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clutch pedals, or anything on the dashboard, without leaning far forward, which of course he tried to do until my loud “Ahem!” stopped him in mid-motion. He returned to moving the steering wheel rapidly back and forth and making “brrrmmmmmmm” sounds.
    Returning my attention to the issue at hand, I saw a dent in the back wall of the cab and, searching the floor, spotted a flattened blob of metal—obviously, a bullet. 
    Leaving it where it was, I put the seat back, got out of the truck, closed the door and went back to the driver’s door. 
    “Okay,” I said. “Let’s go.”
    “But we just got here!” Joshua observed plaintively. Reluctantly, he turned to get out of the truck, and I lifted him down to the floor. 
    “You’re a good driver,” I said, tousling his head, and he beamed.
    We then left the garage, closing and locking the door behind us.
    When we returned to the apartment, Joshua ran off to his room, and I went right to the phone to call Marty Gresham’s number at police headquarters. I knew he wouldn’t be in, but left a message for him to call me the minute he arrived in the morning.
    *
    I had just come out of Joshua’s room after Story Time when Jonathan came home.
    “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Practice ran a little longer than normal. And we ran through my solo tonight!”
    “Great,” I said. “How did it go?”
    The forthcoming concert was to feature a selection of songs from Disney movies, and Jonathan had been given a solo on “A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes,” from Cinderella . I’d found it odd that, excited as he was, he didn’t practice it at home. In fact, he almost never sang at home. I’d asked him why, and he said, “I know it sounds funny, but, well, I don’t have any trouble singing around other people, but I’d get embarrassed singing around you.”
    “Embarrassed? Why in the world would you be embarrassed?”
    He’d shaken his head. “I don’t know. I just would be. And besides, I don’t want you to get tired of hearing the song. I want it to be special when you hear it at the concert.”
    I’d learned Jonathan had his own rules of logic, and not to question them. So I hadn’t.
    “Whatever you say, Babe,” I’d said, laying my hand on his leg.  
    We sat on the couch and switched on the TV to catch one of Jonathan’s favorite P.I. shows, Riptide , which I always viewed with a certain bemusement for the ease with which the cases were solved. Jonathan was convinced the characters played by Perry King and Joe Penny were romantically involved. I didn’t quite understand how he reached that conclusion, but it was an interesting thought and probably another example of Jonathan-logic, so I didn’t argue with him.
    During a commercial break, I broached the subject I’d been thinking about since Joshua and I left the garage.
    “You know, I’ve been thinking. Maybe now’s a good time to make a trip back to Wisconsin to see your dad and your sisters.”
    We’d talked several times about his desire to take Joshua back to visit family. He hadn’t been back since he came to us, and while he spoke to his grandfather and/or aunts every month or so, Jonathan didn’t want them to become just voices on the phone.
    “You deserve a little time off,” I said. “You said the other day that work was a little slow at Evergreen. Your boss would probably be willing to have you take some time off. You’ve got some vacation time coming, and now would be a perfect time to go, while you don’t have any freelance jobs.”
    He was quiet for a few moments, thinking. “It would be nice to go back home for a while,” he said at last. “I’d like you to meet my family.”
    I smiled. “I’d like that, but I think I’d better stay around and hold down the fort. Besides, this is a family thing.”
    “You’re family,” he said.
    “I appreciate that,” I said, “but this will be your first trip home with Joshua, and I’d just be a distraction. I’ll go with