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fifteen-year-old fathers around, were there? “Would you like to go to a movie?” he blurted.
    â€œSure.”
    She hadn’t even asked which one.
    â€œBut we have to eat first,” she said. “I’m starving.”
    â€œEr.” Fenimore, an inveterate homebody, was not familiar with the city’s restaurant scene, although he’d heard that Philadelphia’s was above average.
    â€œCome upstairs. You can talk to Dad, while I see what’s in the fridge.” She opened a door he hadn’t noticed before, revealing a narrow flight of stairs. A real city girl, he thought—lives over the store. Completely captivated, he followed her.

    â€œWhere did you come from?” Jennifer roused Fenimore from his reminiscences as she staggered in lugging a huge cardboard box.
    â€œLet me …” Fenimore reached for it.
    â€œDon’t touch.” She swiveled it out of his way. “It’s very delicate,” she explained.
    Fenimore read the label: APPLE IMAC
    â€œWhat’s this?”
    â€œI’ve been planning to get one for a while. It’s time we got the store online.” Gently, she set it down, and looked for a sharp instrument. Grabbing a pair of scissors, she began carefully to cut the binding tape.
    Fenimore grimaced. Everybody was getting wired. He wasn’t really a Luddite, but he wasn’t ready to embrace cyberspace either.
    â€œWhere do you want it, Jen?” Languid Lanky Locks suddenly appeared from the back.
    â€œIn the office, Greg.” Apparently, she had no qualms about letting him put his hands on it.
    Like a windup toy that has been suddenly activated, Greg marched with his burden to the back office. Jennifer followed quickly. By the time Fenimore reached the office, Greg had the instruction book out and was flipping through it. After a quick glance at the main diagram, he began jamming wires into holes at lightning speed.
    What had happened to his half-hour deadline? Fenimore thought, irritated.
    â€œWhere did you learn all this, Greg?” Jennifer was looking at him with admiration.
    â€œOh, we used to hack around in the dorms.” He plugged in one last wire and pressed a button. Miraculously, the screen glowed, a gong sounded, and the IMAC icon grinned at them. “Up and running,” Greg said.
    That all-too-familiar phrase grated on Fenimore’s ears.
    Casually, the youth offered his seat to Jennifer.
    â€œWow!” She slid into it. “And I thought this would take weeks.”

    Greg shrugged, and Fenimore resisted the desire to slug him. Instead, he asked Jennifer, “Are you free Saturday?”
    â€œHmm?” She was rapidly typing her name in a wild, exotic font.
    â€œSo long, Jen.” Greg slouched toward the door, back in languid mode.
    â€œThanks Greg.” She looked up and bestowed her most radiant smile on him. “What were you saying?” She turned to Fenimore with the remains of the smile.
    â€œI wondered if you’d like to go to a Strawberry Festival next Saturday?”
    â€œWhere is it?”
    â€œSouth Jersey. An old friend of mine …” (He should have omitted the “old.”) “She’s having it at her farm.”
    Her eyes caressed the computer. “By Saturday, I’ll probably be all teched out.” She sighed. “Sure, I’ll go.”
    Her smile, although several killowatts lower than the one she had bestowed on Greg, restored Fenimore’s good humor.

The Doctor Consults a Detective
    CHAPTER 12
    D etective Rafferty had chosen a quiet table in a corner of the Raven. This dim bar and grill, on Spring Garden Street, was their favorite hangout. It was supposed to owe its origins to Edgar Allan Poe, who had once lived nearby.
    â€œYou’ve got a pager.” Rafferty was quick to notice the box on his belt.
    Fenimore had forgotten about it. He gave it a pat. “Yep. Finally took the plunge and entered your world