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and a Screech of Brakes
    â€œTalbot?!” Mother said disbelievingly. She gaped at the broken windowpane. “ Talbot did this? Talbot the good?”
    â€œTalbot the good?” I repeated. Mother was making my dark-eyed, and at this moment very apologetic, buddy sound like some ancient Saxon king.
    â€œYeah,” Pantelli said gleefully. “A first! Who woulda thought? And, man, that is some pane crack.” He leaned over to examine it with his magnifying glass. “Not unlike the shape of the St. Lawrence River. Hey!” He pointed to an oblong space where a chunk of glass had fallen out. “That could be Lake Ontario.”
    â€œI’m really sorry, Mrs. Galloway,” Talbot said, unhappy under his dark forelock, which, in the circumstances, appeared even more soulful than usual. “I’ll pay for it myself. I’ll go home right now, get my bank card and bike to the bank.”
    â€œThere was an intruder ,” I interrupted. “It’s not your fault, Talbot. If it’s anyone’s, it’s mine.”
    Mother let out a huge sigh that ruffled the beet leaves sticking out of the grocery bag she’d just brought home. “ Your fault, Dinah? Now that’s territory I’m more familiar with.”
    â€œThere was an intruder,” Mrs. Chewbley chimed in through a mouthful of cheese. Espying a package of old cheddar in the grocery bag, she’d removed it and sliced herself a large piece. And without asking! Mrs. Chewbley was definitely a woman after my own heart. Or stomach, anyhow.
    â€œMost likely this man is casing houses for break-ins,” the piano teacher continued. She wagged a fairly substantial cheese slice at us. “Best always to double-check that you’ve locked doors and windows.” She polished off the cheese.
    â€œ I think,” I began—and then I stopped. It might be better if Mother and Madge didn’t know I’d rifled through Dad’s effects.
    I’d bundled Dad’s clothes back to the attic before Mother and Madge returned. The envelope I’d stuffed in my duffel bag. I saw no alternative but to take it with me on the train and pore over it some more. Who knew, maybe Dad had written a message on it in invisible ink.
    Madge, always more suspicious than Mother, regarded me through narrowed lupine-blue eyes. “You think what, Dinah?”
    I flashed my best phony bared-teeth smile (patent pending) at her in return. “Probably we should call the police and give them a full description of this mysterious bowl-cut intruder.”
    â€œGood idea,” Mother said, smiling at me. “I’m glad that for once you haven’t decided to pursue this mystery yourself.”
    I stretched my insincere smile wider. As long as Mrs. Chewbley didn’t mention that we’d been discussing elk stamps and philatelists…
    But the piano teacher gave no sign of doing that. She plugged in the kettle for fresh tea and reached into the grocery bag for a packet of fudge Oreos. Her mind was on food. The best people’s were, I decided and felt very fond of Mrs. Chewbley, even if she didn’t appreciate my loud piano-playing.
    Softball in the park again, the last practice before we boarded the train for Toronto. The other girls on the bench were all cooing about how exciting it was.
    Except for Liesl. Though it was her turn to bat, she was slathering on bright red lip-gloss. “Just one more layer,” she called to Talbot, who was shaking his head at her.
    The funny thing was, much as I’d longed to appear on Tomorrow’s Cool Talent , I didn’t want to go. Not till I’d found the eighty grand Ardle claimed we had. Not till Bowl Cut was caught.
    The police had promised to look out for him. “Unless he visits the hairdresser any time soon, he should stand out like the sore thumb you gave him,” Mother had assured me.
    I twirled my cap on my forefinger. (Laundered, it was