“Make yourself a new bowl,” said Willie, rolling her eyes at Lucy. “It’s a zoo around here.”

“I miss those days. I can’t believe Toby is all grown up.”

“I’m sure I’ll get all nostalgic some day but right now I’d give anything for fifteen minutes without a crisis.” Willie shut the dishwasher and leaned her fanny against the kitchen counter. “So what’s your problem?”

“It’s Sara and this cheerleading thing. Something happened yesterday at the Lake Wingate game that upset her but she won’t tell me what it was. I was wondering if Sassie might have said anything to you.”

“No-o-o,” said Willie, dragging out the word. “But I have been worried about her.”

“She doesn’t seem like herself?”

“Who knows who herself is,” said Willie, shaking her head. “She certainly doesn’t and I don’t have a clue. But she doesn’t seem very happy and she’s been spending an awful lot of time moping in her room. I practically have to drag her downstairs for supper.”

“Have you asked her what’s going on?”

“Sure, but she won’t tell me anything. She just gets upset and goes back to her room.”

“It’s the same with Sara.” Lucy scratched her chin thoughtfully and looked out the window where she saw Frankie’s car turning into her driveway. “Frankie’s home. I wonder if Renee’s told her something.”

“Renee’s probably causing all the trouble,” muttered Willie. “That girl has the morals of a polecat.”

Frankie was just opening her door when Lucy caught up with her. “Do you have a minute? I’m really worried about Sara and…”

“I’m in a terrible rush,” said Frankie. “I’ve got a showing five minutes ago. I only came home because I forgot some important papers.” She stuck her head in the door and yelled for her daughter. “Renee! Can you bring me that folder that’s on my dresser?”

“Sure, Mom.” Seconds later Renee bounced down the stairs, ponytail swinging, with the folder.

Frankie turned to Lucy. “I gotta run. Maybe Renee can help you.” Then she was off, tottering down the path in her high heels.

Renee smiled politely at Lucy. “Is there something I can do for you, Mrs. Stone?”

Lucy looked at her. She was hardly the siren Willie had led her to expect, dressed in sweatpants and a huge T-shirt and without a smudge of makeup, not even lip gloss. Not that she needed it, not with her flawless olive skin, luminous brown eyes, and glossy black hair that fell in curls to her shoulders.

“Well,” began Lucy, “it’s about Sara. She seems awfully upset about something, something to do with cheerleading.”

“Why don’t you come in?” suggested Renee.