"I don't know, boys. I've got what you'd call a professional trust here. I don't think much of breaking it just so's you two can get some nookie."

      The voices came from just below the bedroom window. Roused from his nap, Joey sat up, combed his hair with the flat of his hand and crept quietly across the room, hoping the floorboards wouldn't squeak. They didn't, and when he reached the window, he peeked cautiously through the venetian blind.

      The afternoon sunlight made him squint, but he clearly saw Tom and Jeff shooting the breeze with Hank Fraleigh. The old coot was sipping from a bottle of Moosehead Ale. Joey suspected it came from his father's refrigerator.

      Tom said, "We hear you let Bart Webber use the place last spring."

      Hank stuck a finger in his ear, rooted around for a second and then gazed with satisfaction at whatever he'd dug out. "Well, it doesn't pay to believe everything you hear. Besides, Bart's a local boy. He usually knows how to stay out of trouble. And if he doesn't, I know where to find him."

      Jeff scuffed at the pine needles underfoot. "Let's cut the crap, Hank. We'll pay you fifty bucks."

      Hank wiped his finger on his overalls. "Can't do it for less than seventy-five."

      "Shit, we could go to a motel for that!"

      "Be my guest. I hear the Pine Cone Lodge is real nice. Got a heated pool and everything."

      Tom pulled at Jeff's sleeve. The brothers conferred in whispers, while Fraleigh guzzled his beer and scratched his groin.

      Joey wondered what the twins were up to. All day long they'd had that look about them, that expression they wore whenever they were planning something really evil.

      Whatever they were cooking up, it couldn't be too savory, not if it involved Hank Fraleigh. A year-round resident of Brown's Pond for most of his seven decades, Fraleigh was a part-time handyman and a full-time drunk. He liked to pretend he was dumber than dirt, but he got through the cold New Hampshire winter by living off the money he swindled from summer people who didn't know how to patch a leaky roof or repair a broken screen door. For some reason, people kept hiring him, even though the Somerlys' cabin burned down one February after Fraleigh had "fixed" their woodstove.

      Tom finally spoke up. "Sixty bucks. That's the best we can do."

      Fraleigh rubbed the white stubble on his chin. "Well, if that's the best you can do, then I guess there's no more point dickering. Sixty'll buy you four hours. Tell me what day you want the place, and I'll get things ready for you."

      Tom looked at Jeff, who said, "Well, I thought we could leave that open for the time being."

      Fraleigh shook his head. "Nosiree. Make up your minds now, or we call the whole deal off." He tossed his empty bottle into a nearby bush.

      Jeff said to Tom, "What night are Mom and Dad having dinner with the Petersons?"

      "Thursday. Think the girls'll be free that night?"

      "They'd better be." To Fraleigh, "OK, Thursday night from eight to midnight."

      "That's just dandy. I'm be waiting on the island for you. Have the beds all made and the hot tub fired up. I'll leave you to do your business, but you better be finished smack on midnight."

      There was only one island in the pond. The twins were undoubtedly planning a trip out to Doc Henderson's house. Now that Joey thought about it, he recalled that Fraleigh served as Henderson's caretaker.

      Fraleigh said, "If you do any damage to the place, it'll be your asses, not mine. So watch yourselves and your lady friends, and don't let things get out of hand. Play with any of the Doc's toys you like, but leave them the way you found them. Understood?"

      "Right."

      "Sure."

      "Then hand over the sixty, and I'll be on my way."

      The twins dug out their wallets and gave Fraleigh the requested sum. The codger chuckled and jammed the bills in his own jacket pocket. "It's a pleasure doing business with you. See you on Thursday, boys." Leaning on a birchwood cane, Fraleigh gimped out of sight.

      So, Jeff and Tom had a hot date set up in the Drug Doctor's playhouse. Earlier in the week, Joey had heard them complaining that Deanna and Colleen weren't into intercourse al fresco and that Deanna's mother never left the cabin the girls were staying at. Intense frustration had apparently spurred the twins into renting a comfortable trysting place.

