It no longer bothers me that Ronald knows that, that he probably knows everyone I’ve spoken with since I moved to Lilydale. I separate myself from the pack of women I’ve been chatting with. Mousy Mildred, stern-faced Catherine, beneficent Barbara, Birdie Rue, Saint Dorothy.

“I’m so glad Ronald told me it was you,” Amory says, his eyes glittering dangerously as I approach. “With that hair, I’d have taken you for a new boy in town. What is it you want to know about the Paulie Aandeg case?”

I try to force the smile to reach my eyes, but it gets hung up at my mouth. Whether your son had anything to do with his disappearance, I want to say. “Thank you for coming. I guess I want to know if there is anything that didn’t make it into the newspapers.”

“You know newspapers,” he says. “They get half the story and make up the rest.” Though he’s grinning, it’s not kind. He wants me to feel bad.

I mirror his smile. “If you give me the whole story, I won’t have to make up a thing.”

His eyes narrow. “Not much to tell. The boy disappeared, and then his mother went missing the same night her house burned down. What do you make of that?”

He wants me to say that it sounds like Mrs. Aandeg had something to hide. “Your son, Aramis, was in Paulie’s class.”

Amory’s smile slides toward ugly. “Who told you that?”

Ronald puts his hand on Amory’s shoulder. “I told you she spoke to Becky Swanson. The boys’ teacher the day Paulie disappeared.”

It’s interesting to see the effect Ronald’s touch has on Amory. It deflates him. I had assumed the police chief rather than the mayor had the power in the relationship, but that’s clearly not the case.

“Aramis is overseas,” Amory tells me, his eyes burning into me. “We’re lucky to get a phone call every few months. You won’t be able to get ahold of him, but if you did, he wouldn’t have anything to tell you. He was a child.”

“Same with Quill Brody?” I ask.

“Same with Quill Brody,” Amory says, copying my words exactly.

I don’t want to give up, not without at least a single piece of new information. “You met Kris Jefferson, the man who claims to be Paulie Aandeg?”

“Interviewed him when he first came to town. Not much to learn there.”

I won’t let this go. “Do you think he’s Paulie?”

Amory claps me on the back. “We’ll find out tonight!”

He pushes past me. For a moment I wonder if he’s too big for my house, like a giant who’s wandered into the land of humans. But that’s silly. He fits in just fine. These are his people, and he’s only a man, not even as large as Clan.

I’m about to close the screen door when I spot the couple strolling up my walk. Everyone who Deck invited is here except Dennis from the newspaper, who couldn’t make it because he had to cover the baseball game.

That leaves the two people I invited: Regina and Kris.

Kris is empty-handed. Regina is carrying a jug of Mountain Red.

She hands it to me. “Hope your group will like it!”

She’s going for funny, but she’s clearly nervous. She’s wearing a miniskirt that this crowd will think is too short and a blouse that is scandalously low cut. Kris, earthy and gorgeous as ever, is wearing patched jeans and an India print shirt. He’ll also stand out like a sore thumb, but his languid body posture informs the world that he couldn’t care less if he tried.

I kiss Regina on the cheek. “If they don’t like Mountain Red, they’re assholes,” I whisper.

“I dig your hair, and something smells delicious,” Kris says perfunctorily, stepping past me to strut into the house. “Let’s get this done and over with.”

I wonder what he knows that I don’t. There isn’t much time for speculation, though. The food is growing cold. Deck and Ronald set up three card tables next to the dining room table so we can all eat in the same room. It makes four separate conversations, but I catch bits. Amory joking that the whole city council is in my dining room, plus the draft board. The Jacksons, who own Little John’s, speaking to Regina about a belligerent customer they had to kick out the night before. Clan, Deck, and Ronald talking insurance and, when Clan mentions how it’s time for a crow hunt to let off some steam, the men laughing. Mildred Schramel is trying to keep my attention, telling me she is sure she’ll get used to my hair and that she hopes I have a boy, because it’s so much work having girls.

It’s surprisingly all right. I begin to relax.

There is a lull in Mildred’s questioning. That’s when, without forethought, I let the words tumble out of my mouth. “I thought I saw someone in the alley last night,” I say to her, “between our house and the Lilys’.”

The head table, where I’m seated, goes church quiet. It takes the smaller tables a few seconds to catch up, but soon the entire room sits in the spotlight of silence.

“Impossible,” Amory says. “There’s no safer town.”

“It must have been a trick of the light, then,” I say, wishing I could swallow my words. I know better than to speak out in this crowd.

“When was this?” Deck asks.

I knead the napkin in my lap. “I couldn’t sleep last night. I went out for fresh air.”

“You said you saw somebody in the alley?” Regina asks from across the room.

“Like I said, impossible,” Amory barks.

“It isn’t impossible for someone to walk in an alley at night,” Regina argues.

“Really?” Amory asks. “Would you like to tell me more?”

The ugly in his voice is unmistakable.

“I don’t know about Lilydale,” Kris says from the other end of the main table. “But where I come from, people walk by houses that aren’t theirs all the time.”

“Tell us where you hail from,” Ronald says.

“Besides Lilydale,” Mildred says, tittering nervously.

“The last place I called home was Siesta Key, Florida,” he says, staring at me.

I look away. He shouldn’t flirt in front of these people. Not with me.

“That’s where I discovered that I was Paulie.”

“How did you find out?” Ronald asks. “I think we’re all curious about that.”

I understand this is why we’re all here, in my house. It’s not for my article. It’s so the Fathers and Mothers can put on a show of force, get their questions answered, find out exactly what Kris has revealed to me so far.

Kris seems fine with it. He repeats the story he told me in the café, about the hypnotherapist stirring up old memories of the town, and his mom, the sailor suit.

“You say the man who raised you was military?”

Kris nods. “He probably took the train through Lilydale on his way back from the war. Saw a kid, knew he could get a bigger pension with a tyke, and brought me back with him to San Diego. It’s the only explanation that lines up.”

“That’s horrible,” Regina says.

“People do terrible things,” Ronald says. He’s looking at me.

Deck covers my hand with his. “Dessert time!” he says. “We’ll get out of the way so the ladies can clean up. Gentlemen, who wants to enjoy cigars in the backyard?”