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bottle through the doorway while the security chain was still attached. For whatever reason, that dude did not want anyone looking inside his apartment last night.”
    “What’d you need with an empty pop bottle?”
    “Nothing. I just needed it, that’s all.” Tommy’s ears began to turn red.
    Burt sensed that he had somehow spooked the kid, so he moved on. “About what time was all this nonsense with the pop bottle?” asked Burt.
    “Um, it was almost the end of the seventh
Magnum, P.I
. episode, so it had to be just before eight o’clock,” said Tommy. “Hey, what’s going to happen to this building now that Mr. Olivetti is gone?”
    “He has a daughter out west who is coming in to settle his affairs. I’m sure she’ll let ya know where things stand with the apartment building and so forth,” said Burt. “Well, I’ve made you late for work. You’d better get going.”
    Tommy Balls hiked his backpack onto his shoulders and walked off towards the 2-4 store. Damn. Burning to death, thought Tommy Balls. That tops the list of ways I don’t want to die. When I go, I hope I’m getting laid and sucking on a fat doobie.
    Burt watched Tommy until he was out of view then turned to look inside Franklin’s window. He cupped his hands around his eyes and pressed his nose against the dusty glass. That’s a mighty small apartment, thought Burt. He noticed the big horn the kid was talking about leaning against an orange vinyl-covered chair. On the table by the window there was a pair of binoculars on top of a pile of newspapers. Burt banged a couple times on the window and an old hound dog popped his head up from behind the coffee table. The dog stretched and made his way over to the window slowly. He blinked his tired eyes up at Burt. One ear was flopped back on top of his head. Burt tapped the glass with his fingernails. “Hey, fella. Ya bite?”
    Burt looked around behind him, then turned back to the window. He placed his fingers on the glass and pushed it up easily. He climbed in, closed the window and gave the dog a few gentle pats on the head. The table by the window looked like a good place to start. Wednesday morning’s
Buffalo News
local section was folded over to the story about the barn fire at the Olivetti house. Could be a coincidence, thought Burt. He picked up Franklin’s binoculars and looked through them at the yellow building across the street, then laid them back on the table.
    Franklin’s dog climbed up on the couch and settled in for a nap.
    Burt walked around the cramped room with his thumbs hooked in his pockets. He lifted up the end of the alphorn and gave it a good once-over. He blew a little air through it softly and it made a whiny honk. On the wall above the table was a makeshift shrine to the nation of Switzerland. There was a six-foot by four-foot Swiss flag thumbtacked to the wall covered with postcards, magazine photographs, and dangling Alpine bric-a-brac. Burt studied the items briefly, not quite sure how long he had before Franklin’s return. On Franklin’s twin-sized bed were a grey T -shirt and a pair of tan shorts. He picked them up and smelled them. It was a smell he knew better than any other: smoke. I don’t figure this fella was roasting marshmallows by a campfire last night, thought Burt. I’ll bet dollars to doughnuts he was roasting his landlord in that tool barn.
    Burt gave the dog another pat on the head and left Franklin’s apartment through the door. In the foyer, he collided with a surly, red-faced little man, both arms full of groceries.
    “Are you the new tenant?” asked Mr. Allspice.
    “No sir,” answered Burt Walnut.
    “Are you a friend of this fat clown?” Mr. Allspice asked, motioning towards Franklin’s door with his shiny head.
    “No sir, I ain’t that neither. My name’s Burt Walnut and I’m a Fire Investigator with the Town of Lackawanna. Would you perchance be Mr. Allspice of 2A?”
    “I am he,” said Mr. Allspice.
    “Would you mind if