I waited patiently, demonstrating what a model citizen I was. Cooperative. Unarmed. This was all part of the game. The deputy exercised control, and I showed him the obligatory respect while the mini-drama played out. Not a problem for me, officer. I could sit here all day. He’d put me through my paces, after which he’d caution me politely and I’d respond in kind.

I stared straight ahead, resigned to my fate. A car turned the corner at the far end of the block and headed in my direction. The vehicle was a late-model Ford, black, with a solo male driver, who slowed in front of April’s house and pulled to the curb with his car facing mine, perhaps a hundred feet away. He got out. Caucasian, middle-aged, tall and lean, wearing a tan poplin raincoat. I knew the face. Ned Lowe looked better now than he had in high school, which I hope can be said of all of us. Given Taryn’s account of him, I’d anticipated a man whose manner was intimidating. Not so. There was nothing menacing in his body language. His complexion was pale. He looked tired. Under ordinary circumstances, I wouldn’t have given him a second thought.

April must have been watching for her father’s arrival. She opened the front door, closed it behind her, and waited on the porch. She had shoulder-length dark hair and that was as much as I could determine, except for the short-sleeve cotton maternity top she wore. She had her bare arms crossed in front of her. I assumed she was a solid eight months pregnant. Since she and her orthodontist husband had been married a little over a year, this was probably her first.

Ned crossed the lawn to the porch, where he and April had a brief conversation, both of them staring at me. From his raincoat pocket, he pulled a small spiral-bound notebook, jotting down what I imagined was the color, make, and model of my car, as well as my license plate number in case I ever showed up again. April’s next-door neighbor appeared on her porch, so I was now the object of her curiosity as well.

The deputy took his time on the return. So far, he hadn’t said a word about my vehicular sins. That’s because I hadn’t committed any. He didn’t even have grounds to cite me for a faulty brake light or an expired license tag. Even so, there was something embarrassing about the whole episode, which must have suited Ned Lowe to a T. Now that I thought about it, April had probably called him and he was the one who’d called the sheriff’s department.

The deputy leaned forward and returned my license. His name tag read M. FITZMORRIS. No hint of his first name. Surely he wasn’t Morris Fitzmorris, though I’ve heard of parents who do that sort of thing. He looked more like a Michael; big guy, dark-haired, good posture, his back ramrod straight. “You have business in the neighborhood, Ms. Millhone?”