The three of them turned to the deputy who had spoken.

“Come again?” said the sheriff.

“Firecrackers, Sheriff. Pretty good trick, you ask me. According to the Killington FD, they stuffed the pumpkins with clusters of cherry bombs and water balloons … that’s to say, ketchup balloons. Looks like they broke into the gym and put the pumpkins up in the rafters sometime overnight, probably real early this morning. KFD estimates there were ten or twelve of them scattered around for optimal coverage.”

“Eight hundred people in that gym and no one noticed that there were pumpkins in the rafters?”

The deputy swallowed hard. “Well, sir, it is Halloween.”

Curtis moved a chewed-on matchstick from one corner of his mouth to the other. “You can’t light cherry bombs by remote control.”

The deputy nodded. “That’s what I was thinkin’, too, sir. But the fire chief told me they could have used punks.”

“Punks?” Coach Hickham asked.

“That’s right, Coach. They’re these slow-burning sticklike things, look sort of like incense. Tape a few of them together, end to end, and it’s possible they could take a couple hours to burn down far enough to ignite a fuse.”

“Don’t they give off smoke, some kind of burning smell?” asked Curtis.

“Very little smoke, and I guess not enough of a smell to overpower the popcorn and hot dogs cookin’.”

Curtis chewed this over. “All right. Thanks, Hubie. I’ll see you back inside in a minute.”

Cole stood. “I’ll just leave you to it, then, Curtis.”

“Sit down, son.”

“Why? I’ve got things to do, too, you know.”

A news photographer shoved his way through the crowd and trained his lens on Cole. Cole subtly gave him the finger just as the flash went off, then turned back to Hickham. “Coach, will you just tell the sheriff that I’m fine so we can both get back to work?”

More commotion from the crowd. Now it was Savannah Hickham shoving her way through, tape recorder in hand.

“Savannah? What are you doing here?” Coach Hickham asked.

Ignoring her father’s question, Savannah marched up to the sheriff. “Would you care to make a statement?”

“Young lady, I’m not sure who you are, but—”

“Savannah Hickham of the Paws and Whiskers.”

“The what?”

“The school paper,” Coach Hickham said. “This is my daughter, Sheriff. Savannah, I’m not sure this is the right time for this.”

She moved the recorder closer to Curtis’s mouth. “Sheriff, would you care to comment on the embarrassing breech in school security displayed here today?”

Hickham rubbed at his temples. “Savannah, please. This isn’t the time.”

Cole stood again. “Actually, it’s a great time.”

Savannah turned and gasped at the sight of the blood on Cole’s hand. “Omigod! Is that … I mean, are you . . .”