Instead he said, “I don’t think Kat’s dad is ever going to get over this.”

“Why?” Josie’s voice seemed shrill and fearful.

“Because parents don’t. That’s what my mom said. It goes against the natural order of things.”

“I suppose so.”

“I mean, it’s like Mr. Hartigan needs to understand what happened to get past it. The why of it, you know? It’s not enough for him to say Perri was crazy and just walk away. He needs to know the reason.”

Her computer beeped again, but Josie didn’t even turn her head toward the screen. She was staring at Peter, her eyes cold and hard again. He had lost her. The moment he had mentioned Mr. Hartigan, she had shut down.

Still, he persisted.

“So there wasn’t, right?”

“What?”

“A reason. I mean, there’s nothing more to say, right? Perri just came in and started shooting, and that’s all there is to know.”

“No reason.”

“And it was just the three of you, the way it always was?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just that there are these rumors. About maybe someone else being there.”

It is a cliché that acting is reacting, that the best actors know how to listen, but Peter had been well trained over the past four years, his parents had gotten their money’s worth from NYU, and he did know how to listen, pay attention. Josie was in turmoil, eaten up by whatever she knew, so close to wanting the relief of sharing it.

“People are saying that?” she asked at last. “Lots of people?”

“Some.” One.

“But you don’t even know people at Glendale anymore.”

“I knew their older brothers and sisters.”

“Like who? Who did you talk to, exactly?”

“Kevin-Shawn Weaver’s little brother.” He had talked to him at the funeral. But one name seemed a bit thin, so he pulled out the name that Kevin had whispered when he pointed out the girl in the low-cut top, the blow-job queen. “And Eve Muhly.”

“She’s, like, a pathological liar. She loves to say she knows stuff when she doesn’t.”

“Yeah, but she’s not the only one, in this case.” He was almost indignant, totally caught up in his stories as he spun them. Okay, so neither Kevin nor Eve had spoken about a fourth girl to him. Okay, so he had never actually spoken to this girl, Eve. But Mr. Hartigan said the police thought there might be a fourth girl or that Josie and Perri had conspired in some way. That’s why Josie got nervous when Mr. Hartigan’s name came up.

Josie’s chin trembled, and she looked as if she might cry again. But her voice was measured when she spoke, exceedingly calm.

“I did lie.”

“Yes?” Now she was going to tell him, now he was going to find out what she was hiding from the police and everyone else. Mr. Hartigan would be so pleased to learn that Peter Lasko had done so quickly and easily what no one else could do.

“You didn’t really break Kat’s heart,” she said. “I mean, she dated Seth Raskin after you, and he was much handsomer. And then he died in that car crash last spring. He’s the one that Kat can’t get over.”

He understood that this, too, was a lie, a punishment for his trying to get her to open up. The surprising part was how effective it was.

“Well, I guess I should go. You’ve got a lot going on this week, with graduation and everything. Is Senior Ramble still a big deal?”

“Yes, but…” She indicated her bandaged foot. “Not for me. I’ll be going to the ceremony, then coming straight home.”

He left on that and she didn’t even say good-bye.

From the hall, with its scarred walls and framed art posters, he could hear Josie typing furiously, pounding away at her computer without pausing, in a cadence that marked the rhythm of an IM conversation, or maybe e-mail. Whatever it was, Peter was pretty sure it wasn’t a girl telling her mother what she wanted for dinner.

Dale Hartigan was in a meeting when his cell phone vibrated-he never had it on ring, a point of pride with him-and the caller ID showed it was Peter Lasko. Given how dreary the meeting was-the usual cranky homeowners, convinced that a mixed-retail space would be the death of their neighborhood, especially if the restaurant had a liquor license-he would have taken any call, even one from Chloe or his father. This interruption not only saved him, it filled him with hope. Certainly the boy wouldn’t call unless he had something vital to report.

“Right back,” he mouthed to Susannah, who was running the show, trying to make everyone happy. The great smoother-over, as Dale thought of her.

“Yes?” he snapped into the cell phone as soon as he cleared the room.

“Josie didn’t have much to say.”

“And I needed to know that right now because…?”

“Because the way she didn’t say it was kind of striking. Like she’s hiding something.”

If Peter had been his employee, Dale would have been sharp with him. Not unkind or abusive, for Dale did not ape his father in that way. But he disliked people who talked just to talk, the eager young ones-and they were almost always young-who manufactured excuses for face time with the boss, not realizing they were wasting the boss’s time.

“That was always my supposition, Peter. And while it’s nice to know you agree, it doesn’t really seem to advance things.”

“Yeah. Yeah. But it did give me an idea. You know the Senior Ramble?”

Dale did. He had one of his rare quarrels with Kat over this very subject not two weeks ago, saying he didn’t care what other Glendale parents did, he was not going to suspend Kat’s curfew on graduation night just so she could increase her chances of dying in a traffic accident. When Kat had protested that the Ramble was zero tolerance, with students signing pledges to serve as designated drivers, parents agreeing to chaperone official parties in their homes, and public places staying open late so the graduates could congregate safely, Dale had not been moved. “Exhaustion alone is enough to get kids in trouble,” he had said. “Your curfew stands, and I’m going to tell the Patels as much, so don’t think you can get around it by spending the night with Josie, playing by their more lax rules.”

How innocent Dale had been then, just two weeks ago, when he thought the worst thing that could happen to his daughter was a car accident caused by fatigue or youthful driving errors. Two weeks ago the Patels had been his allies in parenthood, and now they were on the other side, protecting their child, not caring about justice for his.

“What could the Ramble have to do with any of this?” he asked Peter.

“Kids are out, they’re loose. I thought I would work it, you know. Assuming you think it’s a good idea.”

Dale was beginning to see how stupid this entire idea was, how worthless Peter Lasko was to him. But he had solicited the boy, sought him out. There was no reason to make him feel like the ineffectual failure he was.

“Sure,” he said. “Why not? Knock yourself out.”

Peter Lasko had called Dale from the Dairy Queen, and he was so undone by the man’s obvious lack of faith in him that he ordered a Snickers Blizzard. After all, he wasn’t trying to lose weight-he just had to make sure he didn’t gain any. He’d do an extra-long workout tonight to make up for it.

Of course, Mr. Hartigan had always made him feel small and stupid. They had sat here, not even three years ago, at this very same Dairy Queen, as Mr. Hartigan had flattered Peter, asked about his aspirations, wondered if there was anything he could do to help him.

“Given the business my family is in,” he had said, “we go way back with the Rouses.”

Peter had bobbed his head politely. Back then he hadn’t worried about what he ate, and he had let Mr. Hartigan buy him the works-two chili dogs, a shake, onion rings, a Peanut Buster Parfait.

“We know the Rouses quite well.”

“Uh-huh.”