John Smith smiled. "I have to pay for postage just like everyone else. I
don't even get a discount. But there is no limit to the amount of letters I can send. I can mail as many items as I want to."
"And have you mailed any threatening letters?" Tim asked. "Have you mailed any body parts?"
The mailman did not even pretend to be surprised. "I don't like your insinuation," he said.
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to let me search this post office."
"I'm afraid you're going to have to get a search warrant," the mailman said. "And I'm afraid you're going to find it fairly difficult to obtain a warrant to search an office of the federal government." He looked past Doug and Tritia out the window. "How's Billy today?" he asked.
"You leave him alone, damn you." Tritia glared at him.
The mailman chuckled.
Doug noticed Giselle backing away from the mailman behind the counter. She looked confused.
"I'm afraid you gentlemen" -- the mailman smiled at Tritia -- "and ladies will have to excuse me. I have work to do."
"I haven't finished talking to you," Tim said.
"I'm finished talking to you," the mailman replied, and there was something in his voice that made the rest of them fall silent. They watched him retreat back into the rear of the building.
Giselle tried to smile apologetically, but the smile did not quite work.
"Tell Howard to call me," Doug told her. "If you ever see him."
She glanced behind her to make sure she wasn't being watched, then shook her head slightly from side to side.
"To hell with the search warrant," Tim said angrily. "I'm going to get an arrest warrant. Let's get out of here."
They walked out of the hot dark building and into the fresh outside air.
Behind them, from somewhere deep within the post office, they heard the mailman laugh.
32
The next day the telephones went out again, and Doug had to drive into town to discover that the police had questionedHobie and Irene and that both of them had denied receiving anything unusual in the mail.
He talked to the desk sergeant since neither Mike nor Tim was in the office.
When he drove out to seeHobie afterward, his friend refused to answer the door, pretending not to be home.
Irene did exactly the same thing.
33
Billy awoke early, his nose stuffed, his eyes itchy and watery, the nightmare from which he had awoken all but forgotten in the face of his overwhelming physical discomfort. He sneezed, then sneezed again, wiping his nose on the sheet, since there was no handkerchief handy. It was going to be one of those allergy days. He could feel it. He lay back on the pillow, eyes open.
More than once, his parents had talked about taking him up to Flagstaff for tests, to find out exactly what he was allergic to, but when he'd learned that the tests involved needles, he promptly vetoed that idea. There was nothing he hated worse than needles. The allergy was horrible but bearable, usually not lasting more than a day or two at a time, and was infinitely preferable to being poked and scratched and jabbed.
He sneezed again. He had been planning to take Brad and Michael out to The Fort today to check out the _Playboys_. The twins had never really believed that he and Lane had as many magazines as they said they did, and had often begged, had even offered to buy, their way into The Fort. Lane had always turned them down, insisting that only the original builders were allowed to see The Fort's interior, but now Lane was gone, and Billy had decided to invite the twins to come over and check it out for themselves.
Brad had sounded a little strange when he'd talked to him over the phone, hostile almost, as though he was mad for some reason, but since Billy had no one else to hang out with . . . Well, beggars couldn't be choosers.
Besides, it would be nice to see someone besides his family again. And he knew the twins would be impressed with the _Playboy_ collection.
He forced himself to sit up. Behind his eyes, his head felt thick and heavy. He wasn't sure he should be walking through the forest with his allergy this bad; all the plants would probably only make it worse. But he didn't want to spend the whole day in bed. That was fine during the school year, when he could cajole his mom into bringing him toast and tea and could lie in his pajamas and watch cartoons and TV shows from morning to afternoon, but when it was summer and he had plans for the day . . .
He got out of bed and padded across the floor to the closet, taking out his bathrobe and putting it on. An old handkerchief was wadded up in the robe's pocket and he used it to blow his nose.
"Allergies?" his mom called from downstairs.
He didn't answer, hoping that if he ignored her she would go back to whatever she was doing and leave him alone. He moved over to the window, looking out. The sky was overcast, a cumulus ceiling painted with gradations of gray, and the morning sun was a hidden light dimly brightening a small section of cloud cover in the east. Above the pointed silhouettes of the pines he could see a lone hawk circling upward toward the top of the hill. Though it was not raining now, the ground was wet, the window misty.
Maybe he wouldn't be taking the twins to The Fort, after all.
He walked downstairs. The electricity was on again, and his dad was watching the morning news. His mom was standing in the kitchen at the sink, looking out the window at the forest, her back to him. On the counter were several boxes of high-fiber cereal along with freshly squeezed orange juice.
Next to the toaster was a cut loaf of whole grain bread.
Things were back to normal.
Billy sneezed, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his bathrobe. He could barely breathe and his head was throbbing to the rhythm of his pulse, but when his mom turned around, a questioning look on her face, he said, "I'm fine,"
before she could even ask how he felt.
"You don't look fine," she said, walking over to the cupboard. She took out a glass and poured some orange juice, giving it to him. "You look sick."
"Allergy."
She nodded. "It's the rain. It gets those mold spores in the air. I want you to drink your juice and take some vitamin C."
He sat down at the counter and sipped from the glass. He chose the least objectionable cereal, poured about half a bowlful, and sprinkled several spoons of sugar on top of it.
"What do you think you're doing?" his mom said.
"I can't eat this stuff without sugar."
"One spoon. That's all."
Billy smiled at her. "Too late now." He poured the milk in his bowl.
"Hurry up and eat and get ready," his dad said from behind him. "We're going to the store this morning, and I want to get it over with as soon as possible."
Billy swallowed his cereal. "I don't want to go."
"You have to go."
"My allergies are bothering me. I feel kind of sick. I think I'd better stay home."
"I thought you said you were fine. What a liar." His mom tried to make her voice light and playful, but he could hear an undercurrent of tension in it. He saw worried concern in the glance she shot over his head at his dad. "Why do you really want to stay?"
"Brad and Michael might be coming over. We were going to go play in The Fort."
"You're coming with us," his dad said.
"You guys always treat me like I'm a baby. I'm old enough to stay by myself. God, Lane's parents left him by himself for two days before."
"When?" his mother asked. "When you were staying overnight?"
"No," he lied.
"Where is Lane, by the way? I haven't seen him around lately. Did you two get into a fight or something?"
Billy looked at his mom, feeling his stomach knot up.
_Naked_.
"Yeah," he said. He dug into his cereal, focusing his attention on the bowl, not wanting to look at his mom, not wanting to think about Lane.