“Great,” I said with a heartiness I was far from feeling. Even though I’m often up early, I’ve never been as big a cheerleader for mornings as Benjamin Franklin was. I asked young Billy for directions to the Rolling Meadows office.

He spelled these out for me. “I’m actually going to be there myself, Ms. War-sha-sky, because I’m helping a little with the service. The pastor is coming up from Mount Ararat Church of Holiness, you know, the one where my home church is doing the exchange, to preach the morning service. Aunt Jacqui will probably be there, too, so it’s not like everyone will be a stranger. Anyway, I’ll call Herman, he’s the guard on the morning shift, he’ll know to let you in. And Grandpa’s secretary, I’ll let her know, just in case, you know, in case Grandpa has time to talk to you. How’s the basketball team doing?”

“They’re working hard, Billy, but of course they don’t start playing other teams until New Year’s.”

“What about, uh, Sancia, and, uh, Josie?”

“What about them?” I asked.

“Well, you know, they go to Mount Ararat, and, well, how are they doing?”

“Okay, I guess,” I said slowly, wondering if I could enlist Billy’s help in tutoring Josie: if she was going to go to college, she’d need extra help. But I didn’t know what kind of a student he’d been himself, and I didn’t want to start a conversation like that in the middle of the expressway.

“So can I come over sometime and watch them practice? Josie said you’re real strict about not letting boys in the gym.”

I told him we might find a way to make an exception if he could get off work early some afternoon, and ended the conversation with a warm thanks for getting me into his grandfather’s office. Even if it did mean getting up again at five so I could trek across Chicagoland.

When he’d hung up, I thought again about my time with Rose Dorrado this morning. I had handled the whole situation badly, and I needed to apologize to her.

It was Josie who answered the phone. I could hear Baby María Inés squalling close at hand, and before she answered she yelled at her sister to take the child.

“It’s your baby, Julia, you do some of the work for a change…Hello? Oh, Coach, oh!”

“Josie, hi. Is your mom there? I’d like to talk to her.”

She was silent for a moment. “She hasn’t come home yet.”

I eyed a beat-up Chevy that wanted to muscle in front of me, and eased up to make room for it. “I went to the factory this morning; did she tell you that?”

“I haven’t seen her since breakfast, Coach, and now I got to figure out how to make dinner for my brothers, and everything.”

The worried undertone in her voice got through to me. “Are you worried that something’s happened to her?”

“No-o, I guess not. She called and all, she say she going-I mean, she said she had something else to do, maybe extra work, I guess, but she don’t say what, just help out with the boys’ supper, and, you know. But I already get their breakfast, ’cause Ma leaves for work before we get up, and now the baby is crying, Julia won’t help, and I got my science project.”

I could picture the crowded apartment. “Josie, put the baby to bed. She can cry for a while without it doing her any harm. Unplug the TV and do your science project in the living room. Your brothers are big enough they can open a can of something, and they can play with their Power Rangers in the dining room. You got a microwave? No? Well, you got a can of soup? Heat it up on the stove and let them eat. Your education comes first. Okay?”

“Uh, okay, I guess. But what am I going to do if this keeps on?”

“Will it?” A semi honked at me; I’d lost track of the traffic, and a big gap had opened in front of me.

“If she got another job, it will.”

“I’ll talk to your mom about it. I need to, anyway. Can you write down my number? Tell her to call me when she gets in.”

When she’d repeated my cell phone number, I reiterated my message. Before I hung up, I heard her yelling at her sister that she could look after María Inés or Josie was going to put her to bed. I guess I’d done one good deed for the day-two, if I counted finding my client’s missing employer.

When I reached Morrell’s, the dogs danced around me, as ecstatic as if it had been twelve months, not twelve hours, since we last met. Morrell told me proudly that he had taken them over to the lake-a real feat: he hadn’t been able to walk up the single flight of stairs to his condo when I brought him back from Zurich seven weeks ago. He still needed a cane to walk, and Mitch had challenged Morrell’s balance several times; he’d had to lie down for an hour after the exertion, but he’d managed the four blocks there and back without mishap, and didn’t seem any worse for the outing.

“We’ll celebrate,” I said enthusiastically. “I outdid Sherlock Holmes today, at least this afternoon, and you outdid Hillary on Everest. Are you up to another excursion, or shall I go get something?”

He was not only fit enough to go out but eager: we hadn’t had an evening together for a long time.

While I was in showering and changing, Marcena returned. When I got out, she was sitting on a couch with a bottle of beer, fondling Mitch’s ears. He thumped his tail gently when I came into the room, to acknowledge that he knew me, but he was looking at Marcena with an expression of idiotic bliss. I should have realized she’d be as good with dogs as with everything else.

She lifted her beer bottle to me in a toast. “How are the budding athletes?”

“Coming along. Actually, they were fighting over you on Monday: they missed you. You coming back any time soon?”

“I’ll try to get over to the school one of these afternoons. The last few days, I’ve been doing research in the community.” She grinned provocatively.

“Thus intensifying the conflict on the court,” I said drily. “Just so you know, South Chicago is the kind of small community where everyone minds their neighbors’ business.”

She gave me a mocking bow of thanks.

“Really, Marci,” Morrell said, “you want to write about these people. You can’t stir them up and create the story just so you have something dramatic to cover.”

“Of course not, darling, but is it my fault if they pay too much attention to me? I’m trying to see the nuts and bolts of the community. I’m doing other things, though: I’m trying to get the head office to let me interview old Mr. Bysen. He never talks to the press, his secretary told me, so I’m trying to find a different angle. I thought about pitching your basketball program as an entrée, Vic.”

“Actually, my basketball program has gained me an entrée of my own,” I said airily. “I’m going out to morning prayers tomorrow.”

Her eyes widened. “Do you think-oh, help, wait a second.”

Her cell phone had started to ring. She fished it out of the cushions. Mitch pawed her leg, annoyed that she’d abandoned him, but she ignored him.

“Yes?…Yes…She did? Really, how funny! What did he do?…Oh, bad luck. What do you do now?…You are? Are you sure that’s a good idea?…What, now?…Oh, all right, why not. In forty-five minutes, then.”

She hung up, her eyes sparkling. “Speaking of South Chicago, that was one of my community contacts. There’s a meeting I want to sit in on, so I’ll leave you two for an evening of private bliss. But, Vic, I want to go with you in the morning.”

“I suppose,” I said doubtfully, “but I’m going to take off at six-thirty-I was told to be there by seven-fifteen, and I don’t want to blow a chance to talk to Buffalo Bill.”

“ Buffalo Bill? Is that what they call him? Oh, of course, because he’s a bison. No problem. What time will you be getting up? That early? If I’m not out here by six, come get me, okay?”

“There is an alarm next to the bed,” I said, annoyed.

She flashed a wide smile. “But I may not hear it if I get in too late.”

Five minutes later, she was gone. Morrell and I went down to Devon Avenue for samosas and curry, but I found it hard to recapture my earlier celebratory mood.