Chain of Fools

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One's a good chain and one's a bad chain," Skeeter Mc-Caslin eerily intoned from his hospital bed. "One's a daisy chain and one's a chain of fools." His dark eyes were bright with fever, and he looked suspicious and terrified and cunning all at the same time.

Timothy Callahan and I glanced at each other over our gauze masks, then looked back at Skeeter.

"But when you called the other day," Timmy said, "you told me a friend's life was in danger-a woman at the newspaper in Edensburg. Why don't you tell Don and me about that, Skeeter? You were right to call. I'm really glad you did, because Don might be able to help."

Skeeter's jaw tightened under his stubble of black beard, the whiskers an indication not of fashion but of illness, and he scowled. "I just told you, didn't I? Now I am going to tell you one.. more. time. One's a good chain, and one's a bad chain. One's a daisy chain, and one's a chain of fools."

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