Brenda was looking at him with large eyes. She had been a policeman's wife for forty-three years, and she knew that two booms, two sirens, and a power failure added up to nothing good. If the lawn got raked this weekend—or if Howie got to listen to his beloved Twin Mills Wildcats take on Castle Rock's football team—she would be surprised.

'You better go on in,' she said. 'Something got knocked down. I just hope no one's dead.'

He took his cell phone off his belt. Goddam thing hung there like a leech from morning til night, but he had to admit it wis handy. He didn't dial it, just stood looking down at it, waiting for it to ring.

But then another Tweety Bird siren went off: car One. Randolph rolling after all.Which meant something very serious. Duke no longer thought the phone would ring and moved to put it back on his belt, but then it did. It was Stacey Moggin.

'Stacey?' He knew he didn't have to bellow into the goddam thing, Brenda had told him so a hundred times, but he couldn't seem to help it. 'Wliat are you doing at the station on Saturday m—

'I'm not, I'm at home. Peter called me and said to tell you it's out on 119, and it's bad. He said… an airplane and a pulp-truck collided.' She sounded dubious. 'I don't see how that can be, but—'

A plane. Jesus. Five minutes ago, or maybe a little long2r, while he'd been raking leaves and singing along with 'How Great The u Art'—

'Stacey, was it Chuck Thompson? I saw that new Piper of his flying over. Pretty low.'

'I don't know, Chief, I've told you everything Peter told me.'

Brenda, no dummy, was already moving her car so he could back the forest-green Chief's car down the driveway. She had set the portable radio beside his small pile of raked leaves.

'Okay, Stace. Power out on your side of town, too?'

'Yes, and the landlines. I'm on my cell. It's probably bad, isn't it?'

'I hope not. Can you go in and cover? I bet the place is standing there empty and unlocked.'

'I'll be there in five. Reach me on the base unit.'

'Roger that.'

As Brenda came back up the driveway, the town whistle went off, its rise and fall a sound that never failed to make Duke Perkins feel tight in the gut. Nevertheless, he took time to put an arm around Brenda. She never forgot that he took the time to do that.'Don't let it worry you, Brennie. It's programmed to do that in a general power outage. It'll stop in three minutes. Or four. I forget which.'

'I know, but I still hate it. That idiot Andy Sanders blew it on nine-eleven, do you remember? As if they were going to suicide-bomb us next.'

Duke nodded. Andy Sanders was an idiot. Unfortunately, he was also First Selectman, the cheery Mortimer Snerd dummy that sat on Big Jim Rennie's lap.

'Honey, I have to go.'

'I know.' But she followed him to the car. 'What is it? Do you know yet?'

'Stacey said a truck and an airplane collided out on 119.'

Brenda smiled tentatively. 'That's a joke, right?'

'Not if the plane had engine trouble and was trying to and on the highway,' Duke said. Her little smile faded and her fisted right hand came to rest just between her breasts, body language he knew well. He climbed behind the wheel, and although the Chief's cruiser was relatively new, he still settled into the shape of his own butt. Duke Perkins was no lightweight.

'On your day off!' she cried. 'Really, it's a shame! And when you could retire on a full P!'

'They'll just have to take me in my Saturday slops,' he said, and grinned at her. It was work, that grin. This felt like it was going to be a long day. 'Just as I am, Lord, just as I am. Stick me a sandwich or two in the fridge, will you?'

'Just one. You're getting too heavy. Even Dr Haskell said so and he never scolds anybody!

'One, then.' He put the shift in reverse… then put it Dack in park. He leaned out the window, and she realized he wanted a kiss. She gave him a good one with the town whistle blowing across the crisp October air, and he caressed the side of her throat while their mouths were together, a thing that always gave her the shivers and he hardly ever did anymore.

His touch there in the sunshine: she never forgot that, either.

As he rolled down the driveway, she called something after him. He caught part of it but not all. He really was going to have to get his ears checked. Let them fit him with a hearing aid if necessary. Although that would probably be the final thing Randolph and Big Jim needed to kick him out on his aging ass.

Duke braked and leaned out again. 'Take care of my what?'

'YourpacemakerV she practically screamed. Laughing. Exasperated. Still feeling his hand on her throat, stroking skin that had been smooth and firm—so it seemed to her—only yesterday. Or maybe it had been the day before, when they had listened to KC and the Sunshine Band instead of Jesus Radio.

'Oh, you bet!' he called back, and drove away. The next time she saw him, he was dead.

2

Billy and Wanda Debec never heard the double boom because they were on Route 117, and because they were arguing. The fight had started simply enough, with Wanda observing it was a beautiful day and Billy responding he had a headache and didn't know why they had to go to the Saturday flea market in Oxford Hills, anyway; it would just be the usual pawed-over crap.

Wanda said that he wouldn't have a headache if he hadn't sunk a dozen beers the night before.

Billy asked her if she had counted the cans in the recycling bin (no matter how loaded he got, Billy did his drinking at home and always put the cans in the recycling bin—these things, along with his work as an electrician, were his pride).

She said yes she had, you bet she had. Furthermore—

They got as far as Patel's Market in Castle Rock, having progressed through You drink too much, Billy and You nag too much, Wanda to My mother told me not to marry you and Why do you have to he su:h a hitch. This had become a fairly well-worn call-and-response durir g the last two years of their four-year marriage, but this morning Billy suddenly felt he had reached his limit. He swung into the market's wide hot-topped parking lot without signaling or slowing, and then back out onto 117 without a single glance into his rearview mirror, let alone over his shoulder. On the road behind him, Nora Robichaud honked. Her best friend, Elsa Andrews, rutted. The two women, both retired nurses, exchanged a glance but not a single word. They had been friends too long for words to be necessary in such situations.