Angie sighed. “I was … pleasant. So he asks me where I am, and before I can think up a good story, I tell him I’m at Deb’s house, and he says Deb Chenoweth? And I go yeah, and he goes, oh I know her, have we been friends a long time? That kind of thing. So, I tell him I have to go, and Deb and I decide to go over to Jennifer’s, and we go outside and there’s Trevor walking along the street.”

She paused and we all waited.

“You don’t get it?” she said. “Deb’s place is like, nowhere near here, or where he lives, but it’s only been a minute since he hung up, so he had to know that I was already there. He must have followed me. Deb lives just around the corner from the 7-Eleven, where there’s a pay phone, and we figure he must have called from there.”

Paul said, ever so casually, “He’s psycho.” He shrugged. “I heard he boiled a live rabbit once, like that woman in the movie?”

“That’s bullshit,” Angie said. “You made that up.”

“Okay, maybe. But I bet he’s the kind of guy who would boil a rabbit. Did you ever see that movie? Where Michael Douglas does that woman, right in the kitchen?”

Sarah shot our son a glance. It was just as well that Norman Rockwell was no longer with us. He would never have done this family’s portrait.

Paul continued, “But he is strange. Maybe that’s why he likes you.”

“Knock it off,” I said.

“You should consider yourself lucky,” Paul said. “Lots of girls think he’s really hot. They’re into this whole mysterious loner thing he’s got going. And he is kind of hot. I’m speaking strictly hetero here.”

“He’s not my type,” Angie said. “Maybe he’s more your type, Paul. You seem to like him enough to let him get things for you.”

“What are we talking about here?” I said.

“Nothing,” said Paul. “Shut up, Angie. I don’t go ratting you out.”

“What are you talking about?” I said again, trying to force some authority into my voice.

“It’s nothing, forget about it,” Angie said. “I’m just joking.”

Deciding to let this part go for now, I returned to the issue of Trevor Wylie and security. I said, “Maybe I should speak to him.”

I can’t begin to tell you how wrong that comment was.

It was as if Angie exploded. A grenade went off inside her head.

“Great idea!” she shouted at me. “Brilliant! Just like you did with Irwin!”

That was it! The Pool Boy’s name was Irwin.

“Just a fucking brilliant idea!” And with that, she stormed out of the kitchen.