whistled and made an expression of amazement. He gave it back to Beau.
'What's it made of?' Pitt asked.
'Feels like lead,' Beau said. With his fingernail he tried to scratch it, but it didn't scratch. 'But it ain't lead. Hell, I bet it's heavier than lead.'
'It reminds me of one of those black rocks you find once in a while at the beach,' Pitt said. 'You know, those rocks that get rolled around for years by the surf.'
Beau hooked his index finger and thumb around the margin of the object and made a motion as if to throw it. 'With this flat underside I bet I could skip this thing twenty times.'
'Bull!' Pitt said. 'With its weight it would sink after one or two skips.'
'Five bucks says I could skip it at least ten times,' Beau said.
'You're on,' Pitt said.
'Ahhh!' Beau cried suddenly. Dropping the object, which again half buried itself in the sand and gravel, Beau grabbed his right hand with his left.
'What happened?' Pitt demanded with alarm.
'The damn thing stung me,' Beau said angrily. By squeezing the base of his index finger, he caused a drop of blood to appear at the tip.
'Oh, wow!' Pitt said sarcastically. 'A mortal wound!'
'Screw you, Henderson,' Beau said, grimacing. 'It hurt. It felt like a goddamn bee sting. I even felt it up my arm.'
'Ah, instant septicemia,' Pitt said with equal sarcasm.
'What the hell's that?' Beau demanded nervously.
'It would take too long to explain, Mr. Hypochondriac,' Pitt said. 'Besides, I'm just pulling your leg.'
Beau bent down and retrieved the black disc. He carefully inspected its edge but found nothing that could have accounted for the sting.
'Come on, Beau!' Cassy called angrily. 'I gotta go. What on earth are you two doing?'
'All right, all right,' Beau said. He looked at Pitt and shrugged.
Pitt bent down and from the base of the latest indentation the object had made in the sand, lifted a slender shard of glass. 'Could this have been stuck to it somehow and cut you?'
'I suppose,' Beau said. He thought it unlikely but couldn't think of any other explanation. He'd convinced himself there was no way the object could have been at fault.
'Beauuuuu!' Cassy called through clenched teeth.
Beau swung himself up behind the wheel of his 4X4. As he did so he absently slipped the curious domed disc into his jacket pocket. Pitt climbed into the backseat.
'Now I'm going to be late,' Cassy fumed.
'When was your last tetanus shot?' Pitt questioned from the backseat.
A mile from Costa's Diner, the Sellers family was in the final stages of its morning routine. The family minivan was already idling thanks to Jonathan, who sat expectantly behind the wheel. His mother, Nancy, was framed by the open front door. She was dressed in a simple suit befitting her professional position as a research virologist for a local pharmaceutical company. She was a petite woman of five foot two with a Medusa's head of tight, blond curls.
'Come on, honey,' Nancy called to her husband, Eugene. Eugene was stuck on the kitchen phone, talking with one of the local newspaper reporters whom he knew socially. Eugene motioned he'd be another minute.
Nancy impatiently switched her weight from one foot to the other and eyed her husband of twenty years. He looked like what he was: a physics professor at the university. She'd never been able to coax him out of his baggy corduroy pants and jacket, blue chambray shirt, and knitted tie. She'd gone to the extent of buying him better clothes, but they hung unused in the closet. But she'd not married Eugene for his fashion sense or lack of it. They'd met in graduate school, and she'd fallen hopelessly in love with his wit, humor, and gentle good looks.
Turning around, she eyed her son, in whose face she could definitely see both herself and her husband. He'd seemed defensive that morning when she'd asked him about what he'd been doing the night before at his friend Tim's house. Jonathan's uncharacteristic evasiveness worried her. She knew the pressures teenagers were under.
'Honest, Art,' Eugene was saying loud enough for Nancy to hear. 'There's no way such a powerful blast of radio waves could have come from any of the labs in the physics department. My advice is to check with some of the radio stations in the area. There are two besides the university station. I suppose it could have been some kind of prank. I just don't know.'
Nancy looked back at her husband. She knew it was difficult for him to be rude with anyone, but everybody was going to be late. Holding up a finger she mouthed the words 'one minute' to Eugene. Then she walked out to the car.
'Can I drive this morning?' Jonathan asked.
'I don't think this is the morning,' Nancy said. 'We're already late. Shove over.'
'Jeez,' Jonathan whined. 'You guys never give me any credit for being able to do anything.'
'That's not true,' Nancy countered. 'But I certainly don't think putting you in a situation of having to drive while we are in a hurry is appropriate.'
Nancy got in behind the wheel.
'Where's Dad anyway?' Jonathan mumbled.
'He's talking with Art Talbot,' Nancy said. She glanced at her watch. The minute was up. She beeped the horn.
Thankfully Eugene appeared at the door, which he turned to and locked. He ran to the car and jumped in the backseat. Nancy quickly backed out into the street and accelerated toward their first stop: Jonathan's school.
'Sorry to keep everybody waiting,' Eugene said after they'd driven a short distance in silence. 'There was a curious phenomenon last night. Seems that a lot of TVs, radios, and even garage door openers suffered damage in the area around the university. Tell me, Jonathan. Were you and Tim listening to the radio or watching TV around ten-fifteen? As I recall the Appletons live over in that general area.'
'Who, me?' Jonathan questioned too quickly. 'No, no. We were ... reading. Yeah, we were reading.'
Nancy glanced at her son out of the corner of her eye. She couldn't help but wonder what he really had been doing.
'Whoa!' Jesse Kemper said. He managed to keep a steaming cup of Starbucks coffee from splashing into his lap as his partner, Vince Garbon, bottomed out their cruiser on the lip of the driveway going into Pierson's Electrical Supply. It was located a few blocks away from Costa's Diner.
Jesse was in his middle fifties and was still athletic. Most people thought he was no more than forty. He was also an imposing man with a bushy mustache to offset the thinning hair on the dome of his large head.
Jesse was a detective lieutenant for the city police and was well liked by his colleagues. He'd been only the fifth African-American on the force, but encouraged by his record, the city had commenced a serious recruiting effort toward African-Americans to the point that the department now racially mirrored the community.
Vince pulled the unmarked sedan around the side of the building and stopped outside an open garage door next to a city squad car.
'This I got to see,' Jesse said, alighting from the passenger seat.
Coming back from a coffee run, he and Vince had heard on the radio that a repeat, small-time crook by the name of Eddie Howard had been found after having been cornered all night by a watchdog. Eddie was so well known at the police station that he was almost a friend.
Allowing their eyes to adjust from the bright sunlight to the dim interior, Jesse and Vince could hear voices off to the right, behind a bank of massive floor-to-ceiling shelving. When they walked back there they found two uniformed policemen lounging as if on a cigarette break. Plastered to a corner was Eddie Howard. In front of him was a large black-and-white pit bull who stood like a statue. The animal's unblinking eyes were glued to Eddie like two black marbles.
'Kemper, thank God,' Eddie said, holding himself rigid while he spoke. 'Get this animal away from me!'
Jesse looked at the two uniformed cops.
'We called and the owner's on his way in,' one of them said. 'Normally they don't get here until nine.'
Jesse nodded and turned back to Eddie. 'How long have you been in here?'
