawyer, Arthur. Let me ask you a legal question."

    Arthur blinked and said, "Well, I suppose...."

    Margot cut in. "Suppose someone promised you something and yet they never came through on that promise. Aren’t they legally liable in some way?"

    "Was the promise put in writing?"

    "No, it was a verbal promise."

    "And were there witnesses to this promise?"

    "No...there was no one."

    Arthur picked up his newspaper. "Then, my dear, you don’t have a case."

    Margot stared intently at her husband, or rather, at his newspaper. "Arthur?"

    He put the paper down and observed his wife over his reading glasses. "Margot, we’ve been over this subject before. I will not discuss Mrs. Pemberton tonight."

    "But Arthur, you don’t understand. It was five years ago that I had a very nice, very civil conversation with Mrs. Pemberton. I asked her, if she should decide to sell the house, if she would contact me first. I thought it would be to her advantage, rather than going to a realtor who’d end up taking 5 percent of the selling price. Mrs. Pemberton understood that. She said she would let me know first."

    Arthur nodded. "And?"

    "And she hasn’t contacted me although I know she’s at that point where she can’t take care of the house, or herself. She must be 85, for God's sake."

    "She has a right to live there as long as she wants, Margot."

    Margot jabbed a finger at her chest. "What about me, Arthur? I’m 40 years old. How long do I have to wait?"

    "You’ll have to wait until Mrs. Pemberton is good and ready to move out of her house."

    Margot glared. "Her house, Arthur? That is my house. That is the house of my father and my mother." She pointed at her husband, who appeared to be shrinking in his chair. "My family will not be humiliated again!" With that she swept out of the room. Arthur sat still until he heard the slam of the upstairs bedroom door.

    Then he sighed and picked up his newspaper.

    Late that night Margot finished up some paperwork in her study. She turned off the computer and glanced at the phone. Then she picked up the phone book. Her finger traveled down the columns of names: Peckham, Pedro...Pemberton. She held the phone to her ear and dialed the number. It rang several times before she heard a querulous voice.

    "Hello?"

    Margot quickly hung up the phone. Then she smiled and shut off the light.

    "Lean your head back into the sink now, Mrs. Talbot."

    Margot’s features softened as the hairdresser’s strong fingers massaged conditioner into her scalp. "You don’t know how good this feels, Betty Ann. You are an absolute lifesaver."

    "Nothing at all, Mrs. Talbot. Are you accepting any more awards this week?"

    Margot yawned. "Just something from the community college. It doesn’t amount to much. They’re probably just looking for a contribution."

    "Still, it’s an honor to be chosen."

    "Honor doesn’t pay, Betty Ann. Time is money."

    Betty Ann, who stood on her feet for eight hours every day, knew all about money--and its lack. But she didn’t comment; instead she said, "Heard anything from Mrs. Pemberton lately?"

    Horizontal lines appeared on Mrs. Talbot’s otherwise smooth forehead. "That woman is playing cat and mouse with me."

    "Why would she do that?"

    "I figure she wants more money. She’s waiting for me to make a bigger offer."

    Now Betty Ann combed the creamy conditioner through Margot’s dyed hair. "Are you going to offer?"

    "I’ll offer what it’s worth and not a penny more, though Lord knows the place is just falling apart. The Pemberton’s are one step ahead of the board of health. My parents would roll over in their graves to see how those people have destroyed our home."

    "Have you been out to see it lately?"

    "Just from a distance when I’m passing by that way." Margot didn’t tell her that she often drove by at night, when she couldn’t sleep. One night she’d doused her headlights and drove halfway up the driveway and sat in her car looking at the old homestead. Then she’d held her breath and made a run for the house, keeping her head low and staying close to the bordering shrubs. She felt in the pocket of her black trench coat for the paper-covered rock upon which she had written the words: get out now.

