“Listen, she’ll be okay. How’s Paul? Still gardening?”

“Not quite as much as before we moved. He still gets his hands dirty now and then, but he spends a lot of time in front of the computer now. And he’s working on getting his driver’s license.”

“Next time you’re out this way, let me know. We’ll get caught up.”

“I’m actually headed out that way today, around lunch, with my detective friend, to go to a government auction.”

“Lunch today won’t work. My first client’s coming around then. Which reminds me, I’ve got to iron my Girl Scout troop leader outfit, and dig out my matching stilettos.”

“Girl Scout leaders wear stilettos?”

“This one’s going to be. Oh shit, that reminds me, I hope I still have some of their cookies around. I put a box in the freezer…” She was on the cordless and I could hear her walking around the house. “Here we go, yeah, I’ve got them. Gotta give them time to defrost.”

“Your client likes to eat Girl Scout cookies?”

“Well, let’s just say they help complete the scene for him.”

“I should let you go,” I said. “Thanks for listening.”

I puttered around the house for the next three hours, until I heard a car pull into the driveway. I stepped out onto the front porch and saw a blue four-door Jaguar sedan. Lawrence was easing himself out the front door.

“The Buick’s in the shop, getting a new rear window,” he explained. I locked up the house, got into the Jag, buckled up, and ran my hand over the leather upholstery, the walnut inlays in the dash.

“Nice,” I said.

“Used to belong to a Jamaican guy ran the drug trade in the north end. Agents busted him, seized pretty much everything he owned, and I got it when they auctioned it off. You looking for a Jag?”

“I don’t know that I’m looking for anything, but if I were it wouldn’t be a Jag. Head office says we can’t afford one at the moment.”

“Head office?”

“Sarah.”

“Okay.”

“I didn’t even bring my checkbook, in case I get tempted.”

“Yeah, well, if you change your mind, let me know. I’ve got mine, you could pay me back after.”

“I don’t know. Sarah was sort of weakening toward the end there, talking about a convertible, but I think she was briefly delusional. She really doesn’t want me to spend the money.”

“This is one of those times when it pays to be gay. I don’t get pussy-whipped,” Lawrence said.

“No significant other?” I asked.

“I’m seeing a guy, name’s Kent. Runs a restaurant, Blaine’s, on the east side. He’s thirty-six, a white guy.”

“Really.”

Lawrence smiled. “I met him before I quit the force, but didn’t really hook up with him till recently. Might work into something, never know.”

On the highway heading out to Oakwood, I said to Lawrence, “Okay, here’s a hypothetical. Someone you know might, and it’s just might, be being stalked by someone. She thinks this guy has been following her, he shows up wherever she is, and it kind of freaks her out, but he hasn’t done anything dangerous, or threatened her, nothing like that.”

Lawrence listened.

“And she’s not really making a big deal of it. She says the guy’s just a pest, nothing to worry about.”

“Okay,” Lawrence said. “But it seems like a big deal to you. What do we know about this guy?”

“Well, he’s twenty or so, I gather, seems to be living on his own, his parents are out west or something, kind of a computer geek, into the whole Matrix look, the sunglasses and long coat, not badlooking according to those who’ve seen him, but a loner.”

“And how long has he been following your daughter?”

I was about to remind him that this was a “hypothetical” case, then figured what the hell. “Doesn’t sound like a long time. Couple weeks, maybe. Calls her cell phone quite a few times every day, calls the house. He called at breakfast yesterday morning, I had to field it because Angie didn’t want to talk to him. Angie, she’s going to college now, and I think he’s-”

“He got a name?”

“Wylie. Trevor Wylie.”

“Okay.”

“And he’s shown up, just the other night, outside of one of her friend’s houses, like it was just a coincidence, but this was clear across town.”

“So he would have had to follow her there, that’s your thinking?”

“I guess.”

“He’s got a car?”

I shrugged. “I’m guessing yes, but I don’t know.”

“What’s she said to him? Your daughter. Angie, right?”

“Yeah. I don’t think she’s told him to drop dead or anything. She’s not like that. But she’s probably given him the brush-off, bordered on rude. When she thinks it’s him calling her cell, she doesn’t answer. Anyone with an ounce of sense would have gotten the message by now.”

“Some people often don’t read the signals very well.”

I looked out the window. We were approaching the Oakwood exit, and from the highway you could see the hundreds of new suburban homes, each one barely distinguishable from the next.

“What would you do if you were me?”

“Well, you could do nothing. Chances are he’s harmless and this whole thing will work itself out.” Lawrence put on his blinker.

“Or?”

“Or you could check him out. Find out a bit more about this kid. Which might put your mind at ease, or tell you that you’ve got reason to be concerned.”

“And how am I going to do that? Start tailing him?”

“Hey,” said Lawrence, “you’re not exactly learning from the master. I blew that tail last night in the first mile. What you could do, though, is follow Angie.”

“Huh?”

“Well, what you want to know is, is he following your daughter around? You follow her, you’ll find out whether he is, too.”

I shook my head. “That’s crazy. I couldn’t follow my own daughter.” But even as I dismissed the idea, I was working out the logistics in my head. Would I wear a disguise? Rubber nose and glasses? And if Angie was using our car for the evening, and Trevor was following her in his car, then how was I going to follow him following her if we didn’t have a second car? Well, we didn’t have a second car yet, but-

Enough, I told myself. This is crazy talk.

What kind of father would consider, for even a moment, actually tailing his own daughter around town? And what would his wife do to him if she found out he’d been doing such a thing?

“No, no, I could never do that,” I said quietly.

“Hey, I’m only talking out loud,” Lawrence said. “Your other option is, let someone else check the kid out.” He paused, considering. “I’ll do it if you want.”

“No, no, that’s okay. I don’t think Sarah and I really have money in the budget for hiring a private eye. No offense. I mean, if we were ever going to hire somebody, you’d be the guy.”

Lawrence smiled. “Don’t worry about it. When you finally do your story about hanging out with a private eye, I’m gonna be getting lots of business.”

“I can’t accept services in return for editorial coverage,” I protested, but not, I have to admit, very strenuously.

“We didn’t even have this conversation,” Lawrence said.

He was quiet for a few more blocks, then said, “The thing is, Zack, where your own family is concerned, you have to trust your instincts. If your gut tells you something’s wrong, it probably means something’s wrong. Read the signals. If a guy thinks, just because his wife is coming home late from work every night, closing the door when she gets a phone call, and dressing a lot hotter than usual, that maybe she’s having an affair, odds are she’s having an affair. If your gut says this kid is weird, he’s probably weird.”

“But weird doesn’t always mean dangerous.”

“No,” Lawrence said, “it doesn’t. You’ll have to listen to what your gut has to say about that. And let me tell you something else, pal. Don’t ever let anyone hurt someone who’s important to you. Don’t hesitate. Don’t second-guess yourself.”

“I hear ya,” I said.

“And don’t miss your moment.”