“Why? Don’t we have to be-?”

“Taste the coffee yet?” He glanced at Gavin, who was dutifully sipping, taking breaks only to let the steam escape from the small hole in the lid.

“Yes. I think so.”

“What do you think?”

“Good.”

“Good? Come on. Use some intelligent words, Jenkins.”

Gavin held the cup to his mouth. He seemed to be thinking hard. “Robust and um… hearty?”

Frank turned into the First Bank parking lot and pulled to the curb. “See? There’s a real difference in quality. Sure, you can get forty-eight ounces of coffee at 7-Eleven, but does it taste like that?”

“I don’t…” Gavin glanced out the window. “What are we doing?”

Frank checked his watch. “Something’s wrong.”

Gavin’s back went erect, and for a moment he seemed unsure what to do with his coffee. His free hand slid over his holster. “Is it the homeless guy?”

“She’s late.”

“Who?”

“Angela.”

“Who’s Angela?”

“Just shut up for a second. You talk too much.” Frank pulled out his cell phone and checked the time against his watch and his dashboard clock. The small parking lot in front of the bank was half-full. He scanned it again, hoping maybe he’d just accidentally missed her PT Cruiser. “Why isn’t she here?”

Gavin bit his lip, then sipped his coffee, looking out each window.

“This isn’t good. Something’s wrong.”

“Sir, what’s going on?”

“Come on. We have to check on her. She’s always on time. Always.”

“Maybe she’s sick.”

“She doesn’t get sick.”

Suddenly the radio crackled to life. “Unit 8. Do you copy?”

“Copy.”

“We’ve got a situation. It’s a signal 7.”

“Whoa!” Gavin shouted. “That’s the code for dead body.”

Frank grabbed the radio. “Repeat. Did you say signal 7?”

“Well,” the dispatcher’s voice said in a softer tone, “we don’t really have a code for a feline death.”

Frank and Gavin exchanged glances. “An animal? A cat?”

“The address is 1559 Greenway. The woman is hysterical.”

“We’re on our way.” Frank pulled out and looked back one more time to see if Angela’s car had arrived.

“What’s going on?” Kay said as Damien came alongside her in the long hallway of the high school. Her heels clicked furiously against the waxed and buffed linoleum, echoing off the long line of metal lockers.

“I don’t know. I got the same call you did.”

“She has never gotten in trouble at school! Not once!”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions. Maybe it’s not as bad as we think. We need to hear what’s going on first.”

Kay felt her face flush. “I hate when you’re calm like this. It drives me insane. Whatever it is, it’s not good. They don’t call both parents to the school to pat us on the back.” She lowered her voice. “It’s probably that stupid outfit she had on this morning. They do have a dress code here, you know.”

Kay swung open the door to the school office. A large desk divided the room. Two secretaries, who didn’t look like they wanted to be bothered, sat behind the desk. Behind them, a long, semidark hallway led to Mr. MaLue’s office. Some potent vanilla candle mixed poorly with the pungent smell of the cafeteria.

Kay straightened her suit and combed her fingers through her hair. Her hand slid over her ear as she said, “Yes, hi, we’re here to see-”

“Yes, I know,” the woman with a bun on top of her head said. “Go on back.”

Kay grabbed Damien’s hand. The vibe in the office wasn’t good.

Damien wrapped both hands over hers and whispered, “Don’t panic. It’ll be fine.”

The door stood open to Vincent MaLue’s office. Kay had never been in it before. It was large, with plenty of bookshelves, a window, and framed prints of the ocean. The sea foam-colored walls made Kay feel sick to her stomach.

Mr. MaLue stood, towering over them in such a way that a long shadow was cast right between them. Kay guessed he was well over six feet. His legs looked like small rods under his black pants. A plain tie hung from his skinny neck, and a suit jacket was thrown over one side of his leather chair. She’d only seen him from a distance at school functions. This was the man Frank wanted to kill for taking his wife, and then the relationship only lasted eleven months. Kay couldn’t imagine what Angela had seen in Vincent MaLue. But she had to push those thoughts out of her mind now.

“Mr. and Mrs. Underwood, please have a seat.” His hand stroked his tie as he sat down behind an overly organized desk. “Thank you for coming.”

“We’re very worried,” Kay said, hating herself for showing her hand, but she couldn’t take it. She pulled out a pad and a pencil.

“Don’t be alarmed,” the principal said with a small smile that did nothing to reassure Kay. “Jenna is not hurt.”

“Hurt?” Kay gasped. “What are you talking about?”

“There was a fight.”

Kay wrote that down only to buy time, holding back the tears.

Damien’s calm demeanor was fading as he leaned forward. “A fight? What happened?”

“Jenna hit another girl in the hallway this morning.”

Jenna? Kay didn’t even know Jenna knew how to hit. She accidentally snapped the eraser off the end of the pencil with her thumb. “Our daughter has never been in trouble before. I’m having a hard time believing-”

“There were several witnesses who all saw the same thing. Jenna hit this girl.”

“Is the girl okay?” Damien asked, and Kay put a hand on his knee. It was a good, appropriate, sensitive question, one that Kay would never think to ask.

“Bloody nose, but that’s about it. Nothing broken. But we did call her parents.”

“Where’s Jenna?” Kay asked.

“She’s in detention hall right now. But she’ll be suspended for the rest of the day.”

Kay began to tremble. “Jenna is a great student. You know that. She has never been in trouble. Honors student. We are very normal people. Abnormally normal. Don’t you think this is out of character for her?”

“Not lately.”

“What does that mean?” Damien asked.

“Jenna isn’t the same person I knew when she came to this school. I realize kids change, but Jenna, especially this year, seems particularly angry. Is everything okay at home?”

Kay leaned back into her chair. “At home?”

“Any problems? Marital, perhaps? Something else?”

Kay and Damien both shook their heads. “Nothing,” Damien said. “We have noticed that she has been out of sorts, but we just assumed it was the teen phase.”

“Maybe it is. It’s hard to tell. You might want to have Jenna see the school counselor when she returns.”

“But we’re normal people,” Kay said, scribbling the word normal on her little pad.

“Mr. MaLue,” Damien implored, “please reconsider suspending her. This is the first time she has ever been in trouble.”

“Which is why she is suspended for the day, not the week. We have a no-tolerance rule for violence. I’m sorry. And you might want to express to Jenna that next time she’ll be suspended for the entire semester.” He stood, causing Kay to shoot out of her seat for no particular reason except perhaps to not look like she was falling behind in etiquette. “Right this way.”

They followed Mr. MaLue down a hallway and then left to another hallway. Kay studied the walls as they passed. Bright, neon posters hung every few feet, announcing bake sales and contests and student leadership conferences. It all seemed so innocent-what school was supposed to be.

“In here.” Mr. MaLue opened the door and gestured for them to enter.

Kay rushed in, nearly knocking Damien over. Jenna sat at a desk in the back of the room, completely alone, staring out a window that faced the back side of another building. At the sound of the door opening, she turned her head. Her expression didn’t change. She picked up her backpack, slung it over her shoulder, and walked toward them.

“Jenna,” Kay said, “first, you owe Mr. MaLue an apology. Then you have some explaining-”