I immediately slowed down and, like an athlete, got into position: slouch, slump, visor down, sunglasses on. Then on the final approach to her house, I picked up speed, whizzing by as quickly as I could. Only this time, when I stopped at the end of the block to process the scene, my stomach dropped. Donald’s car was there, out in front of her house, parked just ahead of hers. I looked in the rearview mirror just to make sure and saw it again.

I turned to Gayle, clung to her arm. “He’s there,” I said, my voice cracking. “He’s in there, with her.”

Gayle wrung her hands guiltily. She had been the one, she was thinking, to cause this debacle.

I backed the car up a few feet and parked under a huge oak tree, about six houses down from Adrienne’s. Safely out of sight, I could still see Donald’s car in both my rearview and left-side mirrors (all those years of watching reruns of Columbo, The Rockford Files, Mannix, had paid off: I knew how to tail a perp like the best of them).

I looked at Gayle, begged for advice. “So, should I sit here until he leaves? Then confront him?”

“Look, listen,” she started. “I have no idea . . . ”

But I wasn’t paying attention anyway. “Or should I just go in there? Walk up the stairs, knock on the door, catch them red-handed, in the act.”

Gayle was wringing her hands so violently I was afraid she might actually do some damage to her skin and flesh.

“I’m going to drive by again, to see if there’s anything else I can see.”

“Oh God!” Gayle breathed, but before she could finish her thought, I had already pulled out and headed off down the street to start making my box. Seconds later, whizzing past Adrienne’s house for the second time, I stopped again, trying to make sense of what I’d seen.

“I think I saw him. Inside. Those front windows are the living room. I think he was in there.”

“Was he with her?”

“I don’t know. I think I saw someone else.”

“Are you sure?”

“No I’m not sure.” I craned my neck to look out through the back of the car, but I couldn’t see anything. “I mean, I think I saw two people in there. But the other one didn’t look like Adrienne.”

“Who did it look like?”

“I don’t know. I think it looked like Donald.”

“You mean, Donald and another person who looked like Donald?”

I wasn’t certain; didn’t answer.

“Does Donald have a twin?” she asked.

I turned to her. “Don’t you think I would have told you if he had a twin?”

“Well, yes, I suppose you would have. I was just trying to be helpful.”

“Well, you’re not.”

“Well, I’m sorry.”

“Well, don’t pout.”