"Aha," Philip said. "Someone did take our cart out last night. Thank you, sister… I mean Mary. But it wasn’t me… and it wasn’t you, Franklin, was it?"

"I thought we’d already been down that road," Franklin said in an exasperated tone.

"You don’t even know what you do at night," Philip countered to his partner.

"Sometimes you walk in your sleep."

"The keyword is ‘walk.’ I have never, ever been known to drive in my sleep."

"I have," said Ken, wobbling a little as he rose from his chair. "I’m gonna grab another beer. Anybody want one while I’m up? How about you, Mary?"

"No, thank you, Ken," Mary Angelique said. "I shared one with Mary Agnes last night and my head is still woozy."

"Maybe you’re having a vision," Dale suggested.

"Shut up, Dale," Philip demanded. "Please, Mary, just what did you see?"

"Well, I had stepped out onto the terrace to extinguish the votive cup in front of our statue of the Virgin…"

"And collect the cash?" Dale interrupted. "Sometimes I find a lot of coins in your birdbath."

"You let those offerings be!" Mary scolded. "Anyway, Philip, it was so dark out, all I could see was your Statue-of-David hood ornament flashing by. The way your halogen headlamp illuminates the projection of David’s organ is indecent, simply indecent."

"Philip is thinking of having his ice-cream cart done up the same way, aren’t you, sweetie?" Franklin snickered.

"Not if you boys want Mary Agnes’ and my business, you won’t. We do love having Dreamsicles delivered directly to our door, but not if you insist on promulgating male lewdness."

The former nun turned to her patient Pomeranians and said, "C’mon munchkins, it’s time to make our weedledeedoo."

Nell Portly covered his mouth with his handkerchief to keep from laughing out loud until Mary Angelique was far enough up the street not to hear.

Dale looked at Hal. "I’ll bet I’d like a Dreamsicle… Is it an upper or a downer?"

"By the way, Philip, where is your ice-cream cart?" Franklin was getting tense again.

"What if whoever took our golf cart was really after the contents of your tricycle?"

"Don’t worry; it’s right where I left it, locked up against the carport. And you know I clean out the cooler every evening. Any inventory not sold is returned to my associate."

"I was a little surprised you didn’t sell out of the fresh medical marijuana from Arkansas," Hal said. "We don’t get that every day."

"I’ll help you get rid of it," Dale volunteered.

"Sorry, dude, as soon as I got the call from Sal, I flushed it —along with a couple dozen capsules."

"What a waste!"

"No big deal. But Philip, it might be a good idea to make a quick run through the campground to advise your customers of the situation."

"I’ll get right on it, doc."

"Meanwhile, who’s up for the shovel brigade?"

Dale raised a hand enthusiastically. "I can dig it. Maybe while we’re out stashing our stash we’ll run across Dusty."

Deep in Frederick Forest a short time later, Dale was annoyed. No sooner had he scattered another handful of breadcrumbs into the underbrush than the morsels were devoured by a frenzied multitude of screeching birds, squawking squirrels and fast-waddling geese. "It worked for Hansel and Gretel," he complained to his companions.

Nell Portly shook his head, releasing a generous spray of sweat beads. "Unfortunately, Dale, your life is a different kind of fairy tale."

"Don’t worry," Ken said. "Nothing’s gonna eat my trail markers." He pulled an aluminum pull-tab from the pocket of his dirty white tee-shirt and tacked it to a tree with a staple gun. "Even at night, we’ll be able to see these suckers shine."

The summer rains had made a soggy mess of the less frequently trodden trails of the forest, and Nell’s feet kept slipping out of their flip flops.

"Why didn’t you wear practical shoes?" Chet asked with a scowl. "You’re holding us up."

"Sorry," Nell said, wiping mud from his toes with a tissue. "I thought these would make me lighter on my feet. Can’t we just start digging now? Nobody goes this deep into the bush, except perhaps Mary Angelique."

"Oh, you mean right here?" Ken stooped over and picked up a PlaySafe condom wrapper nestled among the ferns. "Clearly, no man has ever set foot in this spot before."

Chet rolled his eyes. "I’ll never understand why anyone would want to do it in the dirt when there’s a cozy sling waiting at our trailer."

