“I’m sure all the boys have crushes on you. I mean I have a crush on you.”

“Is that your own grave you’re digging?”

“It’s just that I need a friend way more than a girlfriend.”

“I get it.” She placed her hands on his shoulders. “For your information, I’m already spoken for. His name is Rafi. We went to camp together last summer. He’s in Yeshivat HaKotel, but he’s doing Shana Bet so we can be together in Israel next year.”

“I understood everything you said except for the last sentence.”

“No matter. It means as far as my availability goes, Whitman, you’re out of luck.”

“Well…all right, then.”

“And don’t you dare get all mopey. You just said you considered me a big sister.”

“I do consider you that way. And I’m not mopey. And even if I were mopey, it wouldn’t be because of you. I’m just mopey because I’m in a bad situation. So stop trying to claim ownership of my mopeyiness.”

“Well, excuse me!”

They both broke into laughter.

Mrs. Kent was glaring at them. “Perhaps you’d like to share with the rest of us what you find so hilarious, Ms. Decker?”

Hannah stifled another round of the giggles. “Why are you picking on me, Mrs. Kent? He was laughing just as much as I was.”

“You are the president of choir. You have to set an example.”

She began putting up the last row of chairs. “So I get reprimanded and he gets off scot-free?”

“Indeed, Ms. Decker, the world isn’t a fair place.”

“You just like him better because a mediocre alto is way more replaceable than a spectacular accompanist.”

“You’re treading on thin ice, young lady.”

“I know, I know,” Hannah said. “The truth hurts, but that isn’t your fault. Between the two of us, I’d choose him as well.”

Mrs. Kent’s eyes softened. “Hannah, you’re a one-of-a-kind and totally irreplaceable.” She clapped her hands. “Everybody take your seats. Ms. Decker, since you were duly elected president, would you like to lead us in a rousing rendition of the national anthem and ‘Hatikvah’?”

Hannah beamed. “Mrs. Kent, it would be my pleasure.”

ALEX—THE SELF-PARKING LOT attendant—was in his sixties, a tall man with white hair who looked spiffy in his aqua shirt, white pants, and white slip-on shoes. He sat behind a podium shaded by a beach umbrella. At five in the afternoon, the sun was low and hot. Decker recognized him as the man who gave him a ticket on Sunday. That meant Alex was on duty when Chris arrived and left.

When Decker showed him Terry’s photograph, he identified her immediately.

“She’s a real nice woman. Always smiling and slipping me a few bucks every time she took her car in and out even though she didn’t have to.”