able to reach her at her radio show.”

“Just a casual visit to see a friend. He didn’t seem, say, infatuated? Obsessed?”

“Obsessed? I don’t know. Maybe infatuated. She told me he has a crush on her. To me, he mostly seemed distressed that she wasn’t there.”

“Distressed.”

Oh Lord. How long was he going to drag this out? “Look, Nick, it’s almost nine. I’ve got to get to work.”

“Just another minute.” He squinted at his notepad, looking over his scribbles, turning pages. “Gene O’Malley,” he mumbled.

“Gymnastics coach, rejected by at least two of the missing nannies. Joe Molinari, boyfriend with a bad temper. Okay.” He scanned a page. “Tell me about the phobic guy again. Victor. You said he’s a loner, thirty-something. And a musician?”

“He plays cello. In the summer, when the windows are open, you can hear him playing it.”

“Anything else? Do you see anyone in particular visiting him? Any women?”

“All I’ve seen are deliverymen.”

“And he never goes outside. Are you sure?”

Why was he repeating his questions again and again? I didn’t appreciate being interrogated, as if I were withholding some significant information. “Look, I’ve told you everything. As far as I know, Victor’s been in there for years. I see his silhouette behind the shades at night. sometimes he peeks through the blinds during the day. But the man doesn’t go out. He doesn’t even step onto the porch. We had to leave his Christmas cookies inside the storm door.” I stood, indicating that the discussion was over. “If you want, I can give you a written report tomorrow, but I’ve got to get to work.”

He opened his mouth as if to say something, closed it again, and stood. say it, I thought. Go on. Tell me there’s something else you want to talk about. Tell me you want to see me again. To start over.

He opened his mouth again, then hesitated. “Okay,” he said. “Then I guess we’re done.”

“I guess.” I didn’t flounder, didn’t give a hint that my body ached to tackle him right there. If he felt nothing, then I would feel nothing, too. Except that I didn’t feel nothing. I felt like screaming. Like balling up my fists and throttling him, or knocking him down, pouncing on him, and mashing my lips against his mouth. Instead, when he thanked me for my help, I walked him demurely to the door.

He called Molly to say good-bye. she hugged him again and asked when he’d be back. Soon, he said, and, nodding briefly in my direction, he went out the door into the freezing rain.

Don’t go, I thought. Please. stop. Turn around.

He stopped. And turned around. “Zoe?”

Oh my God. It was happening. Now he’d say he was sorry. He’d ask if we could talk things out. I’d pretend to be reluctant, but then I’d rush outside and fall into his arms. I opened the door, ready to sprint. “Yes?” I breathed, a little too eagerly.

“If you think of anything else, give a call, okay?”

The sleet stung my face. “Of course,” I said, closing the door.

Nick hurried to his car. Molly waved good-bye from the kitchen window. I stood against the wall, kicking myself for wanting what was not to be.

THIRTY-TWO

ANGELA ARRIVED AT NINE O’CLOCK. JOE DROPPED HER OFF IN the tow truck from his job at Torelli’s Auto Repair, yelling that she should quit her goddam babysitting job until the fucking murderer was caught—she could work at his aunt’s bakery or get a job doing manicures. Angela made a nasty gesture and shouted that he was not in charge of her and should shut his ugly face. He got out of the truck and met her, nose to nose. Gesticulating, shouting simultaneously, neither was listening to the other. I watched from the kitchen window, more aware than ever that I was putting Angela at risk by employing her. Even though he was a flaming hothead, for once I agreed with Joe. I’d ask Angela to take time off until the crimes were solved. I’d take Molly to work with me after school, or shorten my hours.

Outside, Angela ended the argument by turning her back to Joe and stomping up the front steps. I opened the door for her.

“Go,” she huffed. “You’re late.”

“Joe has a point.”

“Don’t you start. Nobody’s gonna mess with me. Not some psycho. Not Joe. And not you.”

“Maybe just take off a week or two.”

“And you’ll do what? Who’s gonna watch Molly?”

“I can manage for a few weeks.”

“Zoe. Tell me. Would you leave your job if some