Tick Tock

Lake.”
    Mrs. Payne nodded. “Just south of Tonopah.”
    “Twenty-seven years with no sleep.”
    “Almost twenty-eight, since the night that my Deliverance was conceived.”
    “You must be tired.”
    “Not at all,” she said. “Sleep isn't a necessity for me now. It's a choice, and I simply don't choose to do it, because it's boring.”
    “What happened at Mud Lake?”
    “Didn't Del tell you?”
    “No.”
    “Well,” said Mrs. Payne, “then it's certainly not my place to do so. I'll let it to her, in her own good time.”
    Mummingford entered the room with a portable telephone, per Del's request, and put it on the coffee table. He retreated without comment. He had to deal with a stolen Ferrari, after all.
    Tommy looked at his watch.
    “Personally, Tommy dear, I think your chances of living until dawn are a hundred percent.”
    “Well, if I don't make it, Rosalyn, I'll visit you on the David Letterman show.”
    “I'd adore that!” she said and clapped her hands to express her pleasure at the thought.
    On the radio, Glenn Miller's big band was playing “American Patrol.”
    After washing down the last of the cheese Danish with the last of his coffee, Tommy said, “Is this your favourite kind of music?”
    “Oh, yes. It's the music that might redeem our planet—if it could be redeemed by music alone.”
    “But you're a child of the fifties.”
    “Rock-'n'-roll,” she said. “Yes. I love rock-'n'-roll. But this is the music that appeals to the galaxy.”
    He mulled over those four words: “Appeals to the galaxy.”
    “Yes. As no other.”
    “You're so like your daughter,” he said.
    Beaming, Mrs. Payne said, “I love you too, Tommy.”
    “So you collect old radio programs.”
    “Collect?” she asked, baffled.
    He indicated the radio on the coffee table. “Is it a cassette player, or are they issuing those collectibles on CDs now?”
    “No, dear, we're listening to the original program live.”
    “Live on tape.”
    “Just live.”
    “Glenn Miller died in World War Two.”
    “Yes,” Mrs. Payne said, “in nineteen forty-five. I'm surprised anyone of your age would remember him—or when he died.”
    “Swing music is so American,” Tommy said. “I love everything American, I really do.”
    “That's one reason you're so strongly drawn to Del,” she said happily. “Deliverance is so thoroughly American, so open to possibilities.”
    “Back to Glenn Miller, if we may. He died more than fifty years ago.”
    “So sad,” Mrs. Payne acknowledged, stroking Scootie.
    “Well then.”
    She raised her eyebrows. “Oh, I see your confusion.”
    “Only one small part of it.”
    “Excuse me, dear?”
    “At this point, no one alive is capable of grasping the enormous dimensions of my confusion,” Tommy assured her.
    “Really? Then perhaps your diet's deficient. You might not be getting enough vitamin B complex.”
    “Oh?”
    “Along with vitamin E,” Mrs. Payne explained, “a good B-complex supplement can clarify mental processes.”
    “I thought you were going to tell me to eat tofu.”
    “Good for the prostate.”
    “Glenn Miller,” Tommy reminded her, indicating the radio that still swung with “American Patrol.”
    “Let me clear up this one little confusion,” she said. “We're listening to this broadcast live because my radio has trans-temporal tuning capabilities.”
    “Trans-temporal.”
    “Cross-time, yes. Earlier I was listening to Jack Benny live. He was an enormously funny man. No one like him today.”
    “Who sells radios with trans-temporal tuning capabilities, Winona? Sears?”
    “Do they? I don't think so. As for how I got my little radio, I'll have to let Deliverance explain. It's related to Mud Lake, you know.”
    “Trans-temporal radio,” Tommy mused. “I think I prefer to believe in Big Foot.”
    “You can't possibly,” Mrs. Payne said disapprovingly.
    “Why not? I now believe in devil dolls and demons.”
    “Yes, but they're real.”
    Tommy checked his wristwatch again. “It's still raining.”
    She cocked her head and listened to the faint drumming of the rain on the well-insulated roof of The Great Pile, and Scootie cocked his head as well. After a moment, she said, “Yes, it is. Such a restful sound.”
    “You told Del the rain would stop in four minutes. You were so precise about it.”
    “Yes, that's right.”
    “But it's still raining.”
    “Four minutes haven't passed yet.”
    Tommy tapped his watch.
    She said, “Dear, your watch is wrong. It's taken a lot of battering tonight.”
    Tommy held the wristwatch to his ear, listened, and said, “Ticktock.”
    “Ten seconds