Free The Balloon Man by Charlotte MacLeod Page B

what to do with it. You never told us what we was supposed
     to do with bodies.”
    Sarah could have sworn she'd put the check in her purse. It wasn't there. She went through the drawers of the dresser and
     nightstand, her search considerably hindered by Davy,who trotted at her heels, demanding that she admire the drawing he had made of a flying saucer, complete with Martians. Finally
     she located the check in the pocket of the shirt she had worn on the day in question and was able to turn her full attention
     to her son.
    “It's a beautiful drawing, darling” she said warmly. “Now I have to give Daddy this check. I'll be right back.” I come, too.
    Sarah couldn't think of any reason why he shouldn't.
    Somehow she wasn't surprised to see that nothing had been done. The men, including her, wonderful husband and the able Sergeant
     Jofferty, were standing perfectly still, staring blankly at the folds of fabric. Bless their hearts, men did have a way of
     engaging in endless discussions about how things ought to be done instead of getting on with the job.
    Max turned, started, and came hurrying toward them. “Go back to the house, Sarah. Don't let— Here, you young rascal, where
     do you think you're going?”
    He caught Davy by the collar and held on to him, despite his protests.
    “What's the matter?” Sarah asked faintly. She had known when she saw the look on Max's face that something was wrong.
    He hesitated, trying to think how to tell her without informing Davy. His intellectual son knew as much Yiddish as he did
     English, which was quite a lot for a three-year-old, and he was equally accomplished at pig Latin. “Our initialassessment of the aeronautical occurrence was erroneous. The evacuation of the premises was not complete.”
    “My God! Do you mean…” She got hold of herself Davy had stopped squirming and was looking at her in alarm. She forced a smile.
     “What Daddy means, darling, is that the men are very busy and we'll just be in the way. Let's go and—and make more blueberry
     muffins, shall we? Your faithful camel ate them all, and Uncle Jem will want some for breakfast.”
    “What about muffins for me?” Max demanded with false heartiness.
    The performance convinced Davy, though. He gave his father a measuring look. “Will you be a camel?”
    “You strike a hard bargain, kid. All right, a camel it is,” Max promised. “Hurry up, now, because I'm getting very hungry.
     Sarah, you might ring Brooks and tell him we won't make it this evening.”
    Sarah nodded. “Here's the check. You won't be long, will you?”
    “No longer than I can help, süssele. Have I mentioned lately that I love you?”
    Sarah stood on tiptoe and gave him a quick kiss. “Me too, as Davy says.”
    “Me too,” Davy echoed.
    Max waited until they were well on their way before he went back to the awestruck audience. Jofferty had his notebook out,
     but he wasn't getting much information out ofthe witnesses. The foreman kept shaking his head and muttering.
    “Poor old Mac. What a way to go.”
    “How do you know it's him?” Jofferty asked patiently. It was the third time he'd asked the question, but he knew he had to
     wait till the witness had recovered from the initial shock. This was a nasty one. The damned balloon must have landed on the
     face of the corpse.
    This time he got through. “Well, sure it's him. He's wearing one of our uniforms, and Mac was the only one who didn't show
     up this morning.” He swallowed and averted his eyes from the battered remains of the face. “He's the same height and build,
     and there's that finger he mashed yesterday when he dropped his end of the pole, the pinkie on the left hand. Poor old Mac,
     he was a lousy tent maker, but he tried.”
    And what a lousy epitaph, Max thought, staring at the pathetic remains. The defunct tent maker hadn't been a young man. The
     hair that wasn't stained ugly brown was pure white. He knelt and ran his hand over one of the twisted