Karen went back into the kitchen and put out the rest of the things she had brought from the Colonel and then she called Toby to the table. He came out sulky and silent. She asked him what he would like to drink and he said nothing. She asked him if he wanted rolls and the cole slaw and he said no. She asked him if he wanted a breast or a thigh and he said he didn’t care. Sore about the snowmobile, I guess. Pike made himself a cheese sandwich and ate as if he were alone.

We were most of the way through the chicken when the white van that said WKEL-TV turned into the drive and the tall, thin woman got out. The weenie with the minicam got out with her. When Karen saw them coming through the big front window, she said, “Oh, Jesus Christ.”

I said, “Would you like me to get it?”

Karen shook her head and went to the door. “No, thank you. This is my house, and my problem.”

The doorbell rang just as Karen opened the door. The tall, thin woman tried to step in past Karen, but Karen wouldn’t get out of the way. The tall woman gave a nice local-news on-camera smile and put out her hand. Karen didn’t take it. “Hello, Ms. Lloyd. Janice Watkins, WKEL-TV. I do local color and human interest, and I was fascinated when I heard that Peter Alan Nelsen, the filmmaker, is your husband.” Janice Watkins seemed neither to mind nor notice that Karen hadn’t taken her hand. Probably used to it.

Karen said, “You’ve made some sort of mistake. I’m not married.”

The smile didn’t falter. “Ex-husband, then. I know how that is, I’ve got two.” She chuckled. Establishing rapport.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Watkins. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A corner of the smile gave way. “Peter Alan Nelsen and his entourage are staying at the Howard Johnson’s.”

Toby craned around the bucket of chicken, trying to see. Pike pushed the bucket out of his way.

The thin woman said, “You’ve been seen with him. So has your son. Everyone is saying that Toby Lloyd is Mr. Nelsen’s child and that Mr. Nelsen has journeyed across the country to find him.” Journeyed. She was working up the human-interest angle, all right.

“I’ve never been married to Peter Alan Nelsen and I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The smile faltered. “You weren’t?”

“No.”

“Is Peter Alan Nelsen the boy’s father?”

“No.”

Janice Watkins blinked. She tried to peek past Karen to see if Peter Alan Nelsen was lurking inside. I waved at her.

Karen Lloyd said, “You’ve interrupted our meal. Do you mind?”

Janice Watkins narrowed her eyes. “Ms. Lloyd, I have this information on very good authority.”