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Although the Geological Survey Center in Wrentham, MA, reports there were no temblors in New England last
Tuesday afternoon, Matt and Cassie Renfrew took the opportunity to throw an “earthquake party,” which most of the
street’s residents attended.
Andrew Sittenfeld of the Geological Survey Center says the shaking felt by Richland Court residents might have
been a surge of water through the sewer system, or possibly a military plane breaking the sound barrier. When these
suggestions were made to Mr. Renfrew, he laughed cheerfully. “We know what we felt,” he said. “It was an
earthquake. And there’s really no downside. The damage was minor, and hey, we got a terrific party out of it.”
(Andrew Gould)
Rose read it twice, then looked up, eyes bright. “Good catch, Jimmy.”
He grinned. “Thanks. I’ll leave you guys to it, then.”
“Take Nut with you, he needs to check on Grampa. Crow, you stay a minute.”
When they were gone, he closed the door. “You think the girl caused that shake in New
Hampshire?”
“I do. Not a hundred percent certain, but at least eighty. And having a place to focus on—not just
a town but a street—will make things a hell of a lot easier for me tonight, when I go looking for her.”
“If you can stick a come-along worm in her head, Rosie, we may not even need to knock her out.”
She smiled, thinking again that Crow had no idea how special this one was. Later she would think,
Neither did I. I only thought I did. “There’s no law against hoping, I suppose. But once we have her,
we’ll need something a little more sophisticated than a Mickey Finn, even if it’s a high-tech one.
We’ll need some wonder drug that’ll keep her nice and cooperative until she decides it’s in her best
interest to cooperate on her own.”
“Will you be coming with us when we go to grab her?”
Rose had assumed so, but now she hesitated, thinking of Grampa Flick. “I’m not sure.”
He didn’t ask questions—which she appreciated—and turned to the door. “I’ll see that you’re not
disturbed again.”
“Good. And you make sure Walnut gives Grampa a complete exam—I mean from asshole to
appetite. If he really is cycling, I want to know tomorrow, when I come out of purdah.” She opened the
compartment under the floor and brought out one of the canisters. “And give him what’s left in this.”
Crow was shocked. “All of it? Rose, if he’s cycling, there’s no point.”
“Give it to him. We’ve had a good year, as several of you have pointed out to me lately. We can
afford a little extravagance. Besides, the True Knot only has one grampa. He remembers when the
people of Europe worshipped trees instead of time-share condos. We’re not going to lose him if we can
help it. We’re not savages.”
“The rubes might beg to differ.”
“That’s why they’re rubes. Now get out of here.”
3
After Labor Day, Teenytown closed at 3 p.m. on Sundays. This afternoon, at quarter to six, three
giants sat on benches near the end of the mini–Cranmore Avenue, dwarfing Teenytown Drug and the
Teenytown Music Box Theater (where, during tourist season, you could peek in the window and see
teeny film clips playing on a teeny screen). John Dalton had come to the meeting wearing a Red Sox
hat, which he placed on the head of the teeny Helen Rivington statue in the teeny courthouse square.
“I’m sure she was a fan,” he said. “Everybody up this way is a fan. Nobody spares a little admiration
for the Yankees except exiles like me. What can I do for you, Dan? I’m missing supper with the
family for this. My wife’s an understanding woman, but her patience only stretches so far.”