      Joey considered what he might do with this bit of intelligence. It was too early to make any firm decisions, so he decided to keep his mouth shut and see what developed.

      He went into the kitchen, got out some bread and lunch meat and poured himself a glass of Hawaiian Punch. He ate slowly, not wanting to upset his stomach. Ever since that afternoon in the woods with Sheila Burns, three days ago, he had felt weird: tired, nauseated and jumpy.

      They had been lucky that neither had been killed that day. The lightning bolt missed them by only a few feet, knocking both of them unconscious but not electrocuting them.

      Once they recovered, they were able find shelter. The wind and rain sobered Sheila enough to make her realize they were really only a few dozen yards from the rear of her father's cabin. Mr. Burns had built a woodshed at the back of the lot, and Joey and Sheila huddled inside it, not daring to go into the house in their condition.

      The storm had passed as quickly as it had come. Afterwards, Joey had left Sheila and walked around the pond until he sobered up enough to face his parents.

      He was half-finished with his sandwich when the door opened and the twins entered, laughing at some shared joked. Noticing Joey, they shut up fast.

      "Hey," said Tom, "what are you doing?"

      "Having lunch. What does it look like?"

      Jeff scanned the kitchen nervously. "I thought you went into town with Mom and Dad."

      "Nope. I decided to stay behind and take a nap."

      "Nap, my ass," Tom said. "You were probably jerking off over `Archie' comics."

      "That's really clever, Tom. You write your own dialogue?"

      Jeff peeked into the TV room. "So Mom and Dad aren't here, right?"

      "Yeah, right. What's your problem?"

      "No problem. And none of your business anyway."

      The twins relaxed and took seats at the table. Jeff grabbed Joey's glass and helped himself to a large, slurping gulp. Tom snagged the remaining half of the sandwich and wolfed it down before Joey could protest.

      Joey got up from the table. "You goons are hopeless." He went to the refrigerator and removed the half-gallon glass pitcher of punch. He started to pour himself a fresh serving.

      Tom smiled widely, revealing a mouthful of masticated meat and white bread. "Speaking of which, Baby Brother, how's your hot romance with Sheila Burns going? Gotten into her pants yet?"

      Joey cursed himself for having bragged to the twins about making out with Sheila.

      "'Course he has," said Jeff. "She's like Dad's favorite chair -- overstuffed and easy."

      "Hee hee! She's more like Mom's vacuum cleaner. The word around the pond is that Sheila sucks harder than a Hoover."

      "You bastards! Shut up!" Joey turned and threw the pitcher at them.

      It landed in the center of the table and exploded like a bomb. Pink punch splashed against the walls. Glass whistled through the air and clattered on the floor.

      "What the fuck --?"

      "You little --!"

      He ran out of the cabin, taking all five porch steps in one leap. He couldn't let them catch him. They'd hurt him bad and worry about the consequences later.

      His parents' Plymouth had just turned into the driveway. Stepping out of the car, his father raised a hand in greeting and shouted, "Where you going?" as Joey raced past him into the woods. The twins came barreling out of the cabin, Jeff shouting, "We're going to murder you, shithead!"

      "Hold it right there, you two! Don't move!" his father bellowed.

      As he crashed through the underbrush, Joey heard no further sounds of pursuit. He kept going, however, unable to stop until he was too winded to continue. He plopped down on a log and sat there trembling, choking down air in asthmatic gasps.

      Why had he done that? Throwing that pitcher was crazy. Someone could have been seriously hurt.

      They shouldn't have teased him about Sheila, though. He could have handled almost anything else Tom and Jeff dished out, but not that.

      Since that afternoon of drinking in the woods, he had thought of little besides Sheila Burns. During odd moments of the day and night, he found himself recalling the taste of her tongue in his mouth, the feel of her bare ass beneath his hand, the smell of her golden hair. He constructed fantasies around her, some as wholesome as the idea of escorting her on a date to the movies, some as fevered as the vision of elaborate couplings under a starry sky.

