“Greetings, citizens,” I said. They stared at me with a matched set of mournful looks, but said nothing. That was to be expected from Cody, who never spoke more than four words at a time. But for Astor, it was alarming, since she had inherited her mother's talent for circular breathing, which allowed them both to talk without pausing for air. To see her sit there without speaking was almost unprecedented. So I switched languages and tried again.

“What up, yo?” I asked them.

“Poop van,” said Cody. Or at any rate, that's what I thought I heard. But since none of my training had prepared me to respond to anything remotely like that, I looked over at Astor, hoping for some hint about how I should react.

“Mom said we get to have pizza but it's the poop van for you, and we didn't want you to go away, so we came out here to warn you. You're not going away, are you, Dexter?” It was a small relief to know that I had heard Cody right, even though that now meant that I had to make sense of “poop van'. Had Rita really said that? Did it mean that I had done something very bad that I didn't know about? That didn't seem fair —I liked to remember and enjoy it when I do something bad. And one day after the honeymoon —wasn't that just a little abrupt?

“As far as I know, I'm not going anywhere,” I said. “Are you sure that's what your mom said?” They nodded in unison and Astor said, “Uh-huh. She said you'd be surprised.”

“She was right,” I said, and it really didn't seem fair. I was totally at a loss. “Come on,” I said. “We'll go tell her I'm not going.” They each took one of my hands and we went inside.

The air inside the house was filled with a tantalizing aroma, strangely familiar and yet exotic, as if you sniffed a rose and instead smelled pumpkin pie. It was coming from the kitchen, so I led my small troop in that direction.

“Rita?” I called out, and the clatter of a pan answered me.

“It's not ready,” she said. “It's a surprise.” As we all know, surprise is usually ominous, unless it is your birthday —and even then, there are no guarantees. But I pushed bravely into the kitchen anyway, and found Rita wearing an apron and fussing over the stove, a lock of blonde hair falling unnoticed down across her forehead.

“Am I in trouble?” I asked.

“What? No, of course not. Why would— damn it!” she said, sticking a singed finger into her mouth, and then stirring the contents of the pan furiously.

“Cody and Astor say you're sending me away,” I said.

Rita dropped her stirring spoon and looked at me with an expression of alarm. “Away? That's silly, I— why would I ...” She bent to pick up the spoon and jumped to the skillet to stir again.