"It's like a frisbee. It's plastic, only it squiggles if you get it right," said Jimmy Wilkes, six.

"She said me. She said I should say what a froobie is," said Katherine Poffer. "It's like a frisbee only it squiggles," Kathy said with righteous triumph.

"Now when did the bang happen?" asked one of the agents.

"Me or Jimmy?" said Katherine Poffer.

"Either one," said the agent.

"When he threw it, sort of," said Jimmy.

"Sort of?"

"Yeah. Like the froobie was up at his ear, like a quarterback ready to throw."

"Yes," said the agent.

"He was left-handed," said Jimmy Wilkes.

"Yes."

"And then, wow, boom," said Jimmy, his hands going out to show a big explosion.

"You didn't see half of him at all," said Katherine Poffer.

"A leg went in the sandbox, and there's no going in the sandbox during afternoon recess," said Jimmy.

"Did you see who brought the froobie to the schoolyard?"

"Nobody brought it. It was there," said Jimmy.

"Somebody must have brought it," said the agent.

"The new boy maybe brought it," said Katherine.

"Some grownup," said the agent. "Was any grownup standing near the schoolyard?"

"The ice cream man for a while," said Jimmy. The two agents went on with the interview. They had talked to the ice cream vendor already, and he had seen nothing. He was also not the kind of person to withhold information. This wasn't Brooklyn, where people stuck their noses behind doors and kept them there for their safety. This was heartland America, where if a strange dog wandered into town, everyone knew and was willing not only to talk about it but to tell you if it was a Communist dog or a Mafia dog. This was pin-clean small-town USA, where everyone not only knew everyone else but talked about everyone else. And no one knew who had killed Mr. Calder and while everyone was downright glad to cooperate with the FBI-"We're on your side, fellas"-no one knew who had planted the bomb. And what was the FBI doing here in Fairview anyway? This wasn't a federal crime, you know. Was Mr. Calder a secret spy?