This has got to be harder than doing the original recordings in the first place, Trey thought. There's so much good stuff here!

He looked over at Myleigh, who was just sitting on the couch in Jennifer and Blake's basement as they listened to the several minutes of ambient recording from Diamond Creek Wash -- track number 416. They were almost done with the first pass now. Since this was ambient stuff, and really was useful only in case a patch was needed, or in case they wanted to re-record harp on top of it later, it was probably pretty useless, so he let his mind wander a little. But, it needed to be listened to and catalogued, just in case it was needed. One more track, he thought, and one of the better ones.

Listening to all that stuff, sometimes ten and twelve hours a day was tedious. Some of the tracks they'd listened to two or three times, with Trey fiddling with the mix just a little to see what could be done with it, bringing ambient up in some spots, down in others. Trey had gotten to the point where he could tell the really good tracks by the amount that he and Myleigh talked about them afterward. Sometimes the music hit her very hard -- it even hit him hard, some of it was powerful indeed. Many times she said she couldn't believe it had been her playing Blue Beauty. On several occasions she'd listened to a track, then taken Blue Beauty and tried to play snatches of it. She could manage it, but both could tell that the same feeling the recordings inspired just wasn't there. There were two or three tracks that she'd been able to re-create better than others, but she had to work at it to do it. It was clear that after this album went on the market she'd be asked to play pieces from it, so perhaps it was better that she begin to learn how to play the music she had somehow created.

Trey leaned back and let out a quiet sigh as the babbling of Diamond Creek and a little whisper of wind in the tamarisks filled his ears, taking him back to the place. If he closed his eyes, and ignored the cool of the basement, it was almost as good as being there.

This studio had absolutely the most incredible sound system that Trey had ever heard -- it was so far ahead of the system at Marienthal that the latter was absolutely primitive by comparison. There was a huge digital deck that could handle 36 simultaneous channels, a mixing panel that boggled the imagination, digital processing equipment that could massage most flaws. This was the studio where At Home and Back Porch had been recorded, where Whispering Pines was in the early stages of rehearsal, and where it would be recorded. All of Harp Strings had been recorded here, along with the contents of most of Jennifer and Blake's library. It had taken a while to even learn the basics of this incredible system, and Trey realized that no one, not even Blake, might know all the nuances of things that could be done with it.

The amazing thing, he thought, was that in the band recordings, the system mostly had to run itself. Blake normally played in the band as well as running the system, so his technique had pretty much been to set up a ton of mikes, record on all of the 36 channels at normal and fixed levels, and then come back in at leisure and remix everything. That had to eat up hours. Even a minimal watch at the panel could allow recording on a lot fewer tracks and require a lot less mixing later. Maybe he ought to think about talking to Blake about that sometime.

Still, it had gotten dull, just sitting down here and listening to the music all the time, magical though it was. Just to work their way through things, Trey had transferred some of the tracks he knew to be less interesting over to CDs so they could go outside on the porch or down by the lake to listen to them for a change of view. He'd also done that with some of the very best tracks, so he could take them back to Randy and Nicole's house and play them on the system there, also a fairly decent one, just to get a little more familiar with them in different surroundings. He'd done a little mixing of the ambient sounds of running the rapids overlaid by Myleigh's harp interpretation of that rapids recorded as soon as possible afterwards. The test mix had been a little on the rough-and-ready side, but at least one of the tracks had some real possibilities.

Trey watched the numbers flicker by on the computer screen monitoring progress, broken down by this incredible system into increments so small that he couldn't read the last couple of digits. Finally, the flickering stopped, and there was silence. "Comments?" he asked Myleigh.

"Yes," she said. "Although not, I fear, about the track. I could close my eyes and remember being there and wishing that we did not have to leave, feeling the urge to play come upon me. Trey, I do wonder how Crystal and Al and Michelle and the others can manage to live in the middle of all that beauty and not be so overwhelmed by it that they cannot function. Indeed, I cannot believe that we did it."

"Me either," he said. "To tell the truth, I almost wished I'd stayed and run again. If you'd even hinted that you wanted to do the trip again, that you thought you could do better on another trip, I'd have been there in a minute."

