You’ll have to leave the squirrel in the car,” said Flora’s father as he pulled into the parking lot of the Giant Do-Nut.

“No,” said Flora. “It’s too hot.”

“I’ll leave the windows down,” said her father.

“Someone will steal him.”

“You think someone would steal him?” Her father sounded doubtful, but hopeful. “Who would steal a squirrel?”

“A criminal,” said Flora.

The Criminal Element spoke often, and passionately, about the nefarious activities that every human being is capable of. Not only did it insist that the human heart was dark beyond all reckoning; it also likened the heart to a river. And further, it said, “If we are not careful, that river can carry us along in its hidden currents of want and anger and need, and transform each of us into the very criminal we fear.”

“The human heart is a deep, dark river with hidden currents,” Flora said to her father. “Criminals are everywhere.”

Her father tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “I wish I could disagree with you, but I can’t.”

Ulysses sneezed.

“Bless you,” said her father.

“I’m not leaving him,” said Flora.

Alfred T. Slipper took his parakeet, Dolores, with him everywhere, sometimes even to the offices of the Paxatawket Life Insurance Company. “Not without my parakeet.” That was what Alfred said.

“Not without my squirrel,” said Flora.

If her father recognized the sentence, if the words reminded him of their time together reading about Incandesto, he didn’t show it. He merely sighed. “Bring him in, then,” he said. “But keep the lid on the shoe box.”

Ulysses climbed into the shoe box, and Flora dutifully lowered the lid on his small face.

“Okay,” she said. “All right.”

She climbed out of the car, and then she stood and looked up at the Giant Do-Nut sign.

GIANT DO-NUTS INSIDE! the sign screamed in neon letters, while an extremely large donut disappeared over and over again into a cup of coffee.

But there was no hand on the donut. Who, Flora wondered, is doing the dunking? A small shiver ran down her spine.

What if we are all donuts just waiting to be dunked? she thought.

It was the kind of question that William Spiver would ask. She could hear him asking it. It was also the kind of question that William Spiver would have an answer for. That was the thing about William Spiver. He always had an answer, even if it was an annoying one.

“Listen to me,” she whispered to the shoe box. “You are not a donut waiting to be dunked. You are a superhero. Do not let yourself be tricked or fooled. Remember the shovel. Keep an eye on George Buckman.”

Her father got out of the car. He put his hands in his pockets and jingled his change. “Shall we?” he said.

Stall! Delay! Obfuscate!

“Let’s,” said Flora.