As Anne was sure his mother was, as well. Punctual, buttoned up in her fuchsia suit with the big shoulder pads and crisp peplum. Her dark hair was bobbed, puffed up, and spritzed hard. The word “brittle” came to mind. The parent-teacher conference persona had cracked a little under the stress . . . of her son missing a piano lesson.

Anne went through the story of the kids finding the body in the park, Tommy having actually fallen directly on the grave.

Janet Crane’s eyes showed a lot of white again. “Oh my God!”

She turned abruptly and walked into a Better Homes and Gardens living room, the heels of her pink pumps click-clacking on the tile. She perched herself on the edge of a sofa cushion. Her eyes darted around the room as if looking for help.

“I think Tommy is a little in shock,” Anne said. “He’s hardly said anything since it happened.”

“I-I-I don’t know what to do,” his mother announced. “Should I call a doctor?”

“He doesn’t seem to be physically injured, but you may want to get him some counseling.”

“Why didn’t someone call me?” she asked, trying to work up some indignation. She seemed more comfortable with anger than with concern. “Why didn’t Principal Garnett call? Why isn’t he here?”

“Mr. Garnett was out today.”

Tommy came to the doorway. His face and arms were clean, showing off the scrapes and scratches that had resulted from his tumble. He had wet and combed his brown hair as neatly as he could considering a couple of cowlicks. But his clothes were still dirty, and there was a tear in the knee of his jeans. Anne wondered if he would be allowed to sit on the furniture.

“Tommy!” his mother said, going to him. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea what happened.”

Anne watched her touch her son hesitantly, as if she were afraid of catching something from him as she examined his wounds.

Through the front window Anne watched a sleek, dark Jaguar pull into the drive beside her little red Volkswagen. Peter Crane got out and walked toward the house.

He was a handsome man, medium height, lean, well-dressed in dark slacks, a shirt and tie. He called out cheerfully as he came in the front door.

Sara Morgan hadn’t managed to catch him at the office, Anne thought.

Tommy turned abruptly away from his mother and went to his dad, hugging him around the waist. Peter Crane looked a little confused. His wife went into the foyer and told him what had happened.

Anne watched the shock cross his face.

“It was a terrible thing to see,” she said, moving into the doorway.

“Miss Navarre brought Tommy home,” Janet Crane said.

“You were there?” he asked.

“I went to the park as soon as I heard what had happened.”

“Oh my God,” he said.