He didn’t ask why. He didn’t even seem surprised, as if whatever inexplicable actions Wendy took these days didn’t matter. “You can email me.” He rattled off an address that was just short enough to remember.

“I’ll send you my cell number and email address,” I said. “Please stay in touch.”

“Take care of my girls. And thank you.” He disconnected.

I grabbed what I needed for the day and found my nieces in the car. I hoped the Mrs. Englishes had something fun planned.

By the time I dropped them off, I knew where I wanted to start my quest. I did a quick search on my cell phone and found a woman named Claire Durant listed as one of two assistant principals at Seabank High. She looked to be about Wendy’s age, an attractive African American woman with penetrating dark eyes. I wasn’t going to win a sleuthing award. The other possibility was an older white male.

I decided not to call for an appointment. Instead I stopped and bought two lattes, one for me and one for my new best friend Claire.

I hadn’t attended Seabank High, so the building was unfamiliar. After showing ID and explaining my reason for being there to the security guard, I found my way to the office. The high school opened later than my nieces’ school, so few students were milling about.

The woman at the front desk looked like she’d lost all her illusions. She wasn’t impressed when I explained I hoped to see Claire before school began.

“She’s probably getting organized for the day. Would you like to make an appointment?”

I flashed my dimples. “I won’t take up much of her time. I’ll be in and out, I promise.”

“Why do you want to see Mrs. Durant?”

I played my trump card. “I’m a journalist, and I have some questions about a former student.”

“I—” The secretary looked up, and then beyond me. “Mrs. Durant, this young lady would like to see you. Do you have time?”

I turned and saw a more stunning version of the woman pictured on my cell phone. Claire Durant wore a red-and-black dress, with oblong gold hoops in her ears that set off a pixie haircut.

I set the lattes on the counter and held out my hand. “I’m Ryan Gracey. You went to school with my sister, Wendy.”

She stared at me a moment, not as if she were trying to place me, but more as if she were trying to absorb me. The sensation was an odd one, and I wondered what had triggered it.

When she finally extended her hand, the handshake was the best kind, firm but not bruising. I grabbed one of the lattes and held it out to her. “I thought you might like one of these while we chat.”

She smiled a little and took it. “What can I help you with?”

“It’s a bit personal.”

The smile died a fraction, and her gaze flicked to the clock to our right, then back. “I only have a few minutes.”