She gulped. Made a third attempt at smiling, stopped midway, and stood back to let us in.

The house was bland, bright, kept up meticulously. Glass tabletops gleamed, cushions were plump, fresh flowers overflowed vases, bad poster art hung strategically. The nugget of garden on the other side of sliding glass doors was overplanted but green and glowing. Oral Marshbarger would be pleased.

Lori said, “I’ll go get her,” and returned wearing a baggy beige blouse, faded nonskinny jeans, flat sandals. She’d taken down her hair, put on hoop earrings. Divana Layne née Madeleine Ann Gibson trudged behind her in a gray Power Gym sweatshirt and black yoga pants.

No prostitution record for her but her young adulthood had been marked by a trio of shoplifting episodes and she’d ended up at the same group home as Lori.

Milo said, “Hi, ladies. Please sit.”

“We’re okay,” said Divana. No reason to laugh but she did. Same throaty glee I’d heard from the deep end of the pool.

Milo said, “Please sit anyway. So I don’t have to stretch my neck.”

The women looked at each other. Settled on the edges of blue-velvet chairs, ankles crossed demurely.

Milo said, “So who wants to start?”

“Start what?” said Divana.

“The saga of Phil and Frank.”

Lori said, “We’re friends, that’s all.”

“Swimming buddies,” said Milo.

“Is it against the law?”

“To what?”

“Do a married guy,” said Divana. “If you think that, maybe you should live in Arabia or something.”

Lori said, “It’s a good deal. Keeps everyone happy.”

“Twenty-six grand a year keeps you happy.”

Divana twisted a ring. Small stone, maybe real.

She said, “We keep the peace, you guys should thank us.”

“Keep the peace and pay your rent,” said Milo. “Not that fifty-two grand a year means much to guys like Phil and Frank.”

Both women bristled.

Divana said, “Why are you here?”

“Steve Muhrmann.”

Blank looks.

“And, of course, Tara Sly.”

Divana’s nose wrinkled. Baffled.

Lori said, “Who are these people? You’re weirding us out.”

“Maybe you know Tara by her real name. Tiara Grundy.”

Divana giggled. Lori turned to her.

Milo said, “Something funny?”

Divana said, “Grundy sounds like an old lady. Like from a movie or something.”

“Unfortunately for Tiara, she’ll never get old.”

“Bummer,” said Divana. “What does that have to do with us?”

Milo showed them Tiara’s SukRose bikini shot.

Divana’s smugness vaporized. Lori said, “Oh. Omigod.”

Divana said, “That’s crazy—I need a drink. Anyone else?”

“Coke Zero,” said Lori.

“We’re fine,” said Milo.

“I’m not fine,” said Lori. “I’m freaked out.”

Half a Bloody Mary later, Divana licked brick-colored grit from her lips. “Yeah, we know who she is, she’s their father’s girlfriend, so what?”

“You met her.”

“No, they told us about her.” Pause. “Showed us her picture.”

“In what context?”

“What do you mean?”