She insisted that I cut into it. The pastry was soft and melty. Inside the apple gave off a hint of clove and vanilla. "The newsagent didn't have cook...ng apples, so it's not quite right."I cut and served pie to both of us. We were both gorging ourselves. Well, at least, I know I was gorging myself.My trousers were too tight. I stretched my legs out and leaned back."Where did you learn to cook like that?" My Dad, my real Dad, before he died. He was a chef."We sat, and chatted. A peaceful. "Do you own a rifle," asked Abernathy."Sure. Two of them as a matter of fact. One is a revolutionary era flintlock, the other is an 1840's flintlock. Nice weapons, if a little awkward to fire. I have never fired the revolutionary war rifle at all. I have fired the 1840's one though. These guys were shot by flintlocks?" I finished questioningly."No. Do you own any rifles or pistols or handguns of a more modern time than the ones you have mentioned?" Agent Bradford asked me."A shotgun I inherited. More

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