When the three of them were busted, witnesses and former clients testified to the damning truth, that Caroline had been present at virtually every drug sale or buy; if she hadn’t actually taken the cash and handed over the drugs, she had, in fact, introduced Eddie and Kate to most of the buyers, thereby helping them make the transaction. On paper it was hard to dispute.

Caroline’s court-appointed attorney was a recent grad, two years out of law school and clearly out of his league. With all the evidence stacked against her, and Eddie and Kate pleading guilty, the lawyer convinced Caroline’s dad that she should plead guilty, too. At her age and with no previous convictions, he was sure she’d be put on probation or sentenced to community service; she should throw herself on the mercy of the court.

But there was no mercy. With the help of Eddie’s and Kate’s well-paid attorneys, the prosecutors successfully argued that Caroline had masterminded the entire business. After all, she was the charismatic one with all the connections. And who were the others? Eddie was a troubled underachiever in his fourth year at a two-year college, and Kate, five years older than she’d originally claimed, identified herself as an actress and model, which in those days was code for prostitute. Caroline was the only one smart enough to have planned it all. Caroline, Eddie, and Kate were each sentenced to ten to twenty years at the Henderson Dade Correctional Facility. At the sentencing Caroline passed out.

Grant was still processing all this new information about his wife of twenty years. It was hard enough for me to believe. I couldn’t imagine what he was going through.

If Caroline really was innocent, Grant needed a good attorney to reopen the case, otherwise it could be a very long time before any of us ever saw her again. At least this time she could afford the best. And an attorney could hire a professional to look for Donnelley, not a gifted amateur like me.

Grant thanked me for sticking with the job even after he’d treated me so shabbily. He insisted on paying me for my time and the yearbooks, and I made a show of protesting but not too hard. The offer was more than enough to cover my expenses and keep me in soup and big breakfasts until gardening season rolled around again in March, and I was grateful for it. Before he hung up, we talked about meeting at Babe’s when he returned to show the folks in town that I was once again one of the good guys.

I decided to call Lucy or Babe to share my news, even though it wasn’t really good news, simply one piece of the puzzle leading to a different, bigger puzzle. Just as I was about to dial, the phone rang. I assumed it was Grant, who’d forgotten to tell me something.

“Grant?” I said.

There was silence, but not a robodialer’s silence: someone was there. I could hear breathing.

“No.”

I looked at the phone to see if I recognized the caller’s number. I didn’t, but it was a familiar area code. One I’d recently dialed. Michigan.

“I hear you’ve been looking for me. My name’s Jeff Warren.”

Twenty-four

I froze. Of course. How long would it have taken Mama Warren to call her boy and congratulate him on his new girlfriend and imminent nuptials? She probably called the minute we hung up to ask him where we were registered and what colors we were featuring.

“I think we should talk, don’t you?” he said.

I wasn’t so sure.

Warren said he was calling from Massachusetts. He was headed south with another driver and they’d just made a pit stop at a service station about three and a half hours away from Springfield.

“I want to explain,” he said, “about Monica.”

“Go ahead, explain.”

“I can’t talk now. I’m still on probation with the trucking company and the fella I’m with today is being a real hard case. He’s been busting my chops about being on the phone so much.”

Right. I bet he’d spent a lot of time on the phone with Mom. “What about tomorrow morning?” I said.

“We have to be in Virginia by then.”

They had an official two-hour rest stop planned not far from Springfield. The other driver had a girlfriend nearby. The plan was for Warren to catch some z’s in the truck while his colleague had a conjugal visit. Instead, he offered to come to my place, but there was no way I was giving him my address. I suggested a more public venue, the diner. I’d feel safe there and he knew where it was.

With any luck someone would also be at the police substation across the road, and the Dunkin’ Donuts in that same strip of stores was open late. And even if they were both closed, the Springfield police department sign might be enough of a deterrent if Warren had anything on his mind besides talking.

“The owner of the diner has an office at the back,” I said. “We can meet there if the place is closed.” We agreed to meet in three and a half hours.

If I hadn’t lost track of the time when I was online and then on the phone with Grant I’d have realized that three and a half hours from then was 1 A.M. I wasn’t stupid enough to meet a total stranger in a parking lot at that hour. I hit star sixty-nine on my phone but was unable to connect. Either Warren was in a dead zone or the other driver was still hassling him about the calls and had made him turn off his cell. I drove to Babe’s.

Three or four small parties were crammed into booths, laughing and finishing up with dinner. One guy sat at the counter nursing a soft drink and staring into space.

“Look what the cat drug in,” Babe said. I knew she’d said drug to be funny, but drug had assumed a whole new meaning in the last two weeks, and I didn’t laugh. She pursed her lips. “One of those days?”

“Guess who I just got a call from,” I said, climbing on a stool a safe distance from the others. Babe brought over two coffees, one for me and one for her.

“Let’s see, Sir Paul McCartney-he wants you to redesign the gardens for his new castle?”

“Funny. No, Jeff Warren.”

“I give up. Who’s Jeff Warren?” she asked.

One bleary-eyed day and I had lost touch with all the humans I knew. I brought Babe up to speed on my online research and marathon phone call with Mama Warren.

“Dang it, girl, you do have a knack for this stuff,” she said. We clinked mugs. “So some guy gets a new job driving a truck and everything changes for two towns and one family. This is like that butterfly-wings-on-the-other-side-of-the-planet thing, isn’t it? You’re not seriously going to meet him, are you?”

I shook my head and handed her a note I’d written for Warren. If he had time to meet me tonight, he’d have time to answer some questions, and I didn’t want to forget anything. I asked Babe to tack it to her back door when she closed up.

“Can I read it?”

“Sure.”

Surprise, bewilderment, and finally concern registered on Babe’s face as she read the note with my questions. “Caroline Sturgis knows these people? Whodathunkit? Two weeks ago I would have bet the most dangerous thing she’d ever done was try the new aesthetician at the day spa.” She let out a long low whistle.

“These sound like some nasty characters,” she said, refolding the note and slipping it into her back pocket. “How do we know our truck driver friend isn’t one of them? Or that he isn’t working for this man Donnelley?”

I didn’t know. That’s why my plan was to leave the note on her back door. I’d return at around 12:30 and hide in the shopping strip across the street to see what happened when Jeff Warren arrived and realized I wasn’t coming. My note said something had come up, but wouldn’t he please help us out by answering some questions. Babe didn’t like the plan.

“Why do you have to come at all? Why not just leave the note and see what happens?”

I’d thought of that. But if Jeff really sat down to write the answers like the good boy his mother thought he was, I’d run across the street and tell him I’d just been detained. If he got pissed off and left, then he knew more than he’d suggested and had another reason to want to meet me.