"Alas, not," she said. "I do feel I could have perhaps found some inspiration for more recording, but I do also feel that the well showed signs of running dry. Trey, as much as I enjoyed every minute of the experience, I should be remiss if I did not confess that I have become used to flush toilets and showers again."

"Yeah, me too," he said. "Living without them does get pretty old after a while. Makes you wonder how they did it in the old days when they didn't have any better."

"It is because they did not have, or know, any better," Myleigh grinned. "I have often reflected about some old English heroine shivering in her mansion during England's winter, and how she would envy my ability to purview her story while enjoying the blessings of central heating. I daresay someone like Emma Bovary would have been willing to trade places in a minute. But, I fear I digress from our mission."

"Looks that way to me, too," he said. "But this next one is the last track, and then I think we declare a couple of days off. As much as I've enjoyed this, some of it is starting to sound the same. Myleigh, while I love the music of the harp, I think I'm ready to spend a few hours with some serious country or rock and roll, just for the break."

"The amazing thing is that I think I agree with you," she said. "The change would be refreshing, and would allow us to return to our labors with somewhat freshened ears."

"Sounds like a plan," he said. "Getting back to business. Any comments on the ambient track before I get started on the next one, which I might again point out is the last one."

"Not really," she said. "It is an interesting track, if not being terribly notable."

"That's about how I read it," Trey said, turning to his computer keyboard. There were a few notes that needed to be made. As she said, it wasn't a particularly notable track, although the sound quality was good, a touch of babbling brook and tamarisk whisper in the breeze, no notable excursions or intrusions of outside sounds. That wasn't always the case. It took a minute or so to make the notes. "All right," he said finally. "Ready for 417?"

It was almost superfluous; they knew from the last time listening to it that it would make the first cut, but now that they'd had a chance to hear the rest of the work, they'd have an idea of how it stacked up against everything else.

"Ready, my hero," Myleigh smiled.

Trey hit the Play button, and again there was the whisper of tamarisk and the light babble of Diamond Creek. He knew that he would want to bring that up in working on it, and then fade it shortly after the harp started -- and then the harp started with the wistful, familiar notes. Trey leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to assess it musically -- but more importantly, to listen for technical fluffs, intrusive sounds. Yes, the yearning was still there, the sadness at leaving, the memories of sights that had been seen and the experiences that had been had, the rush of completion, the lament that the glory was past. Eventually, the harp faded, nearly faltering in sorrow . . . and there was little left but the whisper of the creek. They sat in silence well after the counter had finished clicking off the numbers, just letting their minds wind over what they'd heard. "You know," Myleigh broke the silence. "I should not be surprised if that should make the final cut."

"Me, too," Trey said. "It does make a good finale. We need to trim a little on the ambient on both ends."

"Yes," Myleigh agreed. "There's a section in the middle that strikes me as being a little repetitious."

"About a third of the way through? It sounds like you segued back and tried to do it right. The second time is better."

"If that was the case I was not conscious of it," Myleigh agreed. "Though I must admit that it sounds like it. The piece does strike me as being a bit on the long side, and that is a likely place to tighten it up."

"There's a shorter spot, back toward the end, that you might want to consider too," Jennifer's voice broke in.

Both of them gave a start. "Sorry," Trey said. "We didn't hear you come in."

"We heard most of it," Blake said. "You know, that track sounds even better the second time through. That's it on the run-through, I take it?"

"Last track," Trey said. "And, about time, too. I need a break from it, listen to something else, do something else. We did squeeze it down a bit. Now, it's only nearly totally unmanageable."

"How much?" Blake asked.

Trey consulted his notes. "With that track included, sixteen hours and 47 minutes. That's the whole size of the tracks, not counting any cuts or compressions, like we just talked about. I'd guess there's maybe an hour of those, 44 tracks total. Now it gets tough."

"And bloody," Jennifer agreed. "I've monitored some of the stuff you've been listening to, and there's some great music there."

