Startled, I checked my watch on waking a couple of hours later. I was surprised that I"d slept but felt refreshed and, even more surprisingly, optimistic. And stupid. How could I have started to fall for this? There was sure to be some rational explanation. Maybe my fairy tale fever was in fact what my aunt and uncle truly had. Maybe they actually were ill. Jumping out from under the bedcovers, I snatched up my bag and hurriedly put my shoes on. I rushed down the stairs and out into the street. I needed proof. I needed proof that everyone I knew hadn"t gone completely mad.
Boarding the bus for my second visit to Rushton that day, I recited a mental list of people to visit. My visits would take the form of a casual passing by, dropping in to say hello and steering the conversation deftly a
