Chris was a pretty fat guy himself, which wasn’t surprising, as he sat at his screen all day doctoring his website, answering queries, and blogging about how wonderful his health products were, especially Thermo Booster Burn pills—destroyers of fat for all the other folks who spent the day on their asses. Things were slowly taking off. Orders could be placed anytime. Chris was making money as he slept. The concept still amazed Spencer. McGrath’s parting words echoed inside his head. Chris would be sixty this year. Budgets were pretty tight right now, but at the rate he was going he might well be a tycoon by retirement age.

Spencer knew he shouldn’t encourage him to drink but they’d made a deal: Chris would drink with him if Spencer promised not to go out and get wasted in the bars of nearby Highland Park.

Spencer took a long swig. Eight o’clock in the evening and still hotter than a three-balled tomcat. He picked up the open envelope next to him. Cheap government stationery. Child Protective Services.

Chris appeared on the stoop, cleaning his glasses on his white T-shirt.

“Sorry, I just saw the address and so I opened it.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He dropped the letter back on the sofa. Later.

“They want to see you tomorrow, no excuses.”

“Chris, don’t panic.”

“It sounded serious.”

Spencer opened a beer for him. Chris took it but didn’t drink. “Why do they keep asking to see you?” he persisted.

Irritation flared in Spencer as it did more readily these days. He suppressed it though. He owed Chris. Big-time. The couch in the living room was his bed and had been for the last six weeks—since Spencer decided to hold on to stock rather than rent and wages.

“Chris, we’ve been through this. They opened an investigation on Abby and me. It lasts thirty days.”

“Yeah, but you’ve never seemed bothered by why they opened it. And I’m pretty sure it’s been going on longer than thirty days now.”

“Like I said, Abby was late to school a couple times and I was late picking her up. One of her teachers is a hard-ass. Probably made a call. Every time I go in it’s the same thing: they see Abby’s fine. This situation’s so under control you’d think I was seeing them for the fun of it.”

Spencer hung in the doorway of Abby’s room, watching her sleep. Her blonde hair had started to darken. But it wouldn’t end up black, like Spencer’s. There were other things too, patterns of behavior, that felt like echoes from his past. She already had her mother’s stubborn quest for answers.