“And get in big-time trouble with our mothers?” Skylar frowns. “We don’t know for absolutely sure it’s Ms. Sullivan’s car. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the mystery woman isn’t Ms. Sullivan. We should wait and see what happens.”

I get up and brush the dust off my shorts. “Let’s go home. I never want to see this place again.”

On the way, we pass a Quik Stop. We have just enough change to buy two bottles of water. We sit on the curb near the gas pumps and drink.

We’re about to leave when an old red pickup truck stops in front of one of the pumps. The driver gets out, shoves a credit card into the slot, and opens his gas tank. It’s the guy from Dairy Queen.

The snakes tattooed on his arms twist and turn when he moves. His biceps are huge, his shoulders are wide, and he has almost no neck.

He wears those mirrored sunglasses that totally hide your eyes, but I recognize him. “That’s Paul,” I tell her, “the guy Jason and Carter know.”

“He looks like their type, all right.”

“It must hurt to get that many tattoos,” I whisper.

“Did you know Mom has one?” Skylar whispers back.

I stare at her wide-eyed and shake my head. It’s impossible to imagine my mother having a tattoo. But Ms. Freeman, yes, I can picture her getting one. Not sleeves like Paul’s, though. I would have seen them.

“She has a little butterfly on her shoulder,” Skylar says, “small enough to hide under a Band-Aid. She says when I’m eighteen I can get one, but I don’t think I will.”

We must have talked louder than we thought. Paul lifts his head and looks at us. “Like what you see, girls?”

I feel my face turn red, but Skylar gives him the ugly eye and says, “No, we don’t like what we see.”

Without looking at him again, we dump our empty bottles in the recycle bin and start to ride away. I wish Skylar hadn’t shot her mouth off. This guy is a lot scarier than Carter and Jason.

“Hold it.” Suddenly Paul’s in front of us, blocking our way. “You’re the two girls who hang out in the tree house, aren’t you? Carter told me about you, nosing around. What are you up to?”

Here we are, in the middle of the day, in the Quik Stop parking lot, with cars pulling in and out, people getting gas, buying snacks and sodas, and not one of them paying any attention to Skylar and me. Paul could throw us into his truck and drive away, and none of these people would even notice.

“Buzz off,” Skylar yells at him. “We don’t talk to strangers.”