. Crab gumbo turned out to be spicy, hot,
and very, very good.

"I may decide to live here," Rick said as he spooned up the last
mouthful.

"I'm a native already," Scotty stated. "The Chesapeake Bay is my home,
if the rest of the meal lives up to the soup."

The clam fritters were light, crisp, and succulent. "Meet a brand-new
Marylander," Scotty announced.

Rick started to reply, then stopped as a party of three entered the
dining room and were shown to a table nearby. He knew one of the men,
but he couldn't remember where they had met.

"Scotty," he said softly, "look around at the group that just came in.
Who's the man in the plaid jacket? I know him, but I can't remember."

Scotty's napkin "accidentally" fell to the floor. He had to turn to pick
it up. When he straightened, he shook his head. "The face is familiar,
but I can't place it."

Rick studied the man through half-lowered lids, not wanting to be rude
by staring openly. The familiar face was lean, and lined. It was not a
pleasant face, although its owner would be described as a
"distinguished-looking man of middle age." The lips were not especially
thin, but they were tightly held. The chin was firm, with a shadow of
beard even though the man looked freshly shaven. His hair was crisp,
wavy, and pure white.

"Could be of French or Italian ancestry," Rick said. "Or, maybe, Spanish
or Portuguese. Anyway, I'd vote for Southern European."

"On the button," Scotty agreed.

Rick's eyes dropped as the man looked their way. The eyes were dark
brown, he saw, with heavy lids. The eyebrows, in startling contrast to
the white hair, were dark.

The boy looked up again, his glance guarded. The man was smartly, but
conservatively dressed, in dark-blue slacks, white sport shirt open at
the collar, and a linen sport jacket of subdued plaid, much like those
affected by some Ivy Leaguers.

The other two men were not familiar. One was almost bald, with a wisp of
sandy hair combed in a pitiful and useless attempt to conceal the
baldness. He wore glasses with clear plastic frames. They sat on a nose
that could have served as a golf-ball model. His lips were almost
nonexistent, and his chin receded so far that Rick wondered why he
didn't conceal it with a beard. He seemed like a complete non-entity. In
contrast to the white-haired man's style of dress, the nondescript man
wore a rumpled black suit of synthetic fabric, a regular white shirt,
and a tie that a color-bli