"You got a picture of him?" I asked Ruth, as she worked her way through a Cinnabon she was carrying around. "Seth, I mean."

"There's one in the temple directory," she said. "I mean, it's a shot of his whole family. But I can point him out for you, if you want."

"Okay," I said. "I'll take care of it."

"Soon," Ruth said to me. "You better take care of it soon. There's no telling what might have happened to him. I mean, that gang might have gotten him."

I rolled my eyes. I actually had to keep a eye out, because I'd spotted my mother and Great-aunt Rose—horror of horrors—going into JC Penney, and I wanted to be sure to avoid running into them. I was fairly certain that if Great-aunt Rose hadn't been visiting, there'd have been no way my mom would be at the mall the day after one of her neighbors found out their kid was dead. But I suspected since the neighbor in question was the Thompkinses, my mom hadn't dared risk a sympathy visit, since Great-aunt Rose would have insisted on coming along. And knowing Rose, she'd have started in about the darkies, or something equally appalling.

She was leaving on Sunday. Which might as well have been forever, it seemed so far away.

"If I get a piece of his clothing," Ruth was asking me, "could you do that thing? You know, that thing you did with Shane? And Claire? Where you smel—"

She broke off with a cry of pain as I reached up and seized her by the back of the neck. She was so surprised, a piece of Cinnabon fell out of her mouth.

"I told you not to talk about that, remember?" I hissed at her. Over at Santa's Workshop—the day after Thanksgiving was the day Santa arrived at our local mall—a bunch of moms looked our way, disapproving … probably because we were still young and weren't saddled down with three whiny brats, but whatever. "The Feds are still following me around, you know. I bumped into Cyrus just last night."

"Ow," Ruth said, shrugging off my hand. "Leggo, you freak."

"I mean it," I said. "Just be cool."

"You be cool." Ruth adjusted her shirt collar. "Or try just being normal for a change. What is the matter with you, anyway? You've been acting like a freak all day."

"Gee, I don't know, Ruth," I said, in my most sarcastic tone. "Maybe it's just because last night I saw the mutilated body of the guy who used to live across the street lying mangled in a cornfield."

Ruth curled her upper lip. "God," she said. "Be a little gross, why don't you?" Then Ruth looked at me a little closer. "Wait a minute. You aren't blaming yourself over Nate's death, are you?" When I didn't reply, she went, "Oh my God. You are. Jess, hello? You didn't kill him, okay? His little gang-bang buddies did."

"I knew he was missing," I said. Over at Santa's Workshop some kid was screaming his head off because he was afraid of the mechanical elves building toys in the fake snow. "And I didn't try to find him."

"You knew he'd gone out for whipped cream," Ruth corrected me. "And that he didn't come back right away. You didn't know he was being murdered. You couldn't have known. Come on, Jess. Give yourself a break. You can't be responsible for every single person on the planet who gets himself killed."

"I guess not," I said. I turned away from the sight of the mall Santa ho-ho-hoing. "Look, Ruth, let's go home. You can show me that picture. So maybe if the bar-mitzvah boy really is missing, I can find him before he becomes crow fodder, the way Nate did."

"Eew," Ruth said. "Graphic much?" But she started heading toward the nearest exit.

Only not soon enough, unfortunately.

"Jessica!"

I turned at the sound of the familiar voice … then blanched.

It was Mrs. Wilkins. And Rob.

Just about the last two people—with the exception of my mom and Great-aunt Rose—I'd wanted to run into. Not because I wasn't happy to see them. Let's face it, when have I ever been unhappy about seeing Rob? That would be like being unhappy about seeing the sun come out after forty days and nights of rain.

But knowing what I knew now … what I'd learned overnight, as I slept, without consciously meaning to, and all because of that stupid picture I'd seen on Rob's mother's bedroom wall. . . .

"Hi, you guys," I said, brightly, to cover up what I was really feeling, which was, Oh, shit. "Wow. Fancy meeting you here." Again, among the most toolish of things to say, but I was trying to think fast.

Rob looked about as uncomfortable as I had ever seen him. This was on account of the fact that:

a)He was in a mall.

b)He was in a mall with his mom.

c)He had run into me there.

d)I was with Ruth.

Ruth and Rob are not among one another's favorite people. In fact, I had only recently convinced Ruth to stop referring to Rob as The Jerk on account of him never calling me. Rob thought Ruth was an elitist Townie snob who looked down on non-college-bound people such as himself. Which in fact she was. But that didn't make her a bad person, necessarily.

