It was nearly one o’clock, he was hungry, and the irresistible aroma of kettle corn and charcoal-grilled hotdogs was wafting through the treetops from the area of the food concession tents. He pocketed his car keys and set out to find himself some lunch.

The park was already mobbed with people. He had to bob and weave his way through the chest-high banks of shrubbery and flowers, and he was finally making a beeline for the Kiwanis Club’s barbecue stand when he happened to see a flash of red out of the corner of his eye. He stopped short and grinned.

The slight figure of a girl in a green tunic and red tights was seated on a park bench a hundred yards away. The foam-rubber pixie head sat beside her on the bench.

Mason ducked behind an overgrown azalea bush, circled around, and came up to the bench from behind. He still couldn’t guess the girl’s identity. Without a word, he picked up the pixie head and sat himself down on the bench in its place.

“Well, hey there, Dixie,” he drawled.

The girl turned and looked at him. It was her, his little sister Pokey’s best friend, Annajane. She’d been a cute little kid when he’d seen her last, and he’d glimpsed her around the plant over the past two summers but had somehow never really run into her again.

He’d been right about the heat inside that pixie suit. Her hair was wet and plastered to her head, and her face was beet-red and slicked with perspiration. She’d taken off the oversized green booties, and was so busy rubbing her stocking feet that she hadn’t seen his approach. Also, she appeared to be crying.

“Oh no,” she said quietly, covering her face with her hands.

“No good,” Mason told her. “I can still see you, even if you can’t see me. It’s Annajane, right?”

“No,” she said, sniffing, and still not moving her hands. “I don’t know any Annajanes. Go away, please.”

He looked around. “Where’s your cart?”

“G-g-gone,” she wailed. “I was almost at the park, and this bunch of little thugs snuck up behind me. I could only see straight in front of me with that darned pixie head on. Two of the boys grabbed me by the arms and held me, and the others took off with the cart. I tried to chase after ’em, but I couldn’t run in these stinkin’ shoes. I tried, but I tripped and fell. I tripped and fell, and I’ve ripped these doggoned tights.” She stuck her right leg out, and Mason could indeed see the stocking was torn and stained with blood.

“You’re hurt,” he exclaimed, bending over to get a closer look. He could see now that the sleeve of her tunic was also ripped and spotted with more blood.

“Just scrapes,” Annajane cried. “But I’ve ruined the costume! And that cart—it was probably really expensive.”

“Well, hey,” Mason said. “It’s not like it’s your fault. Nobody’s going to blame you. You were mugged!”

Annajane drew her knees up to her chest and clutched them tightly. “God! I just want to go home and take a cold shower and forget about today.”

“Do you need a ride?” Mason asked. “How were you supposed to get the cart back to the plant today?”

She sobbed again. “I was supposed to call Voncile, and she’d have one of the route drivers pick me up once I got here to the park! I had my billfold and my car keys in the cart. And now it’s gone! And I’d just cashed my paycheck yesterday, and I had a hundred and fifty dollars in it, and now it’s all gone!” She buried her head and wept more bitter tears.

Mason looked around uneasily. He wasn’t really good with girls who cried, but Annajane was about to break his heart.

He patted her back gingerly. “Hey, it’s not the end of the world, you know.”

She raised her head and looked at him, rivers of tears and rivulets of snot dripping down her crimson cheeks. “It is to me. I can’t afford to lose a hundred and fifty dollars.”

Mason felt like a heel. “I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Look, sitting here crying isn’t doing you any good. We should find a cop, and fill out a report. Did you see what the kids looked like?”

“Not really. Just teenaged boys. Maybe thirteen or fourteen. I didn’t recognize any of them from around here.”

“Okay,” Mason said with a sigh. “I’ll go see if I can find a cop. Listen, are you hungry? Have you eaten today?”

“No,” she said, her voice wobbly. “I mean, no, I haven’t eaten, and yeah, I’m starved. But I don’t have any money.”

He stood up quickly. “All right. I’ll be right back. Hotdog or barbecue?”

“Hotdog.”

“Ketchup or mustard?”

“Both.”

“French fries or potato chips?”

“Chips,” she said, and then, managing a wan smile, “please.”

He found a cop lounging against the cotton candy stand and told him how the gang of adolescent boys had made off with the Quixie cart with Annajane’s billfold and car keys.

“I’ll put out a watch for the cart,” the cop promised. “They probably just wanted the drinks, and with any luck, they’ll dump it somewhere. Have your girlfriend come by the station later and fill out a report.”

Mason was about to tell him Annajane wasn’t his girlfriend, but something made him hesitate.

Fifteen minutes later, he was back at the bench with a grease-spattered paper sack containing three mustard-and-ketchup-soaked dogs, a bag of potato chips and a package of french fries, not to mention two huge Styrofoam cups of sweet iced tea.

He handed her one of the cups. “I figured you’d probably already had your fill of Quixie today.”

She nodded gratefully and gulped a mouthful of icy tea. “Oh God, this tastes good,” she said.

He sat down beside her again and parceled out their food. She gobbled down the hotdog and potato chips as though she hadn’t eaten in a week.

Finally, she sat back and sighed.

“Feel any better?” Mason asked.

“Fuller, maybe,” Annajane said. “Thank you for lunch.” She craned her neck and looked past him.

“What happened to Miss Passcoe?”

“She, uh, was a little tired out after the parade,” Mason said. “She was catching a catnap in the car.”

“Stone-cold drunk, right?” Annajane guessed. “Tamelah was a year behind Pokey and me in high school. She could drink the whole football team under the table, no problem.”

“It was pretty hot out there today,” Mason said, always the gentleman. “And we mighta had a little Captain Morgan’s with our Quixie.”

“A little?” Annajane raised one eyebrow. She’d somehow managed to clean herself up while he was on his food run. Her face had returned to its normal color, she’d fluffed her dark hair, and for the first time, he noticed her remarkable eyes, which were a light sea green in contrast to her thick, sooty eyelashes. She wasn’t somebody you’d call beautiful. Her nose was kind of stubby, and her mouth was probably too wide for her face. But her eyes made you forget those inconsequential details.

“I should probably go check on Tamelah,” Mason said reluctantly, balling up the paper sack. “What about you? Can I give you a lift back to your car?”

“You could,” Annajane agreed, “but since I don’t have my car keys, it won’t do me much good.”

“Riiight,” Mason said thoughtfully. “Look. Come with me. We’ll get Tamelah sorted out, and then I’ll take you home. All right?”

She hesitated. “Actually, I was supposed to go over to your house this afternoon. My folks are gone for the weekend, and I’m spending the night with Pokey.”

“Even better,” Mason said, feeling his spirits unaccountably lifted. He stood and picked up the foam-rubber pixie head. “After you,” he told her.

When they arrived back at the Chevelle, Tamelah was gone, tiara and all.

“Guess she had a better offer,” Mason said, secretly relieved. He tossed the pixie head in the backseat and opened the passenger door for Annajane.

“Shouldn’t we wait around, to see if she comes back? Maybe she just went to find the bathroom or get something to eat,” Annajane suggested.