"You called it a pit, Mommy," Kimberly Baynes said.
"Where's the car?" shouted Mrs. Baynes.
"Coming around the corner."
The black driver smiled and touched his fingers to his cap as they climbed into the car. Joshua helped Mrs. Palmer and his mother and sister inside. He started to get in, then hesitated. "I have to go to the bathroom," he said.
"Oh, Joshua. Not now. It's not far to the city," his mother said.
"I said I have to go. Now."
Mrs. Baynes sighed. "All right. I'll go with you."
"I want him to take me." He pointed to the black driver.
"No problem," Herb Palmer said. "Go ahead. I'll just drive around the block and wait for you both." When he had circumnavigated the block twice, Joshua was waiting at the curb alone. "Your driver quit," he said as he got into the car.
"What?"
"He met some woman inside the airport. They told me to get lost and then they went away together. They said they'd never be back."
"Well, I never . . ." Mrs. Palmer said.
"We'll see what the company has to say about that," Palmer said through clenched teeth.
"You poor brave little boy," Mrs. Baynes said, clutching Joshua to her breast.
They drove away before the body of the black man was discovered in the men's room and the screaming began. Number 135.
Numbers 136, 137, and 138.
"We want to go to the Bois de Boulogne, Mother," Joshua said.
"Don't be silly, dear. We're going straight to the Georges Cinq."
"But it's special," chimed in Kimberly.
"Yes. Special. We read about a special place in a book. Kimmy and I wrote a special poem to recite to you there. The three of you. It has to be now."
"Hey, why not?" Herb Palmer said. "We're all on vacation. Forget schedules."
"Such sweet children, Evelyn," said Mrs. Palmer. They stopped by a swamp on the northern end of a swan lake.
"But don't you think it's nicer over there, children?" Mrs. Baynes suggested. "Near the birds, where the people are?"
"No. It has to be here," Joshua said stubbornly. "Oh, very well. Let's hear your poem, darlings."
"Outside," Herb Palmer said. "Poetry needs sun and sky and water and fresh air."
The adults all moved out and sat on the bank that ran down to the brackish water and looked out at the swans far away.
"The poem," Herb Palmer said. "Let's hear the poem."
Joshua smiled. Kimberly smiled. They pulled yellow handkerchiefs from their pockets.
Mrs. Baynes said, "Those look familiar. Did you bring them from that ... that place?"
"Yes, Mother," Kimberly said. "You all three have to wear them."
"No," Mr. Palmer said laughingly. "The poem first."
"For luck," Joshua insisted.
"Please," Kimberly pleaded. "Josh even has an extra one for you, Mother."
The children slipped the kerchiefs around the necks of the three adults.
"And now the poem," Joshua announced to the backs of the three adults.
"Is that the signal?" Kimberly whispered to him.
"That's the signal."
She jumped up behind Mr. Palmer, and as they chanted, "Kill for Kali, Kill for Kali," they pulled the yellow rumals around the Palmers' necks.
"Kill for Kali. She loves it. Kill, kill, kill."
Mrs. Baynes was watching the swans. Without turning, she said, "That's a strange poem. It doesn't even rhyme. Is that what they call free verse? Or blank verse?"
"Kill, kill, kill."
The Palmers' eyes bulged. Mrs. Palmer's tongue lolled out of her mouth, violet and swollen. Herb Palmer struggled to free himself but the metal clasp on the rumal around his fleshy neck held tight.
"I don't think the Palmers are enjoying your poem, children," Mrs. Baynes said acidly, still without turning.
"Kill, kill, kill."
When Herb Palmer's arms finally stopped twitching, the two children released the rumals.
Mrs. Baynes turned and saw the other two adults sprawled on the grass.
"Very funny," she said. "I suppose the four of you have staged this little farce to shock me. Well, believe you me, I'm not easily shocked. Remember that I changed both your diapers? At least Kimberly's. Once. It was in December, I think. The nursemaid was sick. Herb? Emmie?"
The Palmers did not move from their strange positions, faces bloated, eyes bulging from their sockets, staring directly up at the blue sky. Mrs. Palmer's tongue was blackening and hugely distended.
"Emmie," Evelyn Baynes said, shaking her. "I want you to know you don't look at all attractive. A stout woman should never let her tongue hang out, it makes her look retarded." She looked at her children. "Why don't they move? Are they ... ? I believe ... they are . . . they're dead."