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you, air-conditioning is not a tool of Satan."

"Not hot enough for air-conditioning."

"It's hot enough to boil internal organs."

"We got a nice cross breeze coming through."

"Yeah, from hell." Ford dropped down at the kitchen table and gulped the iced tea Charlie set out while Spock lay snoring. Probably in a heat-induced coma, Ford thought. "Where's Grandma?"

"Your aunt Ceecee picked her up, for the book club gab session at your mother's bookstore."

"Oh. If she was here, she'd give me cookies. I know damn well you gave Spock some before he passed out."

Charlie snorted out a laugh, but rose to get a box of thin lemon snaps off the counter where he'd left them after treating Spock. He shook some onto a plate, set it in front of Ford.

"Thanks. I bought a house."

"You've got a house already."

"Yeah, but this one's an investment. Cilla's going to fix it up, perform major miracles, then I'll sell it and be a rich man. Or I'll lose my shirt and have to move in with you and Grandma, and suffer from heat prostration. I'm banking on the miracle after seeing what she's done with her place."

"I hear she's done some fancy work over there. Changed a lot."

"For the better, I think."

"Guess I'll see for myself at the Labor Day shindig she's having. Your grandmother's already been out shopping for a new outfit. It'll be strange going to a party there, after all these years."

"I guess a lot of people who'll go would have been to parties there when Janet Hardy was alive." Perfect opening, Ford thought. "Mom and Dad, Brian's parents. You knew Bri's grandfather, right?"

"Everybody around here knew Andrew Morrow."

"Were you friendly?"

"With Drew Morrow?" Charlie shook his head. "Wasn't unfriendly, but I can't say we ran in the same circles. He was older, maybe six, eight years."

"So you didn't go to school with him?"

"We went to the same school. Back then, there was only the one. Andrew Morrow, he had the golden touch. Golden tongue, too," Charlie said and wet his throat. "He sure could talk anybody into fronting him money, but by God, he lined the pockets of the ones who did. Buying up land, putting up houses, buying up more, putting up the stores, the office buildings. Built the whole damn village, served as mayor. Talk was he'd be governor of Virginia. Never did run though. Talk was maybe he had some dealings that weren't up-and-up."

"Who did he hang with, when you were boys?"

"Oh, let's see." Charlie rattled off some names that meant nothing to Ford. "Some of them didn't come back from the war. He ran some with Hennessy, the one's in the loony bin now."

"Really?"

"Went around with Hennessy's sister Margie for a time, then broke it off when he met Jane Drake, the one he married. She came from money." With a smirk, Charlie rubbed his thumb and fingers together. "Old money. Man needs money to buy up land and build houses. She was a looker, too. Snooty with it."

"I remember her. She always looked pissed off. I guess money can't buy happiness if you shop in the wrong places. Maybe Morrow looked for more pleasant companionship."

"Might could've done."

"And that might be why he didn't run for governor," Ford speculated. "Sticky affair, threat of exposure, bad press. Wouldn't be the first or last time a woman killed a political career."

Charlie flicked the back of his fingers up the side of his neck. "Politicians, " he said in a tone that expressed contempt for the entire breed. "Still, he was a popular man around here, with most. He gave Buddy's daddy a leg up in the plumbing business. Brought a lot of work to the valley. Buddy's doing the work over there at the farm, isn't he?"

"That's right."

"He did some back in Janet's day, he and his daddy. Buddy had more hair and less gut in those days, and about ran the business by then, I guess. Been about your age, a little more, maybe."

Ford filed that away, tried to wend his way back. "I guess back when there was only one school, all of you shared a lot of teachers. Like Brian, Matt, Shanna and I did. Mr. McGowan taught us all, and Matt's little brother, Brian's older sister. Back in elementary school, Mrs. Yates taught us to write. She always crabbed by my penmanship. I bet she'd be surprised by what I do today. Who taught you to write, Granddad?"

"God, that takes me back." He smiled now, eyes going blurry with