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Can’t say as I do.”
    “Uh huh.” Billy was calling on his cellular phone from the scene and his voice was drifting in and out. “Looks a little fishy here, Burt. We got the fire out, but you’re gonna wanna look at the scene tonight before the boys get to clearing this shit and debris.”
    “Uh huh,” said Burt Walnut.
    “What’s that you said, Burt? This goddamn cellular phone.”
    “What’s the number out there?” asked Burt.
    “It’s 340 Old Post,” said Billy. “You won’t be able to miss it.
    We got pumpers from three districts out here, though I imagine they’ll be gone before you can get here.”
    “I’ll be along. Don’t touch nothing you don’t have to,” said Burt.
    “How about my pecker?”
    “I don’t suppose anybody can stop you from touching that, Billy. It’s a wonder you ain’t blind.”
    “Ha, ha. All right Burt. Tell June I’m sorry if I woke ya’s. We’ll be seeing ya shortly.”
    June rolled towards Burt with her eyes still closed tight. She had the calm disposition of a veteran fireman’s wife. She knew a call in the middle of the night was more likely work than tragedy, although Burt’s job was a marriage of the two.
    “What is it?” asked June into her pillow.
    “Barn fire off Old Post Road. You know any Olivettis?”
    “I know a Mandretti,” said June.
    “Nope. This one here is Olivetti and he’s dead.”

CHAPTER
7

    F RANKLIN KNEW HE had worked his way into a hell of a fix. Part of his problem was solved, but he still had to figure out what to do with Mr. Olivetti’s Chevy pickup truck. Why didn’t Bernard teach me how to drive a stick shift? he lamented. It would have been a much better plan if the truck were out at the house. Now he could be sure that the police would come looking for it. Well, what’s done is done, he thought. Besides, if I drove him out there in his truck, how would I have gotten home? He needed a plan for the Chevy, but he couldn’t think straight. All he cared about was that it was ten minutes till midnight and he would be sitting at his window with his binoculars in just a few moments.
    He drove slowly past Mr. Olivetti’s Chevy and parked on the opposite side of the street. I’ll worry about that damned thing after, he thought.
    Franklin could not suppress his anticipation. What would Little 101 do? How much would she show? How far would she go? He had no idea what to expect. His pants were ready to explode. He broke into a fat man’s run across the street all the way into 100 Garner. He threw his keys onto the table, left the lights off and pulled his orange chair up to the window with his binoculars in hand. Her window was black. The blinds were down and the curtains were drawn. Franklin checked his watch: 11:56. He fingered the knot on his head. I should probably put some more ice on that, he thought. His dog started licking the salty sweat from his leg.
    “Knock it off,” hissed Franklin. “Go get a drink of water.”
    Her bedroom light popped on. A dark shadow passed behind the shades and they began to slowly rise. He placed his elbows on the windowsill and then pressed the binoculars against his eye sockets until they ached. From behind her silky curtains he saw her. She was swaying back and forth, moving to some silent rhythm. He was pitching a Big Top in his pants. I may not make it to the bubble bath tonight, he thought. A second silhouette stepped into the window frame. The mother? thought Franklin. No, not the mother. It was another girl, another teenager. Maybe the friend—what was her name—Suzy! The two girls were hugging and dancing, running their hands slowly up and down each other’s backs. This is better than I imagined it would be, thought Franklin. Good golly, I can barely stand it!
    Both girls moved out of the window frame. The curtains opened slowly as they danced back into view. Franklin could now see what they were wearing: white cotton tank tops and plaid men’s boxer shorts. They danced