"Kit." I did not disguise my annoyance.

"What? Just ask, ma'am."

"Was someone here while I was gone?"

He swirled the linguine, tapped the spoon on the edge of the pot, and looked straight at me. For several moments the steam rose between us. Then the corners of his eyes pinched, and he tapped again.

He dropped his gaze, stirred, flicked back to me.

"What's the deal?"

"I saw someone on the sidewalk and thought he might have been coming from here."

"Can't help you." Another shit-eating grin. "You like your linguine al dente, madam?"

"Kit -- "

"You worry too much, Aunt Tempe." It was becoming a familiar refrain.

"Are you stil seeing those men from the bike shop?" He extended his hands, wrists pressed together

"O.K. I give up. Arrest me on suspicion of involvement with organized pasta."

"Are you?"

His voice grew stern. "Who hired you to ask these questions, ma'am?"

It was clear he would tel me nothing. I pushed the fear to a corner of my mind, knowing that it wouldn't stay there, and went to my room to change. But I'd made a decision.

Kit was going back to Houston.

After dinner Kit settled in front of the TV and I went to my computes I'd just pul ed up the jpg files that contained Kate's photos and the one I'd borrowed from Jacques Roy, when the phone rang.

Kit answered, and I heard laughter and banter through the wal , then the tone changed. Though I could make out no words, it was clear Kit was upset.

His voice grew loud and angry and at one point I heard something slammed.

In a moment Kit appeared at my door, his agitation apparent.

"I'm going out for a little bit, Auntie T."

"Out?"

"Yep."

"With?"

"Just some guys." Only his mouth smiled.

"That's not good enough, Kit."

"Oh hel , don't you start in."

With that he stormed down the hal .

"Shit!"

I leaped to my feet, but Kit was already out the door when I rounded the corner into the living room.

"Shit!" I repeated for emphasis.

I was about to go after him when the phone rang. Thinking it was Kit's earlier cal er, I grabbed the handset.

"Yes!" I seethed.

"Jesus, Tempe. Maybe you need to get into some kind of exercise program. You are becoming consistently rude."

"Where the hel are you, Harry?"

"The great state of Jalisco. Buenos noch -- "

"Why didn't you tel me about Kit's trouble in Houston?"

"Trouble?"

"The tiny matter of the drug bust!" I was almost shouting.

"Oh, that,"

"That."

"I real y don't believe that was Kit's fault. If it weren't for the pasty-faced little pricks he was hanging out with, he'd never have gotten involved with that stuff."

"But he did, Harry. And now he has a police record."