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sandwich.”
    He backed into the far corner of the passenger seat. “What?”
    â€œDo you have any idea what your girlfriend is going through?” I heard my tone go harsh at “your girlfriend.”
    He leaned forward and looked at me until I gave him eye contact. When I did, he lowered his eyebrows and raised his cheekbones in an unhappy smile. “Am I crazy? What girlfriend?”
    The next words nearly stopped in my throat, but I pressed on. “My sister. Iris Song. Your girlfriend.”
    He sighed, slow and quiet. We sat without talking while my mind raced. I had come to yell at Paul, to blame him for taking advantage of my sister, for being cruel and insensitive and unforgivably dumb. It was an impulse visit born of my own sense of failure, the anger and disappointment I could turn nowhere else.
    â€œI think you have something wrong here. Iris broke up with me in October.” He managed a smile when I didn’t respond. “Is she okay? I haven’t seen her around school.”
    I could picture my stunned expression. I pinched my sinuses and closed my eyes. I didn’t know what to say, so I repeated what he had told me. “You broke up more than six months ago?”
    He nodded.
    â€œI don’t know if I believe you.”
    â€œBelieve me. It was tough.”
    â€œHow did it happen?”
    I hadn’t decided whether I was embarrassed or convinced he was lying to my face. Either way, Paul must have felt it best to say what he knew.
    â€œShe was kind of depressed when you left, but I thought things were fine between us. We were talking about where I might apply to school, and what we would do if I left the state. She broke up with me a week after my birthday. She made sure I got my present first.”
    â€œDid she say why?”
    â€œShe was vague about it. She said I was a great guy, and she actually thanked me for treating her well. And of course, she asked if we could still be friends.” He paused, shaking his head, savoring the sour taste of the words. “I think when it comes down to it, she never liked me the same way I liked her. There’s no good way to tell someone that.”
    I was finding it hard to suspect him of lying. The Paul Iris painted was guileless and gentle, and while I had to admit my sister was capable of deception, I could not accept that she had masterminded his entire portrait.
    I had come to chastise the source of Iris’s misery, but now I had a new set of questions. Of course, “What happened to my sister?” was qualitatively different from the mysteries of a Chandler yarn. I had no client but my own thirst for knowledge and a contrite explanation. But there was the whodunit aspect—my sister was pregnant and I needed a name. The culprit had no identifiable marks, but I found myself in closed quarters with a potential lead.
    I chose my words with care. “Do you think Iris might have been interested in someone else?”
    He winced and gave me a sad smile. He was full of them, and they made me sorry. “I thought about it. It was so sudden it seemed kind of passionate. I thought there must be someone else. But I think I was just being jealous. I never found anyone likely.”
    I wanted to pat Paul on the head, and I realized I had lost all doubt that he was telling the truth. He didn’t seem to know anything, and I was thankful I hadn’t mentioned Iris’s pregnancy in my accusations.
    â€œSo are you guys still friends?”
    â€œI think so, but I don’t know. She seems to have disappeared lately. I was happy to see you, to be honest. Is she doing okay?”
    I shook my head. There was no use saying there was nothing wrong. “She’s been really depressed these last few months. I guess she hasn’t been going to school. She missed prom, didn’t she?” I caught myself. “Though I guess you weren’t her date.”
    â€œNo, I did ask her to prom. She let