    As usual, the house and boathouse where Edwin slept, were in darkness. She’d crouched under a window near an overgrown rhododendron bush. The only sound was the night breeze rustling the trees. She’d raised her arm back and sent the rock flying. The sound of shattering glass in the still night had been shocking.

    Now Betty Ann, attempting to sooth her client, said, "All things come to those who wait, Mrs. Talbot."

    Eyes closed, Margot didn’t reply. Waiting was for other people, the dull, the ordinary. Margot Talbot was not one who waited.

    Before going home, Margot swung into the parking lot of the village liquor store. She needed more vermouth for the martinis. Lately, a drink or two before dinner helped calm her down. After dinner, a little Sherry helped her to sleep. The alcohol did more for her nerves than all the tranquilizers her doctor had prescribed.

    Just as she was about to reach for the door, it burst open and a grinning Edwin Pemberton emerged carrying a case of beer. He looked like a vagrant; his long gray hair and his beard were matted.

    He stopped and leered at her. "Afternoon, Miz Talbot."

    Margot clutched her handbag and quickly slipped into the store. Not only did Mrs. Pemberton’s nephew look like an animal, he smelled like one too.

    Later that evening, after a dinner of steak au poivre by candlelight, Margot mentioned her encounter at the liquor store to Arthur. "A person like that shouldn’t be allowed out in society. Years ago he’d be locked up."

    Arthur shook his head. "I feel sorry for Eddie Pemberton. He can’t have it easy living over there in that boat house. No heat, no electricity."

    Margot cleared her throat. "I’ve decided, dear, when I come into possession of the house I’m tearing down the boat house and building a nice, modern cabana." She took a swallow of her Cabernet.

    When her husband didn’t respond to that remark, she took another sip and said, "I suppose you think it’s a foolish idea, Arthur--wanting a house after so many years."

    "Not foolish, Margot. It’s just that you yourself said it’s been neglected."

    She flashed her husband a wide smile. "I intend to pay for all repairs, darling. You see, I can’t help myself. Ever since the Pembertons kicked my family out, I’ve vowed to get our house back." She raised her glass to him.

    "Call it family pride."

    Arthur drained his glass. "I hate to correct you, sweetheart, but the Pembertons didn’t kick your family out, the bank did. Because your father had taken out a large loan to finance that--that--invention of his."

    "You have to admit Daddy’s idea was brilliant."

    Arthur chose his words carefully. "Margot, installing electric heating rods under a drive way in order to melt snow is an innovative idea. It’s also a horrendously expensive idea, which your father chose not to take into account."

    Margot put her fork down. "So what! People in Beverly Hills install movie theaters in their homes. They think nothing of it."

    "That’s Beverly Hills, darling. This is New England, where most people would rather shovel their driveway, or pay a high school kid to do it."

    Margot stood up and threw her napkin down. "Are you calling my father a crackpot? I’ll have you know Arthur Talbot, that he was a brilliant, brilliant man. Some day that patent will be worth millions. And meanwhile you’ll still be a small-town lawyer."

    Margot knocked her glass over while jumping back from the table. Arthur waited patiently until he heard the slam of the upstairs door. Then he reached across the table and poured the last of the Cabernet into his glass. No sense in wasting a perfectly good wine.

    Later that night Margot roamed the dark rooms of her house, unable to sleep. In the kitchen she put water for tea on the stove. Waiting for the kettle to heat, she picked up the wall phone and dialed the now-familiar number. When she heard the reedy voice, instead of hanging up, she said in a low, guttural tone: "Get out. Get out now." She turned off the kettle. Somehow she knew she’d be able to sleep.

    One week later Margot stood outside apartment #7 and rapped on the door. She wrinkled her nose at the cooking smells that came from inside. The Santoros were from the old country. When she saw Margot standing outside her door, Mrs. Santoro's eyes widened.

    "Mrs. Talbot, is anything wrong? I mailed the check at the post office yesterday."