"Isn't this funny," Mrs. Wilkins said, with a happy smile. "I've been trying to convince Rob to let me take him to get measured for a tux for my brother's wedding since … well, forever, it seems like. And today, when he picked me up after work, he finally agreed. So here we are. And here you are! Isn't that funny?"

"It sure is," I said, even though I didn't think it was funny at all. Especially since Rob hadn't said anything to me about having a wedding to attend. A wedding at which he might be expected to bring a date. Who by rights should be have been me. "I thought Earl was already married," I said, to cover up my inner rage over Rob having never mentioned this before.

"Oh, it's not Earl," Mrs. Wilkins said. "It's my little brother Randy. He and his fiancee are tying the knot on Christmas Eve. Have you ever heard of anything so romantic?"

Christmas Eve? A Christmas Eve wedding at which Rob would be wearing a tuxedo, and he hadn't said a word to me about it? I'd have gone with him, if he'd asked me. I'd have gone with him gladly. I'd have worn the green velvet sheath dress my mom had made me for last year's Lion's Club dinner in honor of Mike winning that scholarship. If my mom wasn't around, wearing the one she'd made herself that matched mine, it actually looked good on me.

But no. No, Rob hadn't even bothered to mention he'd been invited to this affair. Nothing. Not a word.

Suddenly I felt like blurting out what I had learned in my dreams last night about Rob's dad, right in front of everyone, just to get back at him for having purposefully left me out of this very important family event that I was now dying to go to more than I had ever wanted to go to anything before in my life.

"How nice," I said, with what I hoped was a frosty smile in Rob's direction. He was studiously avoiding my gaze. Or maybe he was just trying to avoid making eye contact with Ruth, who was pointedly returning the favor. Either way, he was a dead man.

"Oh, but, Jess!" Mrs. Wilkins's hand shot out, and she grasped my fingers, the smile wiped from her face. "Rob told me what happened to you two on your way back home last night. I'm so sorry! It must have been awful. I feel so terrible for the boy's parents. . . ."

"Yes," I said, my smile growing less frosty. "It was pretty bad."

"If there's anything I can do," Mrs. Wilkins said. "I mean, I can't imagine how I could help, but if you think those poor people could use some home cooking, or something, let me know. I do make a decent casserole. . . ."

"Sure thing, Mrs. Wilkins," I said. "I'll let you know. And thanks again for dinner last night."

"Oh, honey, it was nothing," Mrs. Wilkins said, squeezing my fingers one last time before letting them go. "I'm just so glad you could share it with us."

All that would have been bad enough. But a second later, the whole thing got about ten times worse. Just when I thought I was about to escape virtually unscathed—except for the whole not-having-been-asked-to-Rob's-uncle's-wedding thing—I heard a sound that caused the blood in my veins to curdle.

Which was Great-aunt Rose, calling my name.

"See, I told you it was Jessica," Great-aunt Rose said, hauling my mother up to us. Rose's blue eyes, which appeared rheumy, but which actually took in everything around them with uncanny clarity, crackled as she looked from Rob to me and then back again. "Who is your little friend, Jessica? Aren't you going to introduce us?"

The idea of Great-aunt Rose, a tiny shrimp of a woman, calling Rob "little" would have made me laugh at any other time. As it was, however, I merely longed for the floor of the mall to open up and swallow me as quickly and as painlessly as possible.

My mother, looking tired and distracted—and who wouldn't, having spent the day with Great-aunt Rose—put down the many bags she was holding and said, "Oh, Mary. It's you. How are you?" My mom knew Mrs. Wilkins from the restaurant, of course.

"Hi, Mrs. Mastriani," Mrs. Wilkins said with her sunny smile. "How are you today?"

"Fair," my mom said, "to middling." She looked at me and Ruth. "Hello, girls. Any luck with the sales?"

"I got a cashmere sweater at Benneton," Ruth said, holding up a bag like a triumphant hunter, "for only fifteen dollars."

"It's chartreuse," I reminded her, before she could get too cocky.

"I'm sure it's very flattering," my mother said, just to be polite, because anyone who saw Ruth's blonde hair and sallow complexion would know chartreuse would not be flattering on her at all.

"And you are?" Great-aunt Rose asked Rob, pointedly.

Rob, God love him, carefully wiped off his hand on his jeans before extending it toward my aunt and going, in his deep voice, "Rob Wilkins, ma'am. Very nice to meet you."