Patrick’s eyes widened. He looked toward his mother with panic on his face.

That was when the doorbell rang.

Nancy turned toward it. “Who could that—”

“I got it,” Myron said. “Hold on a second, Patrick. I have someone I want you to meet.”

Myron moved to the front door and opened it. Mickey and Ema, who had been waiting in a separate car for Myron’s phone signal, came in with no hesitation. Mickey had a big smile on his face. Ema was carrying a pizza. The aroma filled the room.

It was a long shot, Myron knew, this plan of Mickey’s, but Ema had been more optimistic.

“He’s a lonely teen locked in his house,” Ema explained, “and more than that, pizza in London is pretty basic.”

So this was really Mickey and Ema’s play. Myron let him take over.

Mickey started toward the steps. “Hey, I’m Mickey. This is Ema. We figured you might want to hang out or something.”

Patrick looked at him. “Umm.”

Ema said, “Have you tried pizza with buffalo chicken as a topping?”

Patrick’s voice was tentative. “No.”

Ema nodded. “And bacon bits.”

“Seriously?”

“I would never kid about bacon.”

“Whoa.”

“We were going to save the cheese-filled crust as a surprise,” Mickey said, “but some things are too good to keep secret.”

Patrick smiled.

“I don’t want to build it up,” Ema said, opening the box, “but this may be the greatest thing ever.”

Nancy said, “Oh, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Myron stepped between her and her son. “You said he needed to get acclimated to people his own age,” he reminded her.

“Yes, but we’ve had a long day—”

Patrick interrupted her. “Mom,” he said, “it’s okay.”

“I think it might be gluten-free,” Ema tried. Her face broke out in the brightest, goofiest, most endearing grin Myron had ever seen.

Then Patrick laughed—genuinely laughed—and from the look on Nancy’s face, Myron guessed that it was the first time she’d seen her child laugh since he was six years old. Ema had been right. Whether it was overgarnished pizza or the normal human need for companionship—most likely a combo of both—Patrick needed this. He’d been deprived too long.

Francesca appeared at the top of the steps. “We were just about to start a movie,” she said. “Mom, is it okay if we rent something on demand?”

All eyes turned to Nancy Moore.

“Of course,” Nancy Moore managed, her voice choking up. “Go have fun.”

* * *

Myron didn’t stay.

Those had been the explicit instructions handed down from Mickey and Ema. Leave it to them. Don’t hang out downstairs. Don’t cloud the atmosphere with your adult presence. Don’t make anyone wary. If you have questions for Patrick’s mom, ask them before they get inside. Then leave.

So he did.

The phone rang as he got into his car. Myron didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?”

“This is Alyse Mervosh,” a woman said with no preamble. “I’m PT’s contact.”

“The forensic doctor?”