"I thought you wanted us individually," I muttered, once we had settled into Laura's red wire kitchen chairs, the kind you used to see in ice cream parlors.

Investigator Schulz adjusted his backside on the too-small chair. He was, I noticed somewhat reluctantly, good- looking as well as charismatic. The other room had been filled with men trying to look macho in their western attire. Tom Schulz was the real thing. Despite his coat, sweater, and tie, he had the commanding aura of a ranch foreman. In the caramel-colored October light filling the kitchen, his hair shone gold-brown. It was cut short, parted on the side, and combed at a jaunty angle above bushy eyebrows. These thick triangles of hair climbed up and dropped down his forehead when he listened or talked. He had a sideways smile that came easily and suggested a sense of humor. His green eyes beheld everything just a moment longer than necessary, as if by concentrating hard enough, he could see through things and people. He grinned widely at me. Fear froze my face.

"Your boy's a minor. Got to have you here when I talk to him." The green eyes regarded me. He added, "By law."

I nodded, but felt sick. Schulz reached a fleshy palm out to Arch. "My name is Tom Schulz," he said as he shook Arch's small hand, "and I need to ask you a few questions about what happened here today."

Arch sat in one of the red chairs and straightened his glasses. He said, "Okay."

Schulz took our full names and address. He showed some confusion over my name, Gertrude Bear. I told him with two other Mrs. Kormans in town I had thought my business would do better under my maiden name.

He said, "What's Goldy short for?"

"Nothing, really," I said, feeling my cheeks get hot. "No one's called me Gertrude for twenty-some years. When I was little I had blond hair-"

"Still do," observed Schulz. "It was just a nickname that stuck. I liked it better than Gertrude, anyway."

He nodded. I said, "I use Goldilocks for the business. You know, like the story, everything is just right. It's just an ad, connecting me with the food service."

Schulz nodded again. He said he would ask Arch only a few questions before he could leave and it would be my turn. Then he put his notebook away.

He asked, "What grade are you in, Arch?"

"Sixth, sir." Arch's voice was trembling slightly. He crossed his legs and looked down in his lap before raising his eyes to Schulz.

"Do you play soccer?" The inevitable subject of sports. A look of pain passed briefly over my nonathletic son's face. This tack for putting Arch at ease would not work.

"No, sir," Arch said.

"What do you like to do? Do you like to play any games?"

"Oh yes," said Arch, brightening.

"Such as?"

"Fantasy role-playing. Have you heard of them? Like Dungeons and Dragons and Top Secret? Do you know about those?"