"We’ve got to go farther off the main path," Ken said. "Nell, you should wait here. Dale, why don’t you keep him company? There’ll be fewer tracks to cover. Chet and me, we’ll bury the stuff over in that thicket."

He pointed to a spot about 20 yards east.

Dale nodded his approval, and Chet and Ken set off into the denser foliage with two shovels and Dale’s bulging fanny pack. After a dozen long, delicate strides, they heard a rustling sound emanating from some low-to-the-ground shrubbery ahead of them.

"What do you think that is?" Ken asked his companion. "A raccoon, maybe, or a possum?"

"Could be old Charlie the gator."

They were each taking a slow step backward in preparation for a full-scale retreat when two platinum blond heads bobbed up from the bushes.

"Oh, hello," a voice said. "We’re just wrapping up, if you’d like to wait."

"Sorry, twins," Ken said. "We didn’t mean to disturb you. We can go somewhere else."

"Why are you traipsing through all that tall grass?" one of the blonds asked. "The no-see-ums will eat you alive. You know, there’s a direct path over here."

Chet glowered at Ken. "I’m new at this."

"What do I know?" Ken shot back. "I’ve never been in the woods in daylight before."

"So, are you boys hooking up?" asked the younger twin, who was called Id, but not to his face.

"No, we’re not …" Chet started to say, but Ken elbowed him in the ribs.

"What are the shovels for?" Id inquired.

"‘Shrooms," Chet said, improvising. "We hear they’re very potent this time of year."

"Yuck," said the older twin, Ego. "I wouldn’t put anything I found in these woods in my mouth."

"Oh, really?" Ken said. "That’s not what I’ve heard."

Ego grinned but made a point of stating something that everyone at Sawdust already knew. "We only have eyes for ourselves."

Identical sets of blue eyes at that, thanks to the miracle of color contacts.

Twenty-five years earlier, when they had met in San Francisco, the twins were regarded as Castro clones. But in recent years Edgar (Ego) and Irwin (Id) had taken their look-alike addiction to a level seldom seen back in the day when almost everyone lived in button-fly Levis and flannel shirts of similar cloth. From head to toe, Id and Ego never, ever, allowed themselves to mismatch. And rarely did they repeat an ensemble, even something as mundane as the jogging gear they donned for their frequent runs through the campgrounds. On a day such as this, too hot for shirts, they still were perfectly coordinated with identical left nipple rings and the same smiley-smile tattoos affixed to their equally tanned chests.

Now the twins needed but a few seconds to re-dress. They didn’t have to look at which shorts and sneakers they were grabbing, as both men had size-31 waists and wore size-10 shoes.

"I’ve never noticed any ‘shrooms around here," Ego said, lacing a navy and gray Nike, "but you’re welcome to look for yourself. Just be careful where you crawl around. Poor Irwin cut his foot on a nail."

"A nail?" Chet asked.

"I found three of them." Id and Ego both began routing through the pockets of the gym shorts they were wearing, until Id produced a reddish-purple fingernail. "They were on the ground. This one pricked me pretty bad. Do you think I need a tetanus shot?"

"More likely an HIV test," Chet suggested. "That’s not a press-on; it’s real."

"Bloody real," said Ken, stifling a gag reflex as he inspected the one in Id’s hand. "Looks like it was torn off below the cuticle."

"Let me see," called a breathless voice from a short distance away. Even his fear of snakes hadn’t been enough to dissuade Nell from stomping through the forest in his flip-flops to find out who Ken and Chet had stumbled upon. "Oh, oh… I know that polish. It’s called cran-apple plum; Revlon just introduced it on Friday."

"Aren’t we right on top of the makeup market," Chet teased.

Nell hiked up a leg of his stretch pants to display an elephantine, hairy calf. "I was planning to do myself up for the party last night, but I didn’t have the energy to shave." Then, in a voice low enough to be out of the twins’ earshot, he whispered, "So, as a little birthday gift, I offered my bottle of cran-apple plum to Dusty Rose."

"Oh, crap," said Chet. "Did anybody bring a cell phone? We’ve got to tell Philip."