    Margot didn’t waste time on chitchat. As a new landlord, she would be business-like with her tenants. "Mrs. Santoro, do you own the clothes line outside?"

    "My husband put it up. It’s behind the hedges. No one can see it from the front."

    "Well I’m the new owner and I have new rules which I’ve sent to every unit in this building. One rule is: no clotheslines. We have dryers in the basement, you know."

    "I know, Mrs. Talbot, but I like to hang my sheets and my husband’s tee shirts in the sun. You know how nice they smell."

    Margot had a headache. The woman’s wheedling voice added to her pain.

    "Take it down today--or face the consequences."

    Driving home, Margot’s headache persisted. She wasn’t sleeping well. Last night she had driven to the local convenient mart to make her call to Mrs. Permberton, in case the old lady had put a trace on the phone. Since she started the late-night calls and secret visits, she couldn’t seem to stop. She felt such a compulsion to contact Mrs. Pemberton.

    Later that evening Margot knocked upon the closed door of her husband’s study. Lately, he’d been spending a lot of time holed up in that room.

    "Arthur, I have another legal question for you."

    He raised his eyebrows and looked at his wife without speaking.

    "Can you tell me what steps to take to start an eviction proceeding?"

    "Who are you thinking of evicting, Margot?"    

    "The Santoros. They’re breaking the rules. And you wouldn’t believe the smells coming from their place. Onions! Garlic! I’ll have to have the apartment fumigated once they’re gone."

    Arthur shook his head. "They’re a nice, quiet old couple. They're entitled to cook in their own home."

    "It’s more than that, Arthur. They’re primitive. They hang their underwear outside." She reached out and smoothed his hair back and said plaintively, "Seriously dear, the Santoros are bringing down property values. Don’t you want me to be successful?"

    Arthur stared at his wife. She had developed dark circles under her eyes, which she tried to camouflage with makeup. He knew Margot went out at night on mysterious errands. He felt it had something to do with the Pembertons. He had a bad feeling about it.

    "I won’t be able to help you with this one, Margot. It’s just plain wrong."

    She lifted her chin, looking down at him. "I guess I’ll just have to hire a lawyer then. Imagine, my own husband refusing me."

    "Suit yourself, Margot. You always do."

    That night Margot sat at her kitchen table finishing her drink and debating whether she should drive to the Pemberton’s house. She needed a good night’s sleep and yet she felt a strong urge to stand under the window and make a noise that would frighten Mrs. Pemberton. Another week and the old lady would be ready to move. Margot was sure of it. Victory was close.

    She reached for her car keys.

    When she drove up the driveway she turned off the car lights and coasted to a spot under a stand of evergreens. Her childhood home had never looked as beautiful as it did tonight. Silently she got out of the car and crept closer to the house while scanning the ground for a rock she might throw. As she was reaching for a sharp stone, she heard loud voices inside. She stood still and listened.

    It was Mrs. Pemberton, yelling at someone. The voice that responded was harsh, raspy: Edwin. The quarrel continued for about a minute and was followed by another sound: a high-pitched drawn out wail--and then silence. Margot shuddered and waited long moments for a noise from inside. The house was as still as an empty church. The rock fell from her shaking hands. From inside the house, a light went on. Startled into action, Margot ran as fast as her legs would carry her, gasping for breath and stumbling on the gravel. When she reached her car she threw herself inside and turned on the ignition key with trembling hands. She roared out, fishtailing down the dirt road and didn’t reduce her speed until she reached the safety of her own driveway.

    That night, lying in bed, Margot couldn’t stop shivering. What had happened back at the house? What was the meaning of the screams? And how could she live with the suspense of not knowing?

    She didn’t have to wait long. The following morning Margot had placed her order at the village coffee shop when an item on the front page of the local newspaper diverted her attention. "Prominent Citizen Dies in Fall" the large type read. Margot snatched up the paper and clutched it to her chest.

