No one had offered him any sympathy. Up until this point, it had all been about gamesmanship with the police, his own employer, the pervert down the street. Now, here was Adele, coming around the counter to give him a quick pat on the back while wrapping his daughter in a great big hug. And he decided at that moment, in his typical way, that he hated Adele the school secretary. Her sympathy burned. He’d take gamesmanship any day of the week.

“I’m sure Phil would love to speak with you.” Adele was chattering away, referring to the school principal. “He’s in a meeting at the moment—why, the phone has been ringing off the hook since this morning’s announcement. We’ve hired a grief counselor, of course, and you know all of the staff wants to help. We’re having a special meeting at four to discuss organizing search efforts for tomorrow. Phil thought we could stage everything out of the gymnasium, get other locals coming in to assist—”

Adele broke off abruptly, seeming to realize she might be saying too much in front of the child. She had the good grace to blush, then gave Ree another bolstering hug.

“Would you like to wait?” the secretary asked him kindly. “I can get you some coffee or water. Maybe some crayons for Ree?”

“Actually, I was wondering if I could swing by Mrs. Lizbet’s classroom first. Just for a minute, if you don’t mind …”

“Of course, of course. Second period lunch break will be starting in about three minutes. I’m sure she’d be willing to take time for you.”

Jason managed a quick smile of gratitude, then held out his hand for Ree. She went with him down the hall. Sure enough, a bell rang and the space began to fill with students, pouring out from various classrooms. The sudden commotion distracted Ree, saving him from all the questions he was sure she now had.

They took a right turn down past a row of blue-painted lockers, then a left down a bright orange row. Elizabeth Reyes, aka Mrs. Lizbet, taught seventh grade social studies, her classroom at the very end of the hall. Early fifties, gracefully thin, with long silver-streaked hair generally wound into a thick knot, she was still erasing the chalkboard when he and Ree walked in.

“Mrs. Lizbet!” Ree cried, and ran over immediately for a hug.

Mrs. Lizbet returned the embrace, kneeling down so she and Ree would be at eye level. “Ree-Ree! How are you, sweetheart?”

“Good,” Ree replied shyly, because even at the age of four, she already understood that was the only answer one gave in polite society.

“Hey, who is this?”

“Lil’ Bunny.”

“Hi, Lil’ Bunny. Nice dress!”