"Well, you two will be all right, I'm sure. So, would you like to check in?"
"That'd be great, thanks," Jack said.
Molly shuffled closer to the counter and blushed fiercely. "Do you have a room with two beds?"
Tina raised an eyebrow toward Jack, then smiled at Molly. "I think we can take care of you, hon."
Before she went on, she glanced over at Alan. "So, eight o'clock at the Empire? What are we seeing again?"
"To Catch a Thief," he replied, distracted now by thoughts of their date later. "It's finally been restored."
"I'll meet you there," she told him, and in her tone was an obvious dismissal.
Alan lingered for just another moment, as Tina checked in the Buckton Inn's unexpected guests. Then he smiled at her and went out the front door and down to his patrol car.
He had an hour before they were supposed to meet for the movie. More than likely, Tina would be late. Alan took one cruise through downtown Buckton before heading home to change. Though he was really looking forward to spending more time with Tina, and going to the movie, he had a hard time getting Jack and Molly out of his head. Some of the people in Buckton - most of them, he mentally conceded - had a disdain or at least a dislike for out-of-towners. Alan did not feel that way at all. But he was a sheriff 's deputy, an officer of the law, and he had been trained to trust his instincts.
His instincts told him that there was something off about those two. Alan decided it would be a good idea to keep an eye on them.
He had a feeling that they were either going to get into trouble, or they'd brought it with them.
Though he was only three weeks shy of seventy-three, nothing gave Kenny Oberst more pleasure than watching cartoons. When cable television came through town a few years earlier, the only reason he had gotten it was in order to watch the Cartoon Network and others. He didn't just like the shows from his youth, either - though they were his favorites. He also liked the new stuff on Nickelodeon.
Kenny Oberst thought of himself as a cartoon connoisseur.
In his little two-bedroom house on Elm Street, just a few blocks away from the town library - where he had worked as librarian for more than fifty years - was a veritable second library, though this one was more eccentric. He had hundreds of videotapes of various cartoons, some of them quite rare.
Tonight, Kenny was treating himself. He had managed to get his hands on a tape of Max Fleischer's Superman cartoons that had been made from the originals. It was pristine, better-looking than anything he had ever seen broadcast on television. He had seen the first of those cartoons way back in 1941 at the Empire Theatre downtown, and seeing them so sharp and clear now made him feel, just for the time he was watching them, that the little boy he had been was perhaps not so far from him now.
Fleischer's Superman was extraordinary, a feat of animation that Kenny firmly believed modern cartoonists, particularly those with computers, ought to pay more attention to.
In an old leather recliner whose seat cushion hid years of stale popcorn - his other great weakness - Kenny sat with a cold Michelob in one hand and the remote control in the other and slipped back into another time. The room was filled with videos, leafy plants on high pedestals, and books he had not gotten around to returning to the library. Not that he was concerned - in fifty-two years, he had never fined himself, despite his chronic tardiness.
When the first knock came at the door, Kenny did not even notice. He was an old man now, and his hearing was not what it had once been. The volume on the television was up too loud as it was, though he had no neighbors close enough to complain.
Only when the rapping came a third time, and hard enough to shake the door on its hinges, did Kenny glance over and realize he had company.
His mouth twisted into a grimace as he pressed the pause button on the remote control. With a sigh, he put down the recliner and stood up. Beer still in hand, he walked to the door and opened it.
Kenny blinked in surprise. "Well, I'll be," he said pleasantly, but also a bit mystified. "How long has it been since you showed up on my front step?"
"A long time," the man at the door replied. "A very long time. May I come in?"
"'Course you can!" Kenny told him amiably. "Why, what a surprise. Hey, come here a second." He led the way into the living room and gestured toward the frozen picture on the television set. "Remember those?"
The man studied the television for a moment, then shrugged. "Superman. But I can't say I remember that particular cartoon. That's always been your passion."
"Sure has," Kenny replied proudly. He sat back down in his recliner, though he didn't lean back. He thought that might be rude. With a sweep of his hand, he indicated that his guest should take the sofa, and the man did so, first stacking some books to clear himself a seat.
Kenny glanced suddenly at his beer, and felt a bit guilty. "Say, can I get you a beer or something?"
"No, thank you," his visitor replied. "I'm not going to stay long. I only came to ask one question."
The cartoon started up again unannounced, music blaring, narrator moaning dramatically about Superman. Kenny shot his guest a sheepish glance and clicked the stop button on the remote.
"Sorry," he said. "It just does that if you leave it too long. So, what was your question?"
The man smiled. His teeth gleamed in the light from the
