Danny Tahany is Jesse’s best friend. The two of them have done everything together – from trying to build a tree house in a sapling to breaking their arms learning to ride skateboards. If there is a person Jesse would risk Drew’s wrath for, it’s Danny.

I ring the doorbell at the Tahanys’ and Danny’s older brother answers. Ian is fifteen, full of himself, and treats me like. . .well, like the mother of his kid brother’s best friend.

"Hi, Ms. Bayer," he says, kindly not referring to me as Mrs. Gallo, a name I jettisoned along with my ex-husband but which trails after me like toilet paper stuck to the bottom of my shoe.

I ask if Danny is home and learn that he and his mom are out buying him new cleats. "Last year’s are too small," Ian says, politely making small talk. "Guess Jesse’s must be, too."

"If they are, he hasn’t told me," I say, and I’m shocked to hear the words when they come out.

"Oh, yeah," Ian says, nodding his head. "Dan told me that Jesse dropped out of soccer a few weeks ago. He playing some other sport?"

I tried to hide the fact that I had no idea that Jesse’d given up soccer. Twice a week he stays after school for practice. Last weekend he asked me not to come watch and I was only too glad to skip standing in the damp and cold watching him look for four-leaf clovers.

Ian says he’s kind of busy, "homework, you know," and pretty much shuts the door in my face.

I wonder, if Danny has been keeping Jesse’s secret, is Jesse keeping a secret for Danny in return?

I decide not to bring up soccer–certainly not in front of Drew, whose all kids lie is still ringing in my ears, and head for home.

It’s a quiet night. Lys and I walk the dog. Dana hides in her room. Jesse works on setting his own room to rights.

As soon as I have them all off to school the next morning, I call Nancy Tahany and find she isn’t home. Plan B is to head back to the Tahany’s place. Should Nancy be there, I’ll ask her if I can borrow something of Danny’s and get into his room that way. Then, I suppose, I’ll reach into his sock drawer and. . .

Okay, so I don’t have a fully fleshed out plan. Improvisation is a good thing. It shows flexibility. The ability to think on one’s feet.

Okay, I’m just desperate and I’m out trolling. Sue me.

But I’m not expecting Nancy to be there, and finding that no one answers the door, I go around the back, find an open window, and slip silently into the house.

I’ve done this once before, only that time it was into my murdered client’s house. I was looking for some books she used to sort of keep tabs on the women in the neighborhood. And I wound up running into her not-so grieving husband, in bed with his sister-in-law. Which is how I came to be Maggie’s owner, but that’s another story.

This time I’ve planned better. I’ve called first and the phone went unanswered. I’ve rung the doorbell to make sure that no one is home. Nancy’s car is not in the garage, and the kids are in school.

So I tiptoe up the stairs and into Danny’s room. I think I’ve taken a wrong turn and somehow wound up in the sports equipment room at the Y or something. There are cleats ranging in size from infants to the size he must have just outgrown, hanging on the wall. There are three lacrosse sticks, two hockey sticks, a small goalie mask and a larger one, the latter with some sort of growling animal on it, a net bag filled with soccer balls, basketballs, baseballs and footballs. And there are trophies. Shelves of trophies.

But there are no demons, no dragons and no dieties. Amazing that he and Jesse are such good friends, I think. And then I hear a giggle. A girl’s giggle. Which is really odd because Danny has an older brother and a younger brother and no sisters.

"Where are you going?" a boy’s voice calls, and I hold my breath and flatten myself against the wall.

"To pee," the girl says. "I’ll be back in a second. I read that if you don’t pee right after sex you get infections."

"Then pee twice," Ian –I’m supposing it’s Ian– says. "So you won’t have to go after we do it again."

I hear her in the bathroom because she doesn’t bother shutting the door, and while she goes she tells Ian he’s an idiot. Then she asks when his mother is going to be home. He tells her not until after four. "But she might call to see how my–" he fakes a cough "–cold is."

She flushes and she isn’t five feet away from me when she says, "Maybe it was her calling before, when we were. . ."

"No, just a neighbor," he says. "Caller ID, baby. You gotta love it. Now come back already."

I hear the water running. "I’m washing so you can, you know. . . . What should I do with the washcloth?"

She toddles by the doorway without looking in, and I hear Ian’s answer before he even says it.

"Bring it in here. I’ll stick it in the back of my sock drawer."