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anymore,” said Emma, setting her empty cup down on the French provincial end table and shifting position on the couch. “Not without Pépé.”
    Charlemagne raised one of his eyebrows, thin black arcs so perfectly formed that Emma had always wondered if he plucked them into shape.
    â€œI know you are upset, dear Emma,” said the lawyer in a gentle voice. “But from what you tell me, it does not seem reasonable that someone was really there. You say nothing was missing.”
    â€œThe model boat was missing.”
    â€œBut Jacques, he may have done something with it. Do you know for certain that he did not take it himself?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œAnd this invasive presence you seemed to feel, could it not have been just the sad events of the past weeks intruding into your mind?”
    â€œMaybe I was imagining things,” said Emma, shifting position
on the couch again, unable to find a comfortable spot. “All I know is that I don’t want to go back. Ever. Can we sell the house?”
    â€œIf you wish, yes,” said Charlemagne quietly. “Such a house will bring much more than your grandfather paid for it, of course. The mortgage, she is paid up, and the real estate prices in San Francisco, they are absurd. I would counsel you, however, to give this further consideration. It is never wise to act hastily in the aftermath of a death. It is très difficile for you to see clearly now, n’est-ce pas? You can always sell the house later. Things may look very differently to you a year from today.”
    â€œI can’t go back there,” said Emma.
    â€œOnce it is sold, it is gone forever.”
    â€œI’ve made up my mind.”
    â€œIf you have thought it through, then, very well,” said Charlemagne with a wave of his hand. “You would like me to take care of this for you?”
    â€œPlease. You can put the furniture and everything in storage until I figure out what to do.”
    â€œBien. And where will you go?”
    â€œI’ll check into a hotel for now, I guess. Then maybe get an apartment.”
    â€œDo you have money?”
    â€œSome. Enough.”
    Living at home and waiting tables between magic jobs, Emma had managed to put a few thousand dollars in her savings account. Of course it wouldn’t last very long if she wanted to have her own place. She’d have to break down and get a real job sooner or later. The thought made her fairly sick.
    â€œMaybe the estate can help you out with a loan.”
    â€œI’m sorry for being so rattled, Charlemagne. I obviously don’t know whether I’m coming or going. Oh, I almost forgot.”
    Emma reached into her pocket for Jacques Passant’s gold cuff links, which she handed to Charlemagne.

    â€œI’m sure Pépé would want you to have these. You were his best friend.”
    â€œMerci beaucoup,” said Charlemagne, staring at the tiny gold articles in his open palm. “I am deeply moved.”
    â€œWould you mind if I left one of my suitcases here for now?”
    â€œNo, not at all.”
    â€œThanks,” said Emma, still trying to find a comfortable position on the couch as Charlemagne deposited the cuff links into the pocket of his vest.
    Her own jewelry in Jacques Passant’s heavy leather two-suiter would be safer here, Emma knew, shifting position on the sofa, yet again. She probably wouldn’t have much occasion to wear her party dresses in the near future. The last thing she needed now was to get ripped off in some hotel room.
    Charlemagne, who had been watching Emma squirm around on the sofa, his ears growing pinker and pinker, now spoke.
    â€œAre you having the problem?”
    â€œNo, I’m just uncomfortable.”
    â€œDo you perhaps wish to go to the little room?” said Charlemagne, looking at his shoes, then the wall, then his carnation.
    â€œWhat little room?”
    â€œâ€˜The little room where all must