Chef Gregoire surveyed the sandwiches. “We have enough left over for some bedtime snacks. The children demolished everything I prepared for them.” He snapped to attention. “What was that?” Tim reached for a serviette and wiped his fingers. “One of our drunken patrons must have set off a firecracker.” “It sounded like a very big firecracker.” As Tim reached for another meringue, another sharp report sounded. Gregoire grabbed Tim’s arm. “That was not a firecracker.” “You’re probably right.” Tim dropped the meringue and dove under the table. Gregoire joined him. “It’s probably one of the boys from town,” Tim said. “Maybe that idiot who murdered the pumpkins last year.” “You mean tipping cows is now out of fashion?” “Guess so.” “What should we do?” “Call the police.” Gregoire glanced toward the phone. “Which one of us is going to put our head over the table?” “How about the short one with the tall hat?”