She put on her pink glasses and NASCAR cap, and hurried to the restaurant. She threaded her way through the parked cars and opened the barred door, greeted by a steamy interior and the mixed aroma of oregano, cooked pepperoni, and cigarette smoke. The storefront contained only a few red tables, and one held a trio of teenagers hunched over a hamburger pizza with a pitcher of Coke. They looked up when Nat walked over.

"Excuse me, guys." She pushed up her glasses. "Do any of you want to sell me your car?"

The teenagers burst into raucous laughter. The tallest one, a good-looking kid with a fake diamond earring, said, "Yo, dude, you for real?"

"Yes. I need a car, now. I'll pay cash."

"Cash money, dude?"

"Yes."

A second kid, who had bad skin, said, "That's not legal. You don't have no title."

A future lawyer. "That's okay with me. I don't care." Nat turned back to the tall kid. "Name your price, pal."

"A million dollars."

Or not. Nat turned to the shortest one, who wore an Eagles knit cap. "What do you say? You got a car?"

"An '86 Neon. Got 120,000 miles and no radio, but it runs good." Eagles Fan cracked a lopsided grin. "S'my stepsister's car."

"I like Neons. You like cash?"

"Yes." Eagles Fan's eyes glittered. "And I totally hate my stepsister."

"Sell it, dude!" the others shouted. "They're gone the whole frickin weekend!"

"This is your lucky day, my friend." Nat took the envelope from her purse, flashed the crisp bills, and counted them off. "I'll give you three hundred bucks for the car, right now. Yes or no."

"Three hundred dollars?" Eagles Fan's young face lit up.

"Three hundred, dude! We can party all weekend!" Then I laughed, and Eagles Fan was giddiest of all.

"Dudes, my stepsister will be so pissed! She'll burn!. She'll freak!"

"Do it, dude!" the tall kid yelled. "They won't even know 'til Sunday night!" They all slapped each other five over the table, yelling, "Excellent!”

“Awesome!”

“We rock hard, dude!"

"I'm doin' it!" Eagles Fan grabbed for the bills.

Fifteen minutes later, Nat hit the road in an old blue Neon that had a perfumed powder-puff and a graduation tassel hanging from the rearview mirror. She drove past strip malls and houses, traveling as far away as she could before she found another cheap motel and pulled in. Angus wouldn't find her here, and neither he nor the cops knew about the Neon. She locked the car and went inside to get a few hours of sleep before dawn.

She'd need energy to set her plan in motion tomorrow.

The sky was still black, and starbursts of frost remained on the Neon's windows when Nat pulled into the Wawa parking lot. She checked the car's clock. 5:30 a.m. So she was ahead of schedule. A couple in ski clothes got out of a black Jetta next to her, kissing and putting their arms around each other, and she shook off thoughts of Angus. He would already have awakened without her, and she hoped he'd understand. She thought of last night's lovemaking, which had only improved with age, then put it out of her mind.

She looked around, making sure the coast was clear before she got out of the Neon. No cops were in sight, and only a few people were gassing up at this hour. She grabbed her purse, stepped out of the car, and headed into the convenience store in her pink glasses and NASCAR cap, startling at the front page of the thick Sunday newspapers on the front rack.

LAW PROF RUNS FROM LAW, read the headline of the Daily Local News, and the lead photo was Nat with long, dark hair, from the law school's website. She lowered her head. At least they didn't have a shot of her in her disguise. She picked up a copy offhandedly, grabbed a cup of coffee, a bagel, and the sunglasses she should have gotten yesterday, then paid and hurried back to the Neon.

She read the article as soon as she got in the car, starved for news. Vice Dean McConnell was reportedly "shocked and surprised" at her criminality, and Nat felt sick inside. What would her students think? Carling and Warren? She could kiss tenure goodbye. Her parents, the "wealthy Greco family," had no comment, and her heart ached for them. They had to be worried, too. She thought about calling them from a pay phone, but couldn't risk their phone lines being tapped. They’d just have to trust her. She was on her own.

She skipped to a sidebar that reported that drugs and "a substantial amount of cash" had been found in her car, at the scene of Trooper Shorney's murder. She raced through the rest of the article, which was so long that it had knocked all other news off the top half of the page, including Philly's escalating murder rate, the federal prisoner whose trial was starting on Tuesday, and the war in Iraq. She set the newspaper on the passenger seat, twisted on the ignition, and drove out of the lot. She had lost one job, but gained another. Catching a killer.

She headed north in only sparse traffic to West Chester, while the sun tried and failed to sneak up on the sky, betrayed by splashy streaks of rose and violet. She had gotten the address she needed last night from information. She hit the gas and drove an hour, and by the time the sun was low in a cloudless sky, she had reached a winding street of white townhouses in a development called Heaven's Gate, which proved hyperbolic.

She cruised past the sign at the entrance. Each townhouse sat stacked like a child's tower of three blocks, with the garage door underneath a living room with a picture window. Minivans and other kid-friendly cars sat in the driveways. She double-checked the address she'd written on her hand and drove to the street. The Neon was the only car on the road, and she held her breath as she spotted a sign on the black mailbox of one of the houses, the grafs.

Nat suppressed a bolt of fear but kept driving, facing straight ahead in the sunglasses and NASCAR cap. She found a parking space down the street, near the development's Exit sign. It afforded her a full view of the Graf house in her outside mirror. She parked by the curb, determined to watch the house. Sooner or later Graf would have to show his hand, and if she wasn't there when he did, nobody would be. And he wouldn't be worried about her anymore; he'd assume she was on the run, trying to save her own hide. Only a lousy fugitive would be crazy enough to come back to Chester County.

She sipped her coffee and ate the bagel, keeping an eye on the outside mirror. When she finished breakfast, she reached for the Chester County Correctional file she'd stolen from Phoenix Construction and read through it. It contained lots of invoices for construction materials; cinderblocks, two-by-fours, sheets of drywall, bags of cement, and more two-by-fours. Her heart sank as she finished the last page. The file told her nothing more. The Dumpsters were her best hope, and she couldn't check them out until tomorrow. She set the file on the seat and watched the house in the cold car.

Hours passed, nine to ten o'clock, then to eleven. Families drove in and out of the exit, in cars packed with kids. Nat kept her head down in the cap, fake-reading the newspaper. She flashed on Graf outside the Saunders house. She could believe him capable of murder, especially of a black man. But one question plagued her. Why hadn't that been the first thing Saunders said to her, in his very last words on earth?

Suddenly, the front door of the Graf house opened, and a man stepped outside. It was Joe Graf. He was wearing his same quilted vest he'd worn at the Saunders house, on top of a flannel shirt. He paused to light a cigarette, cocking his head and cupping his hand, while the door opened again. A child emerged in white pants and a blue snow jacket.

Nat could tell even at this distance it was a boy. The child's hair blew like a black fan in the wind, and his small legs churned as he ran to keep up with Graf. Graf caught the child's hand and walked him, jumping along, to a black Bronco. He opened the car door and lifted the child inside, then presumably fastened him into a car seat. It wasn't exactly the actions of a cold-blooded killer, and Nat figured this was either the dumbest or the smartest thing she'd ever done. She started the engine, drove out the main exit road, and waited a distance from the Heaven's Gate sign. If Graf were leaving, he'd have to go out this way. In a minute or two, his black Bronco traveled out of the exit and onto the main road. Nat let two cars pass in front of her, then took off after him.