"It's not quite that bad," Myleigh said. "I think I can identify a number of tracks that almost certainly would want to be in the final master. This one is most likely a candidate."

"Yeah," Trey said. "We're going to have to go through it again. Like I said though, I need a break from harp music. Just take a couple days, maybe even leave Blue Beauty here, go somewhere and listen to something else."

"Any ideas?" Blake smiled.

"There is a possibility," Myleigh smiled. "When we went through Kansas City we thought to load up our wet suits, thinking that it might be fun to borrow Nicole's and Randy's surfboards, that Trey and I might go up to my old haunts around Marquette, so that I might introduce him to Superior surfing."

"Yeah," Trey said. "Take along the right music. Beach Boys, Ventures, Sandals, Jan and Dean, maybe Dick Dale and the Deltones if I can find a copy somewhere."

"Upstairs," Blake smiled. "If you'll bring it back. It's getting a little hard to find." He shook his head. "Boy, you know, I haven't been surfing since we left LA."

"You surf?" Randy asked.

"Well, used to," Blake said. "Jennifer had a place right on the beach at Malibu. Made it pretty handy."

"You know that sounds like fun," Jennifer agreed. "Blake got me out a few times in the last few months before we left. I never got very good at it but it would be fun to try again. I sure wish we could leave Jeremy with Mom and take off like that, instead of what we're going to have to do."

"Is there some problem?" Myleigh asked, concern on her face.

"Yeah, something's come up," Jennifer said. "If everything goes right, we should be able to straighten things out the day after tomorrow without too much difficulty. It's going to involve a scene I'd rather avoid, but it has to be done."

"Anything we can do to help?" Trey asked. "I mean, it would be nice to take a break, but first things first."

"Well, both of you could be some help in the details," Blake said. "It'd give us a little better control of the situation. But, if the two of you want to take off, you've earned it."

"Nonsense," Myleigh said. "You have been so kind and generous to us that if there is anything we can do, in whatever way, to repay you that you need but ask the question."

"What she said," Trey agreed.

"I wouldn't have thought any less of either of you," Jennifer smiled. "If this goes off as well as we hope, maybe we all just ought to take off and go surfing. As much as I enjoy being a mother, I could stand a break from it, too."

"So, what's the deal?" Trey asked.

"Oh, boy, that's the tough part," Blake said. "Where do we begin?"

"Maybe we ought to take these two up on the front porch, get something to drink," Jennifer suggested. "And start at the beginning."

* * *

"Hell, this is going to be simple," Dan told Marty as they drove the dark blue rental minivan past Jenny Easton's house again early in the morning. "Sherwin has got to be full of shit. He just had a hair up his ass, that's all."

"I wish I felt as good about it as you do," Marty said. He had the camera in his lap, and had already taken a few background shots. "He seemed awful damn antsy, and he's been around the block enough to know."

"We don't break any traffic laws, we stay on public property," Dan said. "We don't try to get in anyone's face unless there's good footage to be had. We just follow her, wait till that record company guy shows up, and then once he leaves we blow this pop stand. Stay cool and everything should be just fine, bro."

Marty grunted something in reply. Damn it, he thought, a good cameraman knows when he's walking into trouble; it's a sixth sense or something, and somehow he smelled trouble. Especially after the story Sherwin had told of his visit here. But he'd worked with Dan before and knew that he got a little ballsy sometimes. On the other hand, he seemed to be playing it a little cool, right now. "There just ain't a hell of a lot of cover," he said finally. "We're going to be right out in the open."

"What say that we drive down past the place, down toward the town side, and park along the street? That'll give you a good angle out the back if you crack the window. This is a dead-end street. If she goes anywhere she'll have to go right by us."

"Don't see anything else we can do," Marty agreed. "I don't want to be pissing off the neighbors so they'll call the cops, or our ass is grass before we get started."

"I think you're worrying too much about the cops," Dan smiled. "That was a long time ago. According to Dittmer, nobody's tried this in a long time. They're probably not ready for us, man. We'll just lay low and take it cool."

