Had Shoshanna Whitlock really been who she said she was? Manfred looked down at her card. He’d just ordered his own business cards online. He knew from experience that he could have claimed to be a professional ice skater or John Wilkes Booth and had a card printed to “prove” it. Therefore, he didn’t attach much weight to the printed words on her tastefully simple rectangle. There was a line with her name, then underneath, Texas Investigation Service, which sounded just quasi-official enough to impress a potential witness. Probably the point, Manfred figured. The two lines of type were followed by a phone number. No address.

Briefly, Manfred considered walking next door to Midnight Pawn and handing the card to Bobo. Maybe he ought to give his landlord a heads-up.

But he decided not to, for a cluster of reasons.

He wasn’t sure that whatever the “detective” was after was any of his business. If he saw a good opportunity, he could tell Bobo tomorrow, the day of the picnic. And surely, Fiji would report Whitlock’s mission to Bobo before that. The last thing Manfred wanted to do after this morning was to get in Fiji’s way.

He didn’t think he’d look good as a statue.

8

The next day, the Midnighters assembled behind Midnight Pawn in the residents’ parking lot. When Manfred came out of his house, wearing a light jacket over his T-shirt and with a small backpack over his shoulders, he counted in his head: Olivia, Chuy, Joe, Creek, a boy he hadn’t met, Bobo, Fiji, the Rev, and Teacher from the diner.

“All right, guys ’n’ gals!” Bobo called. “It’s the first Annual Picnic Day! Madonna’s coming over with her truck, so if there’s something you can’t carry, we’ll load it in. We got tables, and some people have already put stadium chairs in there. You can stow your food, too.”

Rasta yipped and looked excited, and everyone laughed. Manfred went over to Creek to meet the kid, who had to be her younger brother. For a fourteen-year-old, he shook hands in a very adult way.

“I’m Connor,” he said. He had dark hair like his sister’s and a smooth oval face like hers. He was already as tall as Creek, and Manfred figured that in the very near future he’d be taller than Manfred himself.

“Where’s your dad?” Manfred asked. “Did he have to mind the store today?”

Creek smiled at him. She didn’t seem to suspect he was prolonging the conversation just to look at her. “Someone had to,” she said. “This is like a treat to us. No working the cash register or stocking shelves! And Connor got to come because there was a teacher in-service training day.”

Looking at her light blue eyes, Manfred felt a decade older than Creek, rather than four years.