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books, or graphic novels they call them. She’s always escaping into her imagination.’
    ‘She sounds interesting,’ I said.
    ‘Yeah, well, she is that,’ Lucy said, and tried to laugh. She pointed. ‘I think the Blakelocks live just up here.’
    ‘Okay.’
    ‘You’re not talking to Joel without one or both of his parents there.’
    ‘Okay.’
    ‘I won’t let you badger him.’
    ‘Okay.’
    ‘I just wanted to make that clear,’ Lucy said.
    ‘Message received.’

Eight
    I stopped out front of the Blakelock house just as two people were heading up the driveway. A boy and a girl. The boy was about five foot six and maybe, soaking wet, a hundred pounds. He had black hair swept across his head that obscured his forehead and most of one eye, and wore a simple white T and a pair of black pants with sneakers.
    The girl looked big next to him, although she was probably no more than five-nine, maybe a hundred and fifty pounds. Her blonde hair was streaked pink and fell to below her shoulders.
    ‘That’s Joel and his older sister,’ Lucy said. ‘I can’t remember her name.’
    The pair stopped and turned when they heard the car stop, and the passenger door open.
    ‘Joel,’ said Lucy.
    The boy’s expression was blank, as though he didn’t even see her. The girl edged in front of him, as though running interference.
    ‘It’s me,’ she said. ‘Ms Brighton, from school.’
    ‘I know who you are,’ he said.
    ‘And you’re Joel’s sister, right? What’s your name?’
    ‘Franny,’ she said. ‘What do you want?’
    I was slowly getting out the driver’s side. Franny fixed her eyes on me and said, ‘Who’s that guy?’
    ‘That’s Mr Weaver,’ Lucy said. ‘Joel, we need to speak to you for a minute. Are your parents home? Or at least one of them?’
    ‘What’s this about?’ Joel said, half behind his sister.
    ‘We’ve got a couple of questions.’
    ‘Is it about Michael Vaughn?’
    ‘Yes,’ she said.
    ‘Did you want to know if I was happy about him being dead?’
    ‘So you know.’
    He held up his phone, which up to now I had not realized was in his hand. ‘Everybody’s talking about it. Someone even asked if I did it.’
    ‘God,’ Franny said. ‘People are just sick.’
    ‘Is that what you wanted to know? If I did it?’
    ‘No, Joel,’ Lucy said. ‘But there is something we need to talk about.’
    ‘Who’s that guy?’
    ‘Mr Weaver.’
    ‘Yeah, you said that, but who is he?’
    Coming around the front of the car, I said, ‘I’m a private investigator.’
    ‘No shit?’ said Franny.
    ‘No shit,’ I said.
    Lucy briefly shot me a look. ‘Is your mother home, Joel?’
    ‘Probably,’ he said. He nodded toward the blue minivan next to him in the driveway. ‘Her car’s here.’
    Franny and Joel continued on to the front door and we followed. Joel didn’t get out a key, went straight in, followed by his sister.
    Lucy put out her arm to stop me. ‘We’ll wait here.’
    Like I was going to go barge in like I was part of a SWAT team. ‘Sure.’
    About twenty seconds later, a woman came to the door. Late forties, round, hair so short it could have been a man’s military cut.
    ‘Yes?’ she said, and then, when she focused on Lucy, ‘Oh, hi.’
    ‘Hello, Ms Blakelock. This is Cal Weaver, who’s assisting me this afternoon. I need to ask Joel some questions, and I’d prefer it if you were able to be there.’
    ‘What’s this about? Is he in some kind of trouble?’
    ‘May we?’ she said, asking to be invited inside.
    We were led into the kitchen, where Joel was already seated and waiting, a can of Coke in front of him.
    ‘What’s this about?’ his mother asked.
    Joel shrugged. ‘I dunno. But I bet somehow it’s about Mike Vaughn.’
    ‘What’s that horrible boy done now?’ Ms Blakelock asked, her voice turning venomous.
    Lucy said, ‘He’s dead.’
    She whirled around. ‘What?’
    Joel waved his phone. ‘It’s all over the place.’
    ‘Oh my God,’