"It's pretty early," Marty suggested. "Maybe we ought to just go get some breakfast, have a cup of coffee. I don't think we want to be hanging around the neighborhood any longer than we have to. Dittmer said the guy isn't supposed to be here until along later in the morning."

"Sounds like a winner," Dan agreed. "I think I spotted a place on the way in here that ought to add ten points to your cholesterol."

* * *

An hour later, the two drove the van back past the house, went down a ways, then turned around and came back by driving slowly, then parked along the street a couple houses away. "Hey, Blake," Trey said, "It's those two in the blue minivan again. I think we've got company."

Blake picked up a pair of binoculars from the kitchen table, and focused them out the window. He knew he was unlikely to be seen from a few feet back in the room. "Dark blue minivan," he reported. "Smoked glass so rear vent windows cracked, both sides . . . yeah, there's a glint, might be off a camera lens. Looks like dat Eino, he hid id on da nose, yaah. Better get her moving."

* * *

"Hey, check out the babe," Dan said. He was trying to keep a watch up the street and monitor things behind them through the rear view mirrors. Marty was in the back; the back seat was out of the van, giving him some room to work, and he was trying to stay out of sight. But things were quiet and it was boring, so he stuck his head up. Yeah, she was a looker. Short, nice shape, shoulder-length black hair, tank top, short skirt, coming right up the sidewalk at a fast enough clip to made her boobs bounce. Probably some housewife out for her morning constitutional, he thought, getting a good look as she went right past them, not slowing and only a couple feet away. Marty swung his head to watch her walk away. Boy, there's something about a skirt, he thought, the way it waves when they walk. You just don't get that with shorts. He thought about shooting a quick clip of her as she walked off, but why bother? He kept an eye on her as she disappeared around the curve of the road on the far side of Jenny Easton's house. Yeah, under different circumstances that could be interesting, he thought.

* * *

"They are definitely our targets," Blake heard on the phone a minute or so later. "It was rather unclear through the smoked glass, but I could definitely perceive one man in the front, and one in back with a professional-grade video camera."

"OK, Myleigh, good work," he said. "Head on back, but keep the house between you and them."

"I shall be there directly," he heard.

"Those are our guys," Blake said as soon as he set the phone down. One of the problems they had was being sure they were dealing with the camera crew. It wasn't unknown for legitimate but misguided fans to stake out the house, trying for a sneak shot of their own, not for publication, but for, well, being fans. The cops kept a pretty good eye on the neighborhood and normally ran off such people without being asked, although once or twice a year there had to be phone calls made. This time, though, they wanted to keep the cops out of it if they could, and also not annoy the neighbors.

"Go now?" Jennifer asked.

"No, better wait a few," Blake said. "We've got to give Wendy the heads up, and the store isn't open yet. Besides, it won't hurt to wait a few minutes, let them marinate a bit."

* * *

It was starting to show signs of getting boring. There was nothing happening around Jenny Easton's house. It was getting on toward the middle of the morning, and it was starting to get warm in the van.

"Something's happening," Dan said suddenly. Garage door is opening."

Marty had been keeping low, but now he stuck his head up, camera in hand. It was out the wrong side of the van, as far as he was concerned; it would have been better if he'd been left handed, but he had the camera set up for it that way. It took him a second to get the camera on the scene, but tape was rolling when a white Chrysler sedan back out of the garage. "I think that's her," Dan added.

The car was a distant shot, even with the zoom all the way out, and it was a lousy one. There would be a little better one in a few seconds, so Marty pulled away from the window, kneed his way over to the other side of the van, switched the viewfinder over, and aimed it out the cracked open window on the other side. The camera was rolling as the Chrysler came by. "Got it," he said.

"Definitely her," Dan said from the front as he started the engine.

"Stay back, damn it," Marty said as the van pulled out onto the street. "We don't want her getting suspicious."

They were so intent on following Jenny Easton that they didn't notice the red Dodge Neon pull out of the driveway of the house they'd been parked in front of.

* * *

"OK, Trey," Blake grinned. "So far, so good. Better get out there in case Oldfield decides to show up right now."