    "Mrs. Talbot, here’s your decaf mocha latte," the clerk said, placing a steaming container in front of her.

    "I’ve changed my mind." Margot ran out of the shop.

    Back in her car, she read the news item over and over. According to the paper’s account, Mrs. Pemberton, 82, had died of a broken neck after falling down the stairs at her home around midnight. She was discovered by her nephew, Edwin Pemberton, who heard his aunt’s scream, and came running from the boathouse. The account continued with a recitation of the Pembertons’ many civic deeds over the years.

    By the time she felt composed enough to drive home Margot could think of one thing only: Mrs. Pemberton was dead and now the house would finally be hers. She had waited so long. Nonetheless, Margot kept remembering the sound of Mrs. Pemberton’s scream--and then the silence. Edwin, she thought. The nephew was responsible for this.

    She would put it out of her mind for now. After all, she hadn’t actually seen anything, had she?

    There were only a few cars in the parking lot of the funeral home when Margot arrived for Eleanor Pemberton’s wake. Inside, three elderly ladies were waiting near the door for a cab. Margot walked into a small reception area where Edwin Pemberton sat on a sofa reading a newspaper. His hair had been cut for the occasion. He even wore a sports jacket whose too short sleeves exposed hairy wrists. Edwin didn’t bother standing up when he saw Margot in the doorway.

    "Well now, if it ain’t Miz Talbot come a-calling. I didn’t know you were friends with my aunt."

    Margot ignored his sarcasm. "Edwin, I’m so sorry about your aunt. When you’re ready to decide what to do with the house, please call me. I think we can do business together."

    He grinned, looking down at the business card she handed him. "I’m sure we can, Miz Talbot. I’m sure we can."

    The call came a week later at 9 o'clock one evening. She recognized the raspy voice right away. "It’s me, Miz Talbot. Eddie Pemberton. I’m ready to talk."

    "Fine. Would you like to come to my office tomorrow?"

    He cut her off. "Now. Right now."

    Margot’s voice was calm. "At your house then?"

    "Yeah, and bring a contract. You got one of those?"

    She cleared her throat. "I could put together a basic

intent-to-purchase...."

    "Yeah, bring that." And then he hung up.

    Margot looked across the room and met Arthur’s eyes. "One of my condo clients. Can’t wait til morning. Wants to sign right away." She gave a nervous laugh. Arthur said nothing.

    This time Margot drove up the entire length of the driveway and parked her car in front of the house. Lights glowed dully inside. She looked with satisfaction upon the house and grounds. Soon it would all be hers. But first, she’d have to get the unpleasant business with Edwin out of the way.

    She knocked loudly on the door, noting the peeling paint on the trim. Edwin appeared, dressed in a camouflage vest and pants and holding a can of beer. Margot involuntarily took one step backward, clutching the handle of her briefcase. Edwin laughed. "Miz Talbot, you’re a fast worker," he said, stepping back so she could enter.

    Margot’s heart sank when she glanced around the living room. The walls ere cracked and water stains stretched across the ceiling. She was reluctant to sit on the chair that Edwin offered.

    "Beer, Miz Talbot?"

    "No thanks," she said gingerly sitting on a corner of the chair’s cushion. "I have to drive."

    He laughed and sat opposite her. "Normally I’m not allowed in the big house. It’s kinda nice," he said, looking appreciatively around the room. "Too bad I can’t afford to keep it."

    Margot asked conversationally, "Your father and Mrs. Pemberton’s husband were brothers?"

    "Yup. And even though they were brothers, when my father was down and out, old moneybags wouldn’t loan him a cent. My father liked his whiskey, Miz Talbot. He was the black sheep of the family." He took a long swallow, watching her.

    "And yet you ended up living here."

    "If you could call it living. As she got older, Auntie was afraid to live alone way out here in the sticks. I got to sleep in the unheated boat house plus she’d throw me a couple of bucks now and then for driving her around."

