They made their way back into the school. Two parents waited outside the classroom. Big Cyndi cued her tears for them, claiming that their “little Sasha” had a “French emergency” that would only take a second. Myron used the distraction to enter the classroom alone. No reason for Joel to see Big Cyndi and freeze up.

Not surprisingly, Joel Fishman was very unhappy to see him. “What the hell do you want?”

“I need you to call her and set up a meet.”

“Why would we meet?”

“How about—oh, I don’t know—pretending you’re a drug dealer seeing if she needs to score?”

Joel frowned. He was about to protest, but Myron just shook his head. Joel did a quick calculation and realized that the best way to get through this was to cooperate. He took out his cell phone. He had her in his contacts as “Kitty”—no last name. Myron kept his ear near the phone. When he heard the tentative, skittish “hello” on the other end of the line, his face fell. No doubt about it: The voice belonged to his sister-in-law.

Fishman played his part with the perfection of a sociopath. He asked her if she wanted to meet up again. She said yes. Myron nodded at Fishman. Fishman said, “Okay, cool, I’ll come to your place. Where do you live?”

“That won’t work,” Kitty said.

“Why not?”

And then Kitty whispered something that made Myron’s heart freeze: “My son is around.”

Fishman was good. He said that he could take a rain check, just drop off the “package,” whatever she wanted, but Kitty was equally cagey. They ended up agreeing to meet near the merry-go-round at the Garden State Plaza Mall in Paramus. Myron checked his watch. He’d have enough time to talk to Evelyn Stackman about the symbol on the “Not His” post and then be back to see Kitty.

Myron wondered what he would do when that happened—when he met up with Kitty. Should he jump out and confront her? Ask her gentle questions? Or maybe not show up at all. Maybe the best move was to have Fishman cancel after she showed up so that he could follow her home.

Half an hour later, Myron parked the car in front of a modest brick cape off Lemoine Avenue in Fort Lee. Big Cyndi stayed in the car and fiddled with her iPod. Myron headed up the walk. Evelyn Stackman had the door opened before Myron could even ring the bell. She looked to be fiftyish with curled frizz that reminded him of Barbra Streisand in A Star Is Born.

“Ms. Stackman? I’m Myron Bolitar. Thank you for seeing me.”