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were no horses. Running after stinky burlap just doesn’t play the same at the country club cocktail hour.
    We made our farewells and I thanked Jeremy for his hospitality before Palmer escorted me back out to the car. As we left the parlor, I could hear Jeremy chewing Dora out.
    “—The way you carry on sometimes, just a perfect duchess. I’m surprised you have any friends left at all.”
    “Oh, Pooter,” Dora began, but by then we were too far away to hear the rest of it. It must have been funny, because I could hear them both crack up laughing.
    As the car pulled back down the drive, with me the sole occupant in the backseat now, I felt a pang, wishing I could have spent a little more time at the house. It was anotherworld, and this became increasingly clear as we pulled into town, where things seemed foreign to me, but were on a scale that I could relate to, at least.
    I could see the tower of the new church growing as we approached the site and I was interrupted in my reflections by the gruff and polite clearing of Palmer’s throat. “If I might offer a bit of advice?”
    “Sure, Palmer.” So easily I fell into the habits of those around me; where was the “Mr.” now, Emma? But was Palmer his surname?
    “I should be very careful about becoming involved in any of the goings on in the town. With the doings down the abbey.”
    I looked up, startled. “I’m not sure I—”
    “It’s local business, really,” Palmer continued matter-of-factly, “and it’s just we locals don’t appreciate when outsiders try to come in and mess about with things. We’re a close community, we don’t want a lot of outsiders—like Jane Compton—mucking things up. See what I mean?”
    Surely this wasn’t some sort of threat? I thought, in a panic.
    “I’m sure you understand. I wouldn’t want you walking in on something you didn’t belong in, what with your friend being in the thick of it and all, and especially seeing’s his lordship has taken such a fancy to you. A word to the wise, eh?”
    Palmer’s words seemed quite friendly, but his eyes were cold as they regarded me in the rearview mirror. I noticed, for the first time, the web of scars that crisscrossed the chauffeur’s large right hand as it gripped the steering wheel.
    “Uh, sure. Thanks,” I managed to stammer out.
    “Ah, there you are, just to your left, Professor,” Palmer called out, suddenly jolly. “The Prince of Wales.”
    “Where?” I whipped my head around, looking for my first sight of a royal.
    “We’re just coming up on it now. A very pleasant pub, and a very proper place for the ladies. You might sample the local bitter while you’re here.”
    “I’ll…I’ll certainly make a point of it,” I said. I frowned and rubbed my eyes. I was so tired that I could easily have been making too much of Palmer’s warning, but it was certain that I’d landed in the middle of a real mess.
    We turned down off the main street—the “high street,” as Palmer called it, continuing his little tour of the local sites—and then one or two more side streets until the buildings fell away and I could see the sluggish river Mar again. We passed the new church and its tower, and as we approached the site of the ruined abbey about a half mile later, I could see a couple of police cars and the dig itself, partially cordoned off within the chain-linked enclosure.
    It was the sight of blue and white police tape and backdirt piles that told me that, after a morning of adventures and seeing how the other half lived, I was back where I belonged.

Chapter 3
    G ETTING OUT OF THE CAR , I HEARD RAISED VOICES fifty or so feet away from the pavement. One of the police cars took off, leaving one left. A figure in a short dark green raincoat followed the remaining policeman back toward the car, not quite pleading, but certainly insistent.
    Palmer set my bag on the sidewalk and shut the trunk with a solid-sounding whomp. “There you are, Professor. And, if I’m not