      Part of him realized that he was making a big deal out of something that might not mean much. Sheila had had a lot to drink that day, and alcohol made people do strange things. So did she really like him, find him the least bit attractive, or had she just been overcome by all the gin and tonics?

      He wanted to know, and then he didn't want to know. Because his fantasies always played the way he wanted them to, he contented himself with mind-games for a few days and shied away from meeting Sheila in person again. He had just been mustering his courage to call her, when the twins started in with those sniggering remarks.

      He hugged himself tightly, trying to make the shaking stop. Why was he so scared? Was it simply because he had lost control back there? Or was it more than that?

      They said bad things happened in threes. So far this summer, he had almost drowned and nearly been struck by lightning. What could possibly be next?

      Despite his interest in Sheila, Joey wanted to go back to California. Immediately. Put three thousand miles between himself and this place. Before the third bad thing happened.

      For throwing the pitcher at his brothers, Joey's parents grounded him for the next week. For teasing Joey and threatening to do him grievous bodily harm, Tom and Jeff got three days.

      Joey didn't particularly mind being confined to the cabin. He was frankly sick of this vacation, and his punishment gave him a convenient excuse not to call Sheila Burns. For the first two days, he holed up in his room with a stack of old comics and paperbacks.

      At about seven on Thursday evening, his parents left for dinner with Fred and Janice Peterson, friends of Mr. Spelvin from high school. Fred Peterson had the habit of trying to keep a party alive until the last possible moment, so they were not expected back at the cabin until well after midnight.

      At seven-thirty, while Joey watched "MASH" re-runs, Jeff announced, "We're going out." He held in his arms a cardboard box filled with an assortment of items, including two large flashlights, a fifth of whiskey and at least one six-pack of beer.

      "Oh, yeah?" said Joey. "Where to?" He still had not told the twins he'd heard them striking the deal with Hank Fraleigh.

      "For a ride with Deanna and Colleen. We're going to row over to their cabin and take their car."

      "How come you didn't mention any of this to Mom and Dad?"

      Tom came out of the twins' bedroom. "'Cause it's not any big deal. We're not grounded anymore, remember?"

      "That's right," Joey said. "I forgot. Have a good time."

      His brothers grunted a farewell and left. Joey settled down on the sofa, preparing for a night in front of the tube. He rather regretted not taking the opportunity to spoil the twins' big date on Henderson Island. He could, he supposed, call the sheriff's office and report a suspected break-in over there, but he decided not to press his luck.

      It was kind of comfortable having the whole cabin to himself. If the TV had received more than two channels, everything would have been perfect. As it was, Joey started thinking about turning in around ten o'clock, maybe do a little reading in bed.

      The phone rang. He picked it, expecting his mother to inform him that she and Dad would be late. Instead, a female voice said, "Hi. Is Tom there, please?"

      "Sorry, but he's gone out. Can I take a message for him?"

      "This is Deanna Drysdale. Would you please tell him I called?"

      "Sure thing, Deanna. But I, uh, thought the twins were out with you and Colleen."

      "What? We just got back from dinner in Wolfeboro!"

      "Well, I'm probably mistaken. I'll give him the message. Bye."

      That was weird. Joey went to his bedroom to fetch his pair of binoculars. He quickly found them in the closet and was about to leave the room, when he noticed something laid carefully in the center of his pillow.

      It was a snapshot, presumably taken with his parents' Polaroid camera. Sheila Burns posed topless on a beach towel. Across her crotch, one of the twins had scrawled, "Wish You Were Here? XX00, Tom & Jeff".

      He ran back to the living room, snatched up the telephone and dialed the number of the Burns cabin.

      "Sheila?" said her father. His voice sounded thick and slow. Joey could almost smell the beer breath over the phone line. "I think she went out for a boat ride with your brothers."

      Without saying goodbye, Joey slammed down the receiver. "Goddamn them!"

