“My son didn’t come home last night.”

Heart-stopping—kid was nineteen, after all, but I gave a noncommittal “oh” and waited.

“I want to know where he is.”

“Do you want to hire me to find him? If so, I’ll fax a contract for your signature, after which I’ll need to ask a bunch of questions, which will have to be done over the phone, since I have a full calendar today and tomorrow.”

He sputtered, taken aback, then asked where Billy was.

I was getting cold, standing naked in the living room. I picked the afghan up from Morrell’s couch and draped it over my shoulders. “I don’t know, Mr. Bysen. If that’s all, I’m in the middle of a meeting.”

“Is he with the preacher?”

“Mr. Bysen, if you want me to look for him I’ll fax you a contract and call you later with a list of questions. If you want to know whether he’s with Pastor Andrés, then I suggest you call the pastor.”

He hemmed and hawed, and finally demanded my rates.

“One-twenty-five an hour, with a four-hour minimum, plus expenses.”

“If you want to do business with By-Smart, you’d better rethink that rate structure.”

“Am I talking to a canned recording? The worried father wants me to negotiate my fee?” I burst out laughing, then suddenly thought maybe he was making me a subtle offer. “Are you saying that By-Smart will fund my basketball program if I’ll lower my fee for asking about your kid?”

“It’s possible that if you can locate Billy, we’ll discuss your proposal.”

“Not good enough, Mr. Bysen. Give me your fax number; I’ll send you a copy of the contract; when I get back a signed copy, we’ll talk.”

He wasn’t sure he was ready to go that far. I hung up and went into the kitchen to flip on the espresso machine. My cell phone started ringing as I was going back up the hall: my answering service, with Bysen’s fax number. Hey-ho. I stopped in the small bedroom Morrell uses as a home office and sent through a contract. This time, I turned my phone off before going back to bed.

“Who was that so early? You spent a lot of time with him—should I be worried?” Morrell demanded, pulling me down next to him.

“Yep. I’ve met his papa and his kid already—I’ve never even laid eyes on your family and we’ve been knowing each other for almost three years now.”

He bit my earlobe. “Oh, yes, my kid, a little something I’ve been meaning to tell you about. Anyway, you get to meet my friends. Have you met this guy’s friends?”

“Don’t think he has any, at least, not any as cool as Marcena.”