"Good. I'll wait with you. The two of us can visit here in the car until he gets home."

The suggestion didn't seem to fill the child with joy. She kicked at the backpack with her muddy hiking boots. "I want to go in. I have to pee."

"Good suggestion. Me, too."

We got out of the car. I locked the car doors and followed her along the path. Once we reached the house, Leila shifted a pot of dead geraniums and removed the house key from its terribly original hiding place. I waited while she unlocked the door and let us in.

"Does he rent this?"

"Nuhn-uhn. He's house-sitting for a friend. Some guy went off to Florida, but he's coming back next week."

The interior was basically one big room. The ceiling soared to a peak. To the right, a narrow staircase led to a sleeping loft. In the living area below, the wood furniture was clumsily constructed, covered with imitation Indian rugs. The wood floors were bare. I could hear grit popping under the soles of my shoes. There was an old black pot-bellied stove exuding the scent of cold ash. At the rear, a counter separated the kitchen, which looked dirty even at this distance.

I spotted the phone sitting on a small side table. "You want to call your mom or should I?"

"You do it. I'm going to the bathroom and don't worry-I'm not going to run away."

While she availed herself of the facilities, I put in the requisite call to Crystal. Temporarily honor-bound, I omitted any mention of Paulie. "I'm going to stay here until Lloyd gets home. If it gets too late, I'll try to talk Leila into coming back to your place."

"Honestly, I'm so mad at her I really don't want to see her. I'll be better in a bit, as soon as I have a drink. Anica's calling the school. I have no idea what she'll tell them. It would serve Leila right if she were suspended or expelled."

"I hear you," I said. "I'll keep you posted on our progress. Wish me luck."

I heard the toilet flush and Leila emerged from the tiny bathroom located under the stairs.

"What'd she say?"

"Nothing much. She's not real happy with you."

Leila moved over to the lumpy sofa. Ignoring me, she opened her backpack and removed a zippered pouch filled with her makeup. She took out a compact and opened it so she could study her face. She cleaned up the smeared mascara and then peered closer at herself. "Crap. A fuckin' zit," she said. She put the compact away. She picked up the remote control and turned on the television set, muting the sound with a glance at me.

I said, "I used to be just like you when I was your age."

"Great. Can I smoke?"

"No."

"Why? They're only clove cigarettes."

"Don't push me, Leila. The place smells bad enough without throwing in clove smoke. Tell me about Dow. And don't get all huffy. I'm bored with that shit."

"Like what do you want to know?"

"When did you see him last?"

"I don't remember stuff like that."

"Here, I'll help. September 12 was a Friday. Emily was sick and she canceled so you must have been home. Were you at the beach house?"

"Nuhn-uhn. I was here."

"Do you remember what you did that night?"

"Probably watched a video. That's what I usually do. Why?"

"I'm wondering when you last talked to Dow."

"How should I know? I try not to talk to him at all if I can help it."

"You must talk occasionally. After all, he's your stepdad."

"I know who he is," she said. "I thought you weren't allowed to question a kid without a parent present."

"That's only true if you're detained by the police."

"What are you?"

"A private eye. Phillip Marlowe in drag." From her expression, I could tell she thought Phillip Marlowe was a rock band, but she was smart enough not to commit herself on that score. I said, "How old were you when Dow and your mom got married?"

"Eleven."

"You like him?"

"He's all right."

"You two get along?"

"About as well as you'd expect. He's old. He wears dentures. His breath smells all moldy and he has a bunch of really stupid rules: 'I want you home and in bed by ten. I don't want you sleeping late. Help your mother with your brother,'" she said, mimicking him. "I told him, 'Hey, that's what Rand's for. I'm not her fucking maid.' My grades have to be perfect or I'm grounded for weeks. He won't even let me have my own phone."