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facilities for cremating old Howard, we must bury him. Nothing is needed for that except a spade and a small plot of ground.”
    “What plot of ground exactly? We can hardly bury him in the back yard.”
    “Leave it to me, Cousin. It so happens that I have an uncle on my mother’s side who lives on a little farm southwest of town. I used to go swimming in the creek there when I was a kid. I still go out to see the old boy once in a while, as a matter of fact. He’s a bachelor and a kind of bum and tells the most fabulous lies that you are expected to accept as gospel. There’s a back way onto the farm, a little road around a cornfield and through a pasture to the creek. We can find a spot in there that will do nicely for Howard. I wouldn’t mind being buried there myself, to tell the truth, if I had the misfortune to be dead.”
    “Won’t it be risky? Suppose we’re caught.”
    “After we get there, the risk will be negligible, and fortunately for us, this phony neighborhood you live in is made to order for such a venture. What with the big yards all cluttered up with trees and brush and stuff like that, we should be able to get Howard out of here without anyone but us the wiser. We simply load him in your station wagon in the garage and haul him off. It will have to be done late tonight, I think. Old Howard won’t stay sweet much longer.”
    “Do you honestly think anyone will believe that Howard walked away and disappeared without a word to anyone?”
    “As to that, it’s our part to make it impossible to believe anything else. Old Howard was a nut in his own way, you know. I’ve heard him say myself that he intended to run away someday to the South Seas and live naked with the natives. He used to say it publicly every time he got loaded. One thing we must do is get rid of his new Buick. Is it in the garage?”
    “Yes, it’s there with the station wagon.”
    “Good. Tonight, after burying Howard, I’ll get rid of it. Then everyone will think he simply drove off in it.”
    “Are you sure you’re not trying to be a little too clever, Quincy? I’ve read that being too clever is the thing that generally trips one up in the end.”
    “Well, I’m like Tom Sawyer in that respect. If you’re going to have an adventure, you may as well dress it up and make it worth while. Are you beginning to question my talent, Cousin?”
    “I would only like to know how you propose to get rid of a Buick automobile. It was difficult enough to think of a way of disposing of Howard. After all, Quincy, an automobile is too big to bury.”
    “In the disposal of the Buick, my mother’s side of the family will come in handy again. I have a cousin in KC who has made a career of stealing automobiles. At the beginning of his career, he served three years at Jefferson City for it, but since then he has perfected his methods and has had no more serious problems. He has an established market for stolen automobiles, and I’m certain he’d do me the favor of stealing Howard’s. All I need to do is slip it away from here in the dark and drive to KC and let this cousin know where he can pick it up. Naturally we’d have to allow him all the profit, but the service would be worth it. The Buick would be repainted and fixed up with phony papers and wind up getting sold in California or someplace like that.”
    Willie stared at Quincy with overt admiration and gratitude. It was simply incredible, she thought, how such an ugly, burr-headed runt could be so diversified and talented. He was better at love than a Boccaccio monk, as she well knew, and here he was as cool and clever in a crisis as anyone could possibly be.
    “I swear to God, Quincy,” she said, “you’re truly remarkable, and I don’t mind saying so. You’re literally full of good ideas, and you know helpful people of all kinds that no one would ever suspect you of knowing.”
    “Most of them are relatives on my mother’s side,” Quincy said. “All in all, the Hogans