When they were outside, Carrie said, “Thank you, Uncle Giles.”

“For what? Rescuing you from your mother?” he asked, then laughed when both girls blushed. “It was my pleasure, Carrie. Now, you and Genie enjoy your day.”

When he had walked back into the house, Carrie said, “Mom’s going to be mad.”

“Yes,” Genie said. “So we might as well have fun, because she’s going to be mad, anyway.” Genie thought Carrie worried too much about Mom getting mad. Then again, Genie got into trouble more often than her older sister.

CARRIE and Genie had played with their cousins for a time, then wandered off together toward the children’s garden.

They said they wanted to see how their little vegetable patches were doing. No one questioned this-the girls did this every time they came here. One of the cousins mentioned that it would be muddy, then smiled and said, “But that will make it easier to pull weeds!”

Genie wondered why she couldn’t be like that, what Dad called “good natured.” But there was something restless in her, and she decided she just never would be someone other girls called “sweet,” not even as sweet as Carrie.

It was muddy, but there were boards and stepping-stones to help them navigate their way. The rain had made the garden very green this year, Genie thought. For a time they pulled weeds, although not many had been allowed to grow up among the carrots and beans and tomatoes. Then they went into the greenhouse, where they could deliver the weeds for composting and wash the worst of the mud off their hands.

Edith, one of their favorite aunts, was there. She greeted the girls cheerily, always pleased to see two of her protégées. Edith had found her talent here. She loved the garden, and loved to teach children about plants and their care, so she happily set them up with jars and pots and young plants that needed to be moved into bigger containers. April was a busy time for Edith, and before long, she wandered away from them to work on projects of her own.

Genie gathered the jars to her side of the table they worked at.

“I wonder why you do that,” Carrie said.

“What?”

“Pick the jars. You leave me all the pots.”

Genie blushed.

“I don’t mind,” Carrie said quickly. “I just wondered.”

Genie checked to see that Edith was not nearby, then said in a low voice, “I like the name.”

“Jar?”

Genie shook her head. “Mason. That name has…some connection to me.”

Carrie looked puzzled. She signed, Freemasons? Stonecutters?

After a moment, Genie signed, I knew someone named Mason.

Last name?

She shook her head. No, first name.

From the past? Carrie signed back. Before? No need to explain before what.

Yes. A man. He was nice to me. He made me laugh. But she didn’t feel very happy thinking about him now. It made her feel unsettled.

After a brief hesitation, Carrie signed, Your father?

“I don’t know,” Genie said softly, frowning, as she filled a jar with soil. “That doesn’t seem right.” She signed, Brother or cousin, maybe.

Carrie made a motion toward the plants they were supposed to be transplanting. Genie made herself get back to work for a minute or two with her pots. If Edith came back and didn’t see much accomplished…But Edith would be kind, and merely think they’d been chatting with each other instead of working, and that would be okay with her. Edith was one of the oldest of the Fletcher children, and she had not been able to have kids of her own. She was sometimes a little rebellious, and muttered as she worked. More than once, sitting next to her at a family gathering, Genie had heard her say something about how plants grew best if they weren’t crowded, in moments when Genie knew she wasn’t talking about plants at all. It occurred to Genie that the relative privacy they enjoyed in the greenhouse was not accidental.

Did Edith like being alone? That was something else to think about.

Gradually, with whispers and signs exchanged between gardening work, Carrie told Genie about the conversation she had overheard between Mom and Dad this morning. Genie was as amazed as Carrie about their mom’s career in journalism.

“I have to find a way to get a copy of the newspaper article about missing kids,” Carrie said.

“That will be easy,” Genie said. “Leave it to me.”

“How?”

“Tomorrow is trash day, remember? It’s my turn to take the trash and recycling out to the curb.”

Carrie frowned. We don’t get the newspaper. How can that help?

The neighbors do. I’ve taken theirs before.

Carrie’s eyes widened.

“Honestly, Carrie. You aren’t the only person who has realized that things can come into the house from recycling.”

The color drained from Carrie’s face.

I know about the book, Genie signed. Don’t worry, I won’t tell.

Despite these reassurances, tears were gathering in Carrie’s eyes. Genie felt bad, even worse as Carrie looked down at the pot in front of her, obviously trying hard not to cry. Tears began to roll off the end of her nose and into the soil.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Genie whispered, then looked up and saw a woman crossing the lawn with purposeful strides. “Oh no. Mom.”

Carrie looked up, then looked at Genie a little desperately. She was scared.

Genie knew exactly what she feared, of course. “We’ll have to say why you’ve been crying. She’ll ask and ask about it.”

“I’ll say Cousin Sheila,” Carrie whispered.

“She’ll never believe it,” Genie said. “Tell her I was mean to you.”

“No way.”

An idea came to Genie. She hesitated only a few seconds, then knocked one of the jars against the edge of the table. It broke with what seemed an explosion of sound. She held one of the bigger shards toward her older sister. “Cut yourself. Just a little. Hurry!”

Carrie found the resolve to do this just as Aunt Edith called, “What happened?”

“Oh, Carrie! You’re hurt!” Genie said, not needing to fake her remorse. The cut was bleeding more than she had expected, and she had not missed Carrie’s wince of pain. Genie grabbed a paper towel and pressed it to Carrie’s hand. She looked up into Carrie’s face, worried.

“It isn’t so bad,” Carrie managed to say, and stopped holding back the rest of her tears.

Tuesday, April 25

11:45 A.M.

LOBBY OF THE WRIGLEY BUILDING

LAS PIERNAS

ANNA STOVER didn’t look so hot. She was pale, had dark circles under her eyes, and it was easy to see she had been crying. I will own up to feeling a little smug about that. She had moved out of her house and broken it off with Ben with a damned note. This was supposed to be her big Independence Day, but life had just pissed on her sparklers.

She stared off into space, a picture of distraction. She hadn’t heard me or seen me come down the stairs, I guess, because I startled the hell out of her by saying, “What can I do for you, Anna?”

She shivered a little. Maybe from the chill I put into the question. She looked up into my face, studying it for a moment before glancing toward Geoff, the ancient security guard. I followed the glance and saw that Geoff was looking at her with tender sympathy. Geoff, who by some calculations is rising 130 (and by others, was Tutankhamen’s boyhood friend), enjoys the sight of a pretty face but is not one to be swayed by such. So when I saw that look, I felt a little ashamed of my own reaction to her.

“Have you eaten?” I asked her.

“No, but-”

“Then let’s have lunch,” I said.

I looked back at Geoff, who was beaming at me. “I’ll sign you out,” he said. That damned old man has controlled my behavior for years.

I took her outside before anyone else from the paper had an unspoken suggestion to make and came to a halt. There’s a burger place not far from the paper, but in just a few minutes it would be crowded with other reporters. I thought we might want a little more privacy. She needed to walk off some of that anxiety, anyway.