rning she invites me to a party. He thought he'd go, if
he could find it. Maybe Art would fall off the mountain.

The library was pleasant and well lit. The science section was a bit
out of date. There were many expensive art books locked in a big case.
The children's room was large and cheerful with a painted wooden riding
horse in one corner. He read for an hour and thought of writing to his
parents, but he hadn't looked up his father's friend. He wanted to do
that before he wrote, so he asked for a telephone book. Heidi Merrill
was listed with an address on Lower Byrdcliffe Road. There was no pay
phone in the library, so he walked over to the Woodstock Laundromat.

Joe Burke was folding clothes, standing at a counter beside a tall
slender woman with long hair. She was teasing him about his folding. He
leaned and said something softly in her ear that made her laugh. Her
voice was low and appealing; it sounded to Patrick as though it had
started in Texas and traveled around the world before it got to the
laundromat. The energy between the two was intense and relaxed at the
same time. Patrick stared.

"Hello, Patrick," Joe said, turning. "This is Daisy."

"Hello, Patrick," Daisy echoed. She looked at him with calm gray eyes
and then picked up her basket of clothes. "Well . . . " she said.

"Onward," Joe said.

"Yes." Their eyes met, and she left, walking as though she were going
slightly uphill. Patrick felt suddenly lonely.

"So, Patrick, what's happening?"

Patrick looked back from the door. "Oh. I'm trying to find someone
named Heidi Merrill. Do you know where she lives?"

"Sure do, going right by there, if you want a lift." What the hell,
Patrick thought, nothing else to do. It doesn't matter if she's home or
not.

"Good deal."

They drove out of Library Lane, passing Billy at the entrance to Tinker
Street. Joe rolled his window all the way open. "Hey, Billy. Want a
lift?"

"Quack. You want me to miss my shower?"

As they drove through town, Patrick said, "I met him this morning in
the News Shop. Quite a character."

"Yeah, we go way back," Joe said. "Used to take me pickerel fishing,
Billy did--one of my heroes. He just got out of the slammer."

"What did he do?"

"One of the state cops, Dusty Rhodes, drove his cruiser into Billy's
driveway to check him out for something or other, about three in the
morning. The way Billy tells it, he woke up with a headache listening
to a siren. He looked out