“Or the Ripperoons who think they’re Ripperologists,” Li added with a mischievous glint in his eye. Every resident on station had already had a bellyful of the self-annointed “experts” who arrived on station to endlessly argue the merits of their own pet theories. “Well,” Robert drawled, a smile hovering around the corners of his mouth, “you may just be right, Kit. Guess we’ll find out next week, won’t we?”
“Maybe,” Kit chuckled. “I’d like to see the faces of the Ripper Watch Team if it does turn out to be somebody they’ve never heard of.”
Robert laughed. “Lucky Margo. Maybe she’ll take pictures?”
Kit gave his friend a scowl. “She’d better do more than take a few snapshots!”
“Relax, Grandpa, Margo’s a bright girl. She’ll do you proud.”
“That,” Kit sighed, “is exactly what I’m afraid of.”
Robert Li’s chuckle was as unsympathetic as the wicked twinkle in his eyes.
When, Kit wondered forlornly, did he get to start enjoying the role of grandpa? The day she gives up the notion of scouting, his inner voice said sourly. Trouble was, the day Margo gave up the dream of scouting, both their hearts would break. Sometimes—and Kit Carson was more aware of the fact than most people—life was no fair at all. And, deep down, he knew he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Neither would Margo. And that, Kit sighed, was one reason he loved her so much.
She was too much like him.
God help them both.
* * *
Ianira Cassondra did not know where she was.
Her mind was strangely lethargic, her thoughts slow and disjointed. She lay still, head aching, and knew only cold fear and a sickening sense of dislocation behind her eyelids. The smells and distant sounds coming through the fog in her mind were strange, unfamiliar. A harsh, acrid stink, like black dust in the back of her throat . . . a rhythmic ticking that might have been an old-fashioned clock like the ones in Connie Logan’s shop or perhaps the patter of rain against a roof . . . That wasn’t possible, of course, they couldn’t hear rain in the station.