The minute hand of the wall clock above the stove jumped to the large 7, ahead of the stumpy hour hand on 6, but the glowing green numbers on the microwave read 6:37. Whether it was 6:37 or 6:35, Penelope Jones couldn't quite bring herself to care, just as long as she didn't have to watch the two clocks disagree for much longer. The food on her plate had vanished some time ago, as it had from her mother's plate. Between her mother and herself, two little gremlins were snarling and bickering over who got the last lump of mashed potatoes.

At the table's end on her mother's side, her father sat talking and gesticulating broadly and loudly to those listening. Penelope couldn't remember whether the pork chop on his plate was his third or fourth. She knew she'd seen him reach for the bowl (it was more of an industrial-sized pot, Pen mused) of mashed potatoes at least four times.

Opposite her father, just past the gremlins (who had now moved on to blowing bubbles in their chocolate milk) and herself, sat their host, whose plate was also splattered with the remains of several portions of dinner. His hulking presence was even more intimidating than her fathers, but the easy smile on his lips and the gentle grasp in which he held his wife's hand betrayed his usual seriousness. His wife looked as she always did, beautiful despite the scarring that pulled at the skin of her face, and tranquil in her home, surrounded by her family. To her right, across the table from the gremlins, sat the hostess's youngest son, who at that very minute, 6:37 or 6:35, was shoveling food into his mouth with as much vigor as the tiny beasts beside Pen had.

To his right, sat the last person at the table, who, at 6:36 or 6:34, having glanced up in her direction, had dropped his jaw, and proceeded to let the mashed potatoes on his tongue slide down to his lower lip. He hadn't looked away from her since. Pen managed to coax her eyebrows down from under her hairline, and wondered, in the midst of her exhaustion and boredom, how much longer it would take for the whole spoonful of potatoes to plop out of Liam Uley's mouth and back onto his plate.

But we're getting ahead of ourselves. Before we continue, we must travel back to the early hours of June the 24th, where we find Penelope Jones boarding a plane.