      He threw on a jacket, grabbed a spare flashlight and sprinted to the dock. He trained the binoculars on the island and spotted the glimmer of electric lights. He untied the family's second boat and began rowing out to Henderson's Island.

      It took Joey fifteen minutes to reach his destination. He beached the boat on the side of the island farthest from the house and clambered up an embankment. He ordered himself to move quietly, but his anger made him kick stones out of the way and snap off branches that blocked his path.

      Ahead, he heard laughter and voices. He froze and listened.

      Tom said, his voice slurred, "Too bad that thing's batteries are dead. Just turn on Henderson's stereo. We're paying to use it."

      "It's all the fucking way upstairs in the loft," Jeff protested. "Be too noisy if we wanted to hear it out here. This'll work. Trust me." He followed this with two hiccups and a belch.

      After a minute, Billy Joel began to sing "You May Be Right."

      "What I tell you? Perfect." Splashing noises momentarily drowned out the song.

      Joey crept forward. As he drew closer to the house, the terrain steepened, and he had to take care not to slip. Keeping low to the ground, he approached a hedge that bordered a flagstone patio.

      Hidden behind the bushes, Joey was suddenly struck by the premonition that he should just turn and go, that he was better off not seeing whatever lay ahead. He almost gave in. Then he heard a female voice, a voice he recognized instantly, moan, "God, that feels so good!" He peered through the hedge.

      Just a few feet away, Tom and Sheila sat chest-high in the bubbling hot tub. Jeff stood bare-assed on the patio, drinking from a bottle of Jack Daniels. From a small table set near the edge of the tub, Sheila's boom box serenaded them.

      His face flushed, his blond hair wet and mussed, Jeff passed the whiskey bottle down to Sheila. Smiling, she handed the joint she had been smoking to Tom. He took a drag and gave the joint to his brother.

      Tom reached for Sheila's bare breasts and bent to kiss the pink nipples. Closing her eyes and shuddering, Sheila set the bottle down on the patio.

      Joey must have made a noise, because Jeff suddenly turned and looked right in his direction. Jeff called, "Hey, who's there?"

      He wanted to run, but didn't dare. He held his breath and hoped that his brother would lose interest and not investigate.

      Tom took his mouth away from Sheila's breasts and said, "I didn't fucking hear anything."

      Jeff flicked the joint into the tub. "Shhh!" He approached the hedge. "I think someone's watching us," he said. "I think someone's in the bushes, pulling his pud while we play with his little girlfriend. Come on out, Baby Brother. Don't be shy."

      Joey went crazy. He crashed through the hedge, bellowing sounds that had no literal meaning but still expressed the essence of pain and rage. Jeff was ready for him, but the dope and booze slowed him down. Joey hit his brother low and knocked him backwards, across the patio.

      From the hot tub, Tom called, "What's the matter, Joey? Can't take a joke?" Sheila giggled hysterically.

      Jeff took a swing that, had it connected, would have broken Joey's jaw. Joey ducked under it and socked his brother in the stomach. Caught off balance, Jeff bumped into the table and fell into the tub.

      Joey watched it all happen in silence and slow-motion. The cassette player, still attached to the extension cord that ran to the AC outlet set in the patio, tumbled gently into the water. Tom, Jeff and Sheila watched it, too. Their eyes grew huge, and their mouths opened in soundless shouts. They tried to get out of its way, but there was no place to run.

      Joey's brain screamed at him, "Do something! Pull the plug!", but his muscles refused to respond. It was as if he, too, were paralyzed by the massive volts of uncontrolled electricity. He stood there helpless and useless as his brothers and Sheila Burns died.

      Sound returned, and the world resumed its normal pace. An electric whip cracked in the air. The patio lights dimmed and went out. Now the only illumination came from the gibbous moon, but he could still see everything very clearly.

      He took a last look at Jeff, Tom and Sheila, imprinting forever in his mind their horrified expressions, how their twisted, naked corpses bobbed in the agitated water.

      Joey shit himself and fainted.