He bunched the pillow under his head and tilted his chair back against the thin paneled wall. Alone in the silence, he wondered if it was possible for a snake to worm its way into the trailer. He remembered hearing a story about a boa constrictor that had crawled through the plumbing and popped out of a bathtub drain in a New York City apartment.

Imagining that scene, Curly felt his stomach knot. He got up and padded cautiously to the entrance of the trailer's small bathroom. Placing one ear to the door, he listened…

Was it his imagination, or did he hear a rustle on the other side? Curly drew the gun from his belt and cocked the trigger.

Yes, now he was certain. Something was moving!

The instant Curly kicked open the door, he realized there was no poisonous snake in the bathroom, no cause for mortal alarm. Unfortunately, the message didn't travel fast enough from his brain to his trigger finger.

The boom from the gun startled Curly almost as badly as it startled the field mouse that was sitting on the tile floor, minding its own business. As the bullet whizzed over its tiny whiskered head, shattering the toilet seat, the mouse took off-a squeaking gray blur that scooted out the doorway, between Curly's feet.

His hand trembling, Curly lowered the pistol and stared ruefully at what he'd done. He'd accidentally shot the commode.

It was going to be a long weekend.

Mr. Eberhardt was in the den, reading at his desk, when Mrs. Eberhardt came to the door with a worried expression.

"That policeman's here," she said.

"What policeman?"

"The one who brought Roy home the other night. You'd better come talk to him."

Officer Delinko stood in the living room, holding his hat in his hands. "Nice to see you again," he said to Roy's father.

"Is something wrong?"

"It's about Roy," Mrs. Eberhardt cut in.

"Possibly," said Officer Delinko. "I'm not certain."

"Let's all sit down," suggested Mr. Eberhardt. He was trained to remain calm while sorting through loose snippets of information. "Tell us what happened," he said.

"Where is Roy? Is he home?" the policeman inquired.

"No, he went to a friend's house to work on a science project," Mrs. Eberhardt said.

"The reason I ask," Officer Delinko said, "is that I spotted a couple of kids on East Oriole a little bit ago. One of them looked sort of like your son. The weird thing was: First he waved at the police car, and then all of a sudden he ran away."

Mr. Eberhardt frowned. "Ran away? That doesn't sound like Roy."

"Certainly not," Mrs. Eberhardt agreed. "Why would he do that?"

"The kids left a bike lying in the street."

"Well, it's not Roy's. His bike has a flat," Roy's mother announced.

"Yes, I remember," the policeman said.

"We had to order a new tire," Mr. Eberhardt added.

Officer Delinko nodded patiently. "I know it's not Roy's bicycle. This one was stolen from Trace Middle School earlier this afternoon, shortly after classes let out."

"You're sure?" Mr. Eberhardt asked.

"Yes, sir. I found out when I radioed in the serial number."

The room fell silent. Roy's mother looked gravely at Roy's father, then fixed her gaze upon the policeman.

"My son is no thief," she said firmly.

"I'm not making any accusations," said Officer Delinko. "The boy who was running away looked like Roy, but I can't say for sure. I'm only checking with you folks because you're his parents and, well, this is part of my job." The policeman turned to Roy's father for support. "Being in law enforcement, Mr. Eberhardt, I'm sure you understand."

"I do," Roy's father mumbled distractedly. "How many kids did you see on the road?"

"At least two, possibly three."

"And they all took off?"

"Yes, sir." Officer Delinko was trying to be as professional as possible. Perhaps someday he would apply to become an FBI agent, and Mr. Eberhardt could put in a good word for him.

"And how many bicycles?" Mr. Eberhardt was asking.

"Just one. It's in the car if you want to take a look."

Roy's parents followed the policeman out to the driveway, where he opened the Crown Victoria's trunk.

"See?" Officer Delinko motioned toward the stolen bicycle, which was a blue beach-cruiser model.

"I don't recognize it," said Mr. Eberhardt. "How about you, Lizzy?"

Roy's mother swallowed hard. It looked like the same bike ridden by Roy's new friend, Beatrice, when she'd accompanied him home from school.

Before Mrs. Eberhardt could collect her thoughts, Officer Delinko said, "Oh, I almost forgot. How about this?" He reached into a pocket and took out what appeared to be a torn-off shirt sleeve.

"You found that with the bicycle?" Mr. Eberhardt asked.

"Nearby." Officer Delinko was fudging a little bit. The construction site actually was several blocks from where he'd spotted the kids.

"Does it look familiar?" he asked the Eberhardts, holding up the ragged strip of fabric.

"Not to me," Roy's father replied. "Lizzy?"

Mrs. Eberhardt appeared relieved. "Well, it's definitely not Roy's," she informed Officer Delinko. "He doesn't own any green clothes."

"What color shirt was the boy wearing when he ran off?" Mr. Eberhardt asked.

"I couldn't tell," the patrolman admitted. "He was too far away."

They heard the phone ring, and Roy's mother hurried inside to answer it.

Officer Delinko leaned closer to Roy's father and said: "I apologize for bothering you folks with this."

"Like you were saying, it's all part of the job." Mr. Eberhardt remained polite, even though he knew the policeman wasn't telling him everything about the green rag.

"Speaking of jobs," Officer Delinko said, "you remember the other night when I brought Roy home with his flat tire?"

"Of course."

"In all that nasty weather."

"Yes, I remember," said Mr. Eberhardt impatiently.

"Did he happen to mention anything about you writing up a letter for me?"

"What kind of a letter?"

"To our police chief," Officer Delinko said. "No biggie-just a note for the permanent file, saying you folks appreciated me helping out your boy. Something along those lines."

"And this 'note' should be sent to the chief?"

"Or to the captain. Even my sergeant would be okay. Roy didn't ask you?"

"Not that I recall," said Mr. Eberhardt.

"Well, you know how kids are. He probably forgot."

"What's your sergeant's name? I'll see what I can do." Roy's father made no effort to conceal his lack of enthusiasm. He was running out of tolerance for the pushy young cop.

"Thanks a million," Officer Delinko said, pumping Mr. Eberhardt's hand. "Every little bit helps when you're trying to get ahead. And something like this, coming from a federal agent such as yourself-"

But he didn't get the chance to give his sergeant's name to Mr. Eberhardt, for at that very moment Mrs. Eberhardt burst out the front door carrying a purse in one hand and a jangling set of car keys in the other.

"Lizzy, what's the matter?" Mr. Eberhardt called out. "Who was that on the phone?"

"The emergency room!" she cried breathlessly. "Roy's been hurt!"