    Margot nodded, thinking it was a good time to discuss business. She opened her briefcase. "Shall we take a look at the contract?" She removed an official-looking form, which she handed to Edwin. "This is called an intent to purchase. We can work out all the details later in my office."

    Edwin studied the form silently and then handed it back to her. "Won’t do, Miz Talbot."

    "Why not? I think $400,000 is a generous offer considering the condition the place is in. The house will have to be totally refurbished."

    He lit a cigarette and dropped the match on the floor. "I want a million."

    Margot stared at him. "Why don’t we talk about this tomorrow when you’re sober?"

    He leaned forward in his chair. "I’m sober. I want a million and you’re going to pay it."

    She stood up. "I don’t have a million dollars."

    "You’ve got that nice house out by the country club, plus that condo deal you’re going to unload. Your husband’s got a big office building downtown." He grinned up at her. "I’ve done a little digging, Miz Talbot."

    The thoughts of Edwin Pemberton checking into her affairs infuriated Margot. She decided to resort to pressure. "I can’t believe a murderer would be so cocky."

    Edwin became very still. "Who are you calling a murderer?"

    "For your information I was here at the house last week. I heard you arguing with your aunt that night. I heard her screams. You pushed her, didn’t you?"

    Instead of reacting, Edwin sighed and shook his head. "I heard her talking to the lawyers, Miz Talbot. She was going to leave the house to the historical society. Can you imagine? And me, the next of kin, would get squat." He opened another can of beer from a six-pack on the floor. Then he stood up and crossed the room and came back with a manila folder.

    "Speaking of your midnight visits..." he said, handing the folder to Margot.

    Inside were several 9" by 12" black and white photos. One showed Margot crouching by the rhododendron bush, her face startlingly white against the shadows. Another showed her running across the yard, her Saab in the background. She flipped through the stack, speechless.

    "They’re pretty good, Miz Talbot. I used an infrared lens for nighttime." He took a big swallow. "I learned a lot of tricks in the Army." Then he withdrew a flat black tape player from under his chair. "Listen to this." Soon she heard her voice, deep and guttural, saying clearly: Get out. Get out now.

    "The first couple calls I traced to your house. The next couple came from a pay phone." He gave her a pitying smile. "You’d make a lousy spy, Miz Talbot." Before she could comment he went on, "I also have plaster casts of your tire tracks and your footprints."

    He grinned, " Remember the note wrapped around a rock? Any handwriting expert could identify your writing."

    Margot stood up. "Edwin, the police would never believe you. I own this town. You’re nothing but a crazy person." She backed up toward the door.

    He shut off the tape player and the room was silent. "Maybe. You never know. But I know someone who would be interested: the editor of the city newspaper. His name is Lenny Santoro. Perhaps you know his parents, Miz Talbot. I believe you’re having them evicted from your fancy condo place."

    "They’re his...parents?"

    "Sure. He’d be real interested in what I have to tell him--about seeing a woman running down the driveway just before I found poor Auntie on the stairs."

    Margot stared at him. "You killed her! No one would believe your crazy stories."

    He put the photos back in the file and said in a matter-of-fact voice, "I’m planning to buy a bar in Costa Rica with the money. You’ll probably never hear from me again. On the other hand, maybe things won't work out there and I might need a little cash loan." He looked directly at Margot. "This information," he said, indicating the file and the recorder, "will stay fresh for a long time, Miz Talbot."

    He stood up and handed her the contract. "You don’t want to see your good name ruined, do you? Imagine Margot Talbot, woman of the year, involved in a murder! And just think, this house will be all yours. Just like you’ve always wanted."

    He pointed to the chair. "Now sit down and write that contract up."

    Margot slowly sat down and picked up the pen. Edwin Pemberton stood over her. He placed a damp hand upon her shoulder, the fingers strong and insistent.

    "Write it up nice, Margot. Write it up nice."