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dog to Animal Control on your way to the office.”
    Jack looked down at the dog, lying next to his feet. He hadn’t misbehaved, not once. He’d stayed right beside him, watching the activity and snapping at an occasional fly. He reminded him of himself—old, but not washed up. Still with something to contribute. “Could I take the dog?” Jack asked the sheriff.
    â€œTo the pound?” Saunooke looked surprised.
    â€œNo. Home, with me.”
    Saunooke turned to Cochran. “That okay, sheriff? He’s just a stray.”
    Cochran shrugged. “Leave your phone number and address with Saunooke, and the dog is yours.”
    â€œThanks,” said Jack, again taking the dog by the collar. “And good luck with your investigation.” You’re going to need it, he thought. You’re going to need a whole lot more than a pair of underpants to put this case to bed.

Four
    â€œWhere have you been, Mama?” Zack Collier paced up and down the living room, shaking his hands as if they were covered in spiderwebs. Grace recognized the nervous, agitated signs of an impending meltdown; she only hoped she’d gotten home in time to stop it.
    â€œI’m sorry, Zack. I had to go to a meeting, then I had to get some gas.” She looked up into her son’s gray eyes. His pupils still looked normal—they hadn’t dilated into the black orbs that usually presaged his fits. “Cars won’t run without gas, you know.”
    â€œBut it’s one thirty. Clara left at one. You’re always back by one fifteen. Now we’ll be late!”
    â€œThe yard sale goes on for three more hours, Zack. We’ll get some tapes today.”
    â€œPromise?” He looked at her, his hands stopping in mid-shake.
    â€œYes. Take a bathroom break and we’ll go.”
    â€œAwwriiight!” Zack lifted a triumphant fist. “New videos today.”
    Grace watched as her two-hundred-pound son ran to the bathroom. She knew he would strip naked before he used the toilet, then wash his hands ten times before he dressed himself again. His ablutions would cost them far more time than her stop at the gas station, but Zack couldn’t see it that way. His clock ran differently than everybody else’s.
    Still, she guessed she should feel lucky. She’d averted a meltdown that could have left a new set of bruises down her arm. Earlier she’d noticed Emily and Ginger looking at her oddly, no doubt wondering why someone would wear a long-sleeved shirt in August. “They probably think my husband beats me,” Grace whispered, holding up her arm to examine the splotchy purple marks. “Wonder what they would have said if I’d told them my son put those there?”
    She pulled her shirtsleeves back down and walked out to the mailbox. People could think whatever they wanted. Like most everything else in her life, it was out of her control. She opened the mailbox, flipped through the mail. Two bills, a flyer from the hardware store, and a political ad from DA George Turpin, grinning smugly as he stirred a vat of his barbeque sauce. Nothing for Zack, nothing from Mike, nothing from Hillview Haven, the communal living home for autistic adults. She’d taken Zack for his entrance interview weeks ago; now she was waiting to hear if he’d made the cut. She closed her eyes, offering a small, guilty prayer that Dr. Keyser and his crew would take him. Zack would need a place to live when she got older and could no longer manage him. Better to get him accustomed to that place now, while she could visit regularly.
    â€œMama!”
    She looked up from the mailbox. Zack stood on the front porch, fully dressed and smiling. He looks so normal, Grace thought. Handsome even, with my dark hair and Mike’s eyes. Until you tried to talk to him, you’d never guess anything was wrong.
    â€œDid I get any tapes?”
    â€œNot today, sweetheart. But we’ll get