“Oh, God yes.”

“Did everybody stare at her?”

“Sure. They always do.”

“I don’t blame them,” Clinton said.

“Neither do I.”

“If I was them, I sure would.”

“Me too.” Berry-berry had started toward the door, but abruptly returned. “Have you got some butts? ‘Cause I’m out.”

“Here.” Clinton tossed his packet to Berry-berry.

“Thanks. Only what if you want some yourself?”

“Take ‘em. I got more.”

“You sure?”

“Sure.”

“Okay then, thanks. She’s probably downstairs.”

Clinton stopped him. “Hey. Did you get any photographs taken?”

“Photographs?”

“In the night club. You and Echo at the table. You know.”

“Oh. —No, they didn’t have any of that.”

“Oh.”

Berry-berry went out and closed the door. Clinton got up and went to the bathroom. On the way back to his room, he paused at the stairway and listened for their voices. Then, barefooted, he went down to the landing and inclined his head toward the kitchen. There were no sounds at all. He went down to the front door. Echo’s car was parked in front of the house, and Berry-berry’s truck right in front of it. Then Clinton noticed a small patch of light on the driveway, reflected from the basement window. As he stepped out onto the porch, closing the door softly behind him, he could hear their voices from the open window. He stepped into the driveway and stood there, pressed against the wall of the house, listening. The first words he could make out were spoken by Berry-berry.

“I can tell,” he said.

“No, you can’t, baby,” said Echo. “You’re just bein’ sweet and considerate. I should’ve known better’n drink that coffee is all.”

“Maybe Annabel’s got a sleeping pill.”

“What, and wake her up? Huh-uh.”

“She won’t mind.”

“No, what I’ll do is throw this puzzle together and carry it up to Ralph tomorrow. You go ahead on up to bed, hear me?”

“You want me to close the windows?”

“No, thanks, I like the air. Now, listen, I mean it, I want you to go on on up. I’ll be sleepy in no time.”

Clinton was afraid Berry-berry might go back upstairs and notice his absence. He hurried back into the house and up the stairs to his room, and waited for several minutes, expecting to hear Berry-berry’s footsteps. He knew that if Berry-berry remained in the basement, he himself would be unable to resist eavesdropping on their conversation. He tried to will himself to sleep, but as the moments passed he knew that sleep was impossible for him. Berry-berry had been questioning Echo, apparently about her insomnia. She had blamed it on a cup of coffee. If Berry-berry had believed her, wouldn’t he simply come to bed and let her amuse herself with the puzzle until she felt inclined to sleep? In Clinton’s heart, he knew that sooner or later he would be crouched outside the basement window, listening. Certainly it was within his power to resist the temptation altogether, but somehow he had convinced himself that there was a reason for his witnessing their conversation: it had to do with Berry-berry’s restless demeanor of a few moments ago, and his own deep concern for Echo.