Lindy pulled out little soaps and shampoos from hotels and tiny plastic bags of replacement buttons, a pocketknife—“Think they’re into weird sex or what?”

“Lindy, stop!”

“Okay. No problem.” Lindy closed Suzanne’s drawers—finally—then, with a wild laugh, she opened one of Grant’s. His boxers and socks were all mixed together, along with some white briefs, the opposite of Suzanne’s orderly collection. “Tighty whities!” She threw them like snowballs. Jillian felt like one of the kids in The Cat in the Hat.

Lindy fished little bits of paper out of the back of his drawer. Receipts for meals. A wad of tissue paper held closed by an old purple rubber band. A big color photo of a woman with big boobs and porny panties sitting on a red couch—not Suzanne.

Jillian and Lindy both screamed. Jillian attempted to stuff the picture back in the drawer, but Lindy was faster. She grabbed the photo and held it tight in both hands.

“Put it back, Lin.”

“No way. I’m keeping it.” Lindy laughed.

Jillian felt sick. She grabbed for the picture, but Lindy just held it out of her reach. Jillian got hold of it, tearing off a corner in her attempt to get it back. “Look what you did, Lin!” she cried.

“Me? You tore it. Now calm yourself. Let’s go raid the fridge.” Lindy folded the picture and stuck it in her pocket, turning off the light as she left the room.

LATER, WHEN ALLISON TRIED TO PIECE IT TOGETHER, SHE COULDN’T remember the order in which it happened, or even what exactly happened. Admittedly, she’d been a little distracted since Nick left the meeting, but she wasn’t the only one who was confused. Some people remembered a child coming to the school, opening the door and yelling. Others said that there was no child, but that sounds between moans and screams—sounds more suitable to Halloween than a December night—alerted them to the problem.

It came in the middle of speaker number forty’s testimony. Everyone agreed on that. Ned Lehrer had just broken down in tears about the state of his retirement fund. That would have been a dramatic enough moment, but people forgot about the crying in the tumult that followed.

Most of the crowd stood simultaneously, their chairs scraping against the linoleum. There was pushing and panic as they squeezed out into the night. Someone opened the emergency exit, which set off an alarm, driving out anyone who considered waiting at the school until the hubbub had died down.

The lights on the houses guided them to the green, daylight at night. The murmuring got louder as they got closer. “What a shame,” people said, and “What kind of jerk would . . . ?”