From training films, Officer Delinko remembered that delicate psychology was necessary when dealing with uncooperative suspects. So in a deliberately mild voice, he said: "You know, young man, you can make this much easier on yourself."

"Yeah, right," the kid muttered from behind the mesh partition.

"You could start by telling us your real name."

"Gee, I forget."

Curly chuckled harshly. "Puttin' this one in jail is gonna be fun."

Officer Delinko shrugged. "Have it your way," he told the teenaged prisoner. "You got nuthin' to say, that's cool. You're entitled under the law."

The boy smiled crookedly. "What if I got a question?"

"Go right ahead and ask it."

"Okay, I will," said Dana Matherson. "Either of you dorks got a cigarette I could bum?"

SIXTEEN

The doorbell rang while the Eberhardts were eating lunch. "On a Sunday, honestly!" Roy's mother said. She believed that Sundays should be reserved for family activities.

"You've got a visitor," Roy's father said when he returned from answering the door.

Roy's stomach knotted because he wasn't expecting anybody. He suspected that something newsworthy must have happened last night at the pancake-house property.

"One of your buddies," Mr. Eberhardt said. "He says you guys had plans to go skateboarding."

"Oh." It had to be Garrett. Roy was almost dizzy with relief. "Yeah, I forgot."

"But, honey, you don't own a skateboard," Mrs. Eberhardt pointed out.

"It's all right. His friend brought an extra," said Mr. Eberhardt.

Roy rose from the table, hurriedly dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "Is it okay if I go?"

"Oh, Roy, it's Sunday," his mother objected.

"Please? Just for an hour."

He knew his parents would say yes. They were happy to think he was making friends at his new school.

Garrett was waiting on the front steps. He started to blurt something, but Roy signaled him to keep quiet until they were away from the house. Wordlessly they skated the sidewalk to the end of the block, where Garrett kicked off of his board and exclaimed: "You won't believe it-Dana Matherson got busted last night!"

"No way!" Roy was trying to act more surprised than he was. Obviously the Mother Paula's property had been under surveillance, just as he'd anticipated.

"The cops called my mom first this morning," Garrett reported. "He tried to break into a trailer to steal some stuff."

As the guidance counselor at Trace Middle School, Garrett's mother was notified whenever a student got into trouble with the law.

Garrett said, "Dude, here's the killer-Dana told 'em he was you!"

"Oh, nice."

"What a butthead, huh?"

"And they probably believed him," Roy said.

"Not even for a minute."

"Was he alone?" Roy asked. "Anybody else get arrested?"

Anybody like Beatrice Leep's stepbrother? he wanted to say.

"Nope. Just him," Garrett said, "and guess what-he's got a record!"

"A record?"

"A rap sheet, dude. Dana's been busted before, is what the cops told my mom."

Again, Roy wasn't exactly shocked by the news. "Busted for what?"

"Shoplifting, breakin' into Coke machines-stuff like that," Garrett said. "One time he even knocked down a lady and swiped her purse. Mom made me promise not to tell. It's supposed to be a secret, since Dana's still a minor."

"Right," said Roy sarcastically. "You wouldn't want to ruin his fine reputation."

"Whatever. Hey, you oughta be doin' somersaults."

"Yeah, what for?"

"'Cause my mom says they're gonna lock him up this time."

"Juvie hall?"

"No doubt," said Dana, "on account of his rap sheet."

"Wow," Roy said quietly.

He wasn't in the mood to turn somersaults, though he couldn't deny experiencing a sense of liberation. He was tired of being Dana Matherson's punching bag.

And while he felt guilty about making up the bogus cigarette story, Roy also couldn't help but think that putting Dana behind bars was a public service. He was a nasty kid. Maybe a hitch at juvenile hall would straighten him out.

"Hey, wanna do the skate park?" Garrett asked.

"Sure."

Roy got on his borrowed skateboard and pushed off hard with his right foot. The whole way to the park, he never once checked over his shoulder to see if he was being stalked. It felt good, the way Sundays ought to feel.

Curly awoke in his own bed, and why not?

The Mother Paula's vandal was finally in custody, so there was no reason to spend the night on guard at the trailer.

After Officer Delinko gave him a lift home, Curly had entertained his wife and mother-in-law with a blow-by-blow account of the exciting events. For dramatic purposes, Curly had jazzed up a few of the details.

In his version of the story, for instance, the surly young intruder disabled him with an expertly aimed karate chop (which sounded more serious than having dirt thrown in your face). Curly also decided it was unnecessary to mention that he'd tripped in an owl burrow and fallen. Instead he described the chase as a breathless neck-and-neck sprint. Officer Delinko's role in the capture of the fleeing criminal was conveniently minimized.

Curly's performance went over so fabulously at home that he was confident Chuck Muckle would go for it, too. First thing Monday morning, Curly would call Mother Paula's corporate headquarters to give the vice-president the details of the arrest, and of his own heroics. He couldn't wait to hear Mr. Muckle choke out a congratulation.

After lunch, Curly sat down to watch a ball game. No sooner had he settled in front of the TV than a Mother Paula's commercial came on, promoting the weekend special: $6.95 for all the pancakes you could eat, plus free sausage and coffee.

The sight of Kimberly Lou Dixon playing Mother Paula made Curly think of the cheesy movie he'd rented, The Last House on Witch Boulevard III. He couldn't recall whether it was due back at Blockbuster that afternoon or the following day. Curly hated paying late fees on video rentals, so he decided to go to the trailer and get the tape.

On the drive there, Curly was distressed to remember that he'd left something else at the construction site: his gun!

During the night's commotion, he had somehow lost track of the.38 revolver. He didn't recall having it when he was riding in Officer Delinko's patrol car, so it must have slipped from his belt while he was scuffling with the kid outside the trailer. Another possibility was that he'd dropped it when he stepped in that darn owl hole.

Misplacing a loaded gun was a serious matter, and Curly was highly annoyed with himself. When he arrived at the fenced lot, he hurried to the area where he and the teenager had wrestled. There was no.38 lying around.

Anxiously Curly retraced his steps to the owl den and pointed a flashlight down the hole. No gun.

Now he was genuinely worried. He checked inside the trailer and saw that nothing had been disturbed from the night before. The door was too damaged to be reattached, so Curly covered the opening with two sheets of plywood.

Then he began a methodical search, back and forth across the property, eyes glued to the ground. In one hand he carried a heavy rock, just in case he encountered one of the poisonous moccasins.

Gradually a harrowing thought seeped into Curly's brain, chilling him like ice water: What if the teenaged burglar had swiped the revolver from his waistband while they were fighting? The kid could have stashed it in a Dumpster or tossed it in some bushes as he ran away.

Curly shuddered and pressed on with the hunt. After about half an hour, he'd worked his way down to the section of the property where the earthmoving equipment was parked in preparation for the site clearing.