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the neighborhoods resembled the one they now drove through.
    Each house had stepped off the set of Desperate Housewives —elegant Colonials, freshly painted, shutters on the windows. The picture of suburban perfection. Many had elaborate play sets, swimming pools, custom-built tree houses. All had acres-wide lawns. A park for every child, his own swimming pool, his own fortress, his own country club. So different from her world.
    Ethan’s house was a biggish Colonial with a sprawling front yard, a two-car garage, and a long flat driveway. Ana had worked in houses in Beacon that were bona fide mansions, so she knew Ethan’s house wasn’t one, but compared with her teeny-tiny apartment, it sure seemed like it. She rang the doorbell. The button was cracked, but the bell still tolled charmingly, a four-note refrain.
    The house was gray-blue and could have used a coat of paint. The grass was long, but it was lush and healthy. Some leaves had fallen already, but most of the big, mature trees were still green, a generous canopy. In her neighborhood, aside from a few scraggly trees, very little grew.
    She could hear the sounds of children playing in a backyard somewhere nearby. Another client, Leah Abrams, lived in this neighborhood, too. Maybe she and Ethan’s son rode the same bus.
    Nothing had moved inside the house. Where was the mysterious Theo Hansen? Ethan hadn’t said much about him, but the fact that he’d forged his father’s signature on a school form made Ana think he was a troublemaker. Could he be hiding inside the house, pretending he wasn’t home? She tried the front door, which had a fancy curved handle you depressedwith your thumb. It was locked. She peered in the long narrow window to the side of the door but could only make out a narrow strip of what looked like a carpeted staircase. Well, she thought, there wasn’t very much she could do, other than wait. Ethan had said he’d be home by six, so, worst-case scenario, he’d probably pay her for her time. He seemed like the type.
    She rang the doorbell again for good measure then sat on the front step and took out the paperback she was reading, Emma Donoghue’s Room. She felt self-conscious. This was the kind of neighborhood where everyone knew everyone else’s business. If someone walked by, or drove by, they’d be curious. They might stop to ask her if they could help. That’s how they’d put it— Can I help you with anything?
    Out of the corner of her eye she spotted something that shoved her pulse into high gear, the shiny black and white of a police cruiser, an SUV, gliding steadily up the street. She made herself sit still, take deep breaths. That police car had absolutely nothing to do with her. Still, she wished she were inside, or behind the house, or anywhere else, really.
    Oh, God. It was coming to a stop directly in front of Ethan’s house. It wasn’t a crime, was it? For her to be sitting here on the steps, waiting? Was he going to ask her who she was and why she was here? Was he going to want to see ID? She felt as if she was going to throw up. She had to reach for breaths, one after another, fast and short.
    The officer got out of the car and opened the door to the backseat. He was talking to someone inside, and in a moment a teenage boy emerged, clutching a skateboard.
    The two of them came up the front walk, a towering dark-haired cop with a big gut beside a scrawny but adorable boy whose green eyes made it clear that he was Ethan’s son.
    This was so not how she was supposed to be spending this hour. But she had no choice other than to hold her ground and hope for the best. She stood up, stepped down onto the walk. Her heart was kicking in her chest, her breath still a crazy rasping thing, and now her hands and feet were numb from hyperventilating. Would it be obvious to the cop that she was completely freaked out?
    “I found your stepson riding his skateboard along a concrete wall next to Route 50.”
    “He’s