"He's not in trouble, Ms. Clifton – at least as far as I know – but we'd like to have a word with him if he's here."

"Well, he's not. He went out late last night or first thing this morning. I'm really not sure which. He didn't even leave a note about where he was going or when he'd be back."

"Would you mind if we stepped into the house?"

Felicia hesitated, scanning the street as though the neighbors might be peering through their curtains at us. "I guess I can't have you standing in the yard."

We found ourselves stepping directly into the living room, which was probably ten feet by ten. We could see the kitchen from where we stood, and I was guessing the rest of the house consisted of two small bedrooms with a bath between. The air was scented with cleaning products. I could see where she'd swabbed a wet mop across the kitchen floor, leaving residual streaks of Pine-Sol. I picked up whiffs of Pledge furniture polish, Comet, Lysol toilet bowl cleaner, and perhaps a soupçon of household bleach. "Have a seat," she said.

Stacey settled on the couch while I chose a bright yellow molded plastic chair to his left. Felicia couldn't quite settle down, and I wondered if she cleaned to calm her anxieties, as I sometimes did. She'd worked hard to make the place attractive though the furnishings seemed to be an odd assortment of seconds, thrift shop finds, and discount sales.

"What sort of work do you do?" Stacey said, trying to strike a friendly tone.

"I manage a dry-cleaning establishment. My whole life's about that – cleaning up other people's messes."

Stacey said, "I imagine Cedric's been a problem."

"Oh, go ahead and call him Pudgie. Everybody else does. I don't know why I insist on 'Cedric.' It's ridiculous given the sort of person he is." She perched on a plastic chair that was a mate to mine. She reached out and straightened a stack of magazines, then idly, took out her dust rag and ran it around the table, picking up unseen particles of dust.

Stacey cleared his throat. "Is it just the two of you?"

"Just us. He's been a source of aggravation as long as I remember. Our parents split when he was only eighteen months old. Mom ran off with this guy who sold galvanized pipe. Daddy drank himself to death a little over two years ago. I was eight when my brother was born. Daddy was useless by then so I raised him myself. You can imagine how that went."

"Tough job at that age."

"You can say that again. I must not've done too good a job because Cedric's been in trouble since he was nine. I know I should quit coming to his rescue, bailing him out, trying to get him on his feet again. It doesn't do any good. His only talent is avoiding work; plus he sometimes steals cars."