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little to say. When Xandra talked about how popular the Mob girls were, and how mean and snobbish they could be, Belinda would only say she hadn't noticed. But she always seemed interested in what Xandra had to say about almost any subject that happened to come up. As the days went by, it began to seem that the only things Belinda would not discuss were anything that had to do with her grandfather, and the Key.
    One day after Xandra had asked her for the umpteenth time what she had learned about the Key and Belinda had changed the subject, Xandra said, “Okay, Belinda. What's going on? You said you were going to find out more about my feather or Key or whatever it is and tell me all about it. And now you won't even talk about it.”
    “I know.” Belinda sighed and shook her head. “It's just that …Well, I guess I decided I shouldn't say anything more about it until I find out …” She paused, looking at Xandra through narrowed eyes. “More about you, I guess, and how you happened to get it.”
    “More about me?” Xandra knew her voice sounded pretty frustrated. “You have to know more about me? I don't know what else I can tell you. I've told you more about me than I've ever told anybody. What else can I tell you?”
    Staring at Xandra, Belinda shook her head slowly butthen suddenly her eyes widened. “I don't know really, but maybe if I could see the place where you found it, I would be able to tell if …”
    “Where I found the bird?” Xandra said. “But I don't know if I can. I told you I'm not supposed to go into the forest—”
    “No, no,” Belinda interrupted. “I don't mean where you found the bird. I mean the Key. Where you found the Key.”
    “You mean—you mean the basement?”
    Cat-eyed, and strangely intent, Belinda nodded.
    “But why? How would that help?”
    “I'm not sure, but my grandfather… I mean, some people think that where you find a Key is an important sign.”
    They were almost to the downtown station and Xandra had to think quickly. If they approached the house from the back, it wasn't likely that anyone would notice them, and Belinda probably wouldn't stay very long. “All right,” she said. “When we get to the terminal you can just get on the Heritage Avenue bus with me and—”
    “Oh, not today,” Belinda interrupted. “First I'll have to tell my grandfather that I'll be late.”
    That seemed like an easily solved problem. “Couldn't you call him from the station?” Xandra asked.
    Belinda shook her head. “No,” she said. “There's no phone where we live. Could we do it tomorrow?”
    Busy picturing what it would be like to live without a telephone, Xandra nodded. “All right,” she said. “Tomorrow will be all right.” But later that evening a problem arose that made her wonder if it would be possible.
    When Xandra arrived at the Hobson dinner table that night, almost on time for once, Clara was there, and all thesiblings, but that was all. No parents. Nothing very unusual about that, of course. Most of the time one or both of the parents were away at dinnertime. But tonight the reason for Helen's, the mother's, absence was slightly out of the ordinary. That evening Helen Hobson, the famous trial lawyer, was going to be on television on the evening news. So everybody ate quickly and took their desserts into the family room, even Quincy, who, as a privileged eighteen-year-old, could have watched in his own room.
    And then there she was, Helen Hobson, talking about the important case she was working on and how obvious it was that her client was going to win. And then the reporters were asking her questions and she was joking with them and doing her famous arched eyebrow and dazzling smile, and Quincy and the other siblings were saying things like “Yeah, knock 'em dead, Mom.” And “That's telling them.”
    But then the rest of the news came on and Clara and her “baby” left and the rest of them sat around for a while listening to stuff about the