Both Feebies are still on the front porch and turn toward me as I walk, still whistling, around the corner of the house. Agent Scott’s hands are on his hips like he’s the angry assistant principal in a bad sitcom and I’m the wayward student. I smile and wave. “Sorry. Had to take care of the dog and put some shoes on.”

The Feebies come down the steps, Special Agent Rondeau first and Agent Scott following, and we meet on the front walk. Without preamble, Rondeau reaches into a jacket pocket and produces a photograph. “Have you seen this man, Ms. Faulkner?” she says, handing me the photo.

I take the photo and look at it and see Tane Kamaka standing on a stage in front of a curtain, a plastic ID on a lanyard around his neck. It’s not a bad picture of Tane, actually. He’s wearing chinos and a navy button-down and smiling like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“Nope,” I say. “Don’t know him.”

Rondeau doesn’t blink. “Please look carefully, Ms. Faulkner.”

“I did. Never seen him before. What’d he do, rob a bank?”

Agent Scott apparently cannot contain himself any longer. “We know you know Kamaka.”

“Not in this time line,” I say.

Scott tilts his head slightly. “Come again?”

“Never mind. I do not know anyone named Tane Kamaka.”

Scott smiles, a smug curling of the lips. “Then how do you know his first name is Tane?” he says. “We didn’t mention it.”

I blink slowly and look down at the picture in my hand. It’s all I can do not to gape open-mouthed like a kid busted for lying. Agent Scott falls for it. Just as his smile widens, I hold the picture out to him. “Because the guy in this picture is wearing an ID that says Tane Kamaka.” I shrug. “Kind of figured it out from that.”

Scott scowls, which does little to improve his appearance. Rondeau’s face remains calm and neutral, but I swear for a second something passes across her eyes, like the beginning of a smile. I’m suddenly aware of how attractive Alisha Rondeau is, of her smooth skin and athletic build, her curly highlighted hair. Something flutters in my chest like champagne bubbles rising. Jesus, now I’m getting hot and bothered by a Feebie.

Agent Scott is hot and bothered in a different kind of way. He snatches the photo out of my hand. “You’d better be sure, Miz Faulkner,” he says.

“Thanks for the miz,” I say. “That’s practically feminist of you. And I’m sure.”

Scott isn’t ready to let it go. “Lying to a federal agent is a crime. Not that your family would be all that worried about it. Especially your uncle.”

Everything pinballing around in my head slows and then goes still. “Excuse me?”