“Chee-wo!” the girl says again, and this time she holds out a Cheerio to me with a chubby little hand dripping with saliva. She’s sharing her food. What a kind, generous baby. The mother is so lucky. She’s so lucky and she has no idea. She’s gabbing with her girlfriend, not even looking at her precious child. It’s so unfair.

Oh God. I think I have to move.

“Abby?”

I lift my eyes. The girl standing in front of me gives off a “nice girl” vibe. She has a pretty, round face, with blond hair tied back in a high ponytail at the back of her head. She’s wearing a black short-sleeved blouse, which she hastily explained is part of her waitressing uniform. She has a well-scrubbed, clean-cut, American girl vibe—she’s the sort of girl who you might hire to babysit your children.

“Chelsea?” I ask.

She nods.

Chelsea Williams is Monica’s roommate. The two of them have lived together for the last several years, and she’s the last person I’m scheduled to speak with before coming back to my husband to assure him that Monica is indeed “squeaky clean.” But from the bland, pleasant smile on Chelsea’s face, I know this meeting is going to go exactly as I thought.

“Please have a seat,” I tell Chelsea.

She slides into a chair across from me at the table. “I’m not late, am I?”

I shake my head. “I’m early.”

“Like Monica.” Chelsea laughs. “She’s always early.”

I already know this fact about my assistant. I value promptness in an employee, and this is yet another way Monica has managed to impress me.

“So how long have you been living with Monica?” I ask her.

“We met in college.” Chelsea opens up the menu in front of her. “So we lived together two years then and now for a year in the city. She’s probably my best friend.”

“So you know her very well then?”

She nods eagerly. “Absolutely. What would you like to know about her?”

I don’t have any notes from Sam this time. Really, there’s only one thing I want to know about Monica. Is it likely she’s going to change her mind and fight to keep her baby?

But I can’t straight out ask that.

“Is she responsible?” I ask.

“Well, yeah!” Chelsea giggles. “Honestly, if it weren’t for her, we would have been booted out of our place ages ago for forgetting to pay the rent.”

I hesitate. “Does she have a boyfriend?”

“Not at the moment.” She raises an eyebrow. “You think a boyfriend would be okay with something like this?”

“Probably not.”

“Well, then.”