"On the way, Blake," Trey grinned. This was the one part that they didn't have good control over, at least as far as their preparations were concerned, but the fallbacks were good. Trey headed out the door and ran quickly through the yards to Randy's folks' house. The camera crew might have noticed his Cougar sitting in the driveway, but if everything worked all right, Myleigh would be able to warn them that they were on the way back. And, if everything went all right they wouldn't be back at all.

Trey started up the Cougar, backed it out on the street, and parked it in front of Randy's parents' house on the far side of the street about where the camera crew had been. Then, he rolled the window down and picked a big professional video camera up off the seat and set it on the dashboard. That had been the toughest part of the whole operation, finding one that Oldfield could see for a few seconds. This one Blake had pulled some strings to borrow, and just in attention to detail they'd peeled the logo that said "TV10" off the side. Although one of the guys down at the TV station in Camden had showed him how to hold it, Trey didn't have the vaguest idea of how it worked. It didn't matter; according to the guy at the TV station, it was an old one and didn't work anyway. They kept it around mostly for parts.

* * *

"Damn it," Marty said. "We weren't quick enough."

"I told you we should have stayed closer," Dan said. "But no, you had to play it cool. You get anything?"

"Just her backside as she headed into that store," Marty said. "She might not be long. With that red top and white shorts, we ought to be able to spot her coming out pretty easy. Frankly, I'd rather sit downtown and wait here than be out by her house."

"Yeah," Dan agreed. "It is a little exposed out there. Maybe we'll get lucky and that recording company guy will be there when we get back, so we can get our tape and split."

* * *

"Pretty close," Carole Carter said. "Not a mirror image, but pretty close."

Carole was Wendy's older sister, and she'd been the keystone in Wendy's idea for suckering the camera crew off. She stood next to Jennifer, and they examined the comparison in the mirror.

"Pretty good," Jennifer smiled. They weren't quite peas in a pod -- Carole was a couple inches shorter, and rather flat-chested compared to Jennifer. Close up, they didn't look much alike in the face -- Jennifer's face was rounder and looked a bit older, but the clothes were virtually identical. Carole had on a bra stuffed with nylons -- she hadn't done that since she'd been a young teenager -- and a long blonde wig, one with an interesting history. Back in shooting Wonderful Winter World, Tiffany Archer had worn it for many of the scenes where "Jennifer" appeared to be driving a dogsled. Tiffany was quite a bit shorter, rather stockier, and had dark brown hair, but it was hard to tell with heavy winter clothes and the wig on.

"I think it'll work if you don't let them get close," Jennifer said. "If they do catch on, you know what to do."

"Here's my keys," Carole said, handing them to Jennifer, who gave Carole the keys to the Chrysler.

"They've probably had long enough," Jennifer said. "Good luck."

"Good luck to you," Carole laughed. "You've got the hard part."

"Yes, but we can handle it now, I think," Jennifer said as she headed for the back door and Carole's car.

* * *

"Here she comes," Dan said.

"Got it," Marty said, the camera rolling as "Jennifer" came out and got in her car. He kept the camera rolling as she pulled out of the parking space. "First part of it's fine," he said. "Nothing special, but good footage of her."

"Christ, I hope this isn't a major shopping expedition," Dan said. "We'll have footage of her heading in and out of stores all over town."

"Hey, babe, Dittmer wanted footage of her, and we got footage," Marty said as Dan pulled out of the parking space. He was feeling better now that he'd got a little halfway decent tape, and there hadn't been any problems. "If it's a shopping trip, big deal. It's more footage, and that's what they pay us for, right?"

They followed at a safe distance, while the white Chrysler made a turn onto a side street that would take them out of downtown. In a few blocks it made another turn. By the time they were back in sight they could see "Jennifer'" get out of the car and head into the house. "You want to guess how long she's going to be there?" Dan said.

"No bet," Marty smiled. "Could be two minutes, could be all day."

"Let's find a good place to stake this out," Dan said. "Maybe around the corner on the cross street. We should have a good view and be a little out of sight from the house."

In a couple minutes, they found a good spot. They didn't notice the red Neon pull into a parking space a block behind them.

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