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“That’s because it’s still early days,” said Odelia. “It should start to show in a couple of weeks.”

“How big does this bump get?” asked Dooley.

“Yes,” I chimed in. “Are we talking a tennis-ball bump or a volleyball bump?”

“That depends,” said Odelia. “Though I hope it won’t be too big. I’d like to keep on working for as long as I can.”

“What do you mean?” asked Dooley, a slight hint of panic clear in his voice. “You’ll have to stop working because of the bump?”

“In the last couple of days or weeks I might have to take it easy,” Odelia explained. “To make sure the baby is fine, and me, too.”

Dooley gulped some more. His eyes had gone wide.“You mean having a baby… is dangerous?!”

“It is a delicate time for a woman, Dooley. So I might have to rest a lot.” She tickled my friend under the chin. “But don’t you worry. I’m sure everything will be just fine.”

But Dooley didn’t seem convinced, and as he stared some more at Odelia’s as-yet non-existent bump, I could tell that her words had done little to assuage his concerns.

We’d arrived at a nice house in a cozy neighborhood, and Odelia parked her car right across the street. A big tree dominated the front yard, and judging from the house itself, the family that lived there took great care in maintaining their pleasant little home.

We walked up to the front door, and Odelia took a deep breath, then pressed her finger to the bell.

“Why did we have to come all the way out here?” I asked. “Why couldn’t Mrs. Careen come to us?”

“Because Kristina Careen is agoraphobic, that’s why,” said Odelia. And when both Dooley and I stared at her, she explained, “She’s afraid to go outside.”

And she probably would have said more, but at that moment the door opened and a smallish woman with short blond hair appeared, and so we all stepped into the house.

Mrs. Careen quickly closed the door, as if afraid that some monster would reach inside and grab her if she left the door open for too long, and we followed her into the living room. Airy and bright, there were plenty of plants spread out throughout the roomy space, and there was even a grand piano near the window. On top of the piano, a veritable smorgasbord of framed pictures had been placed. I saw plenty of pictures of our hostess, out and about in many different places. Clearly Kristina Careen hadn’t always been afraid to leave the house.

“Please take a seat,” said our hostess, gesturing to a white leather couch. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?” She glanced down at me and Dooley. “Milk for the cats?”

“Water for the cats will be fine, and for me, too,” said Odelia, taking a seat.

Mrs. Careen disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, and soon returned.“I’m sorry for dragging you out here,” she said as she placed a large glass of cool water on a coaster on the coffee table, and a dish of the same on the floor for us. “But like I explained over the phone, I don’t get out much.” She grimaced. “Or rather, I don’t get out at all thesedays.”

“That’s fine,” said Odelia. “You said something about your daughter?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Careen, and picked up a framed picture of a fair-haired child and handed it to Odelia. “That’s Poppy. She would have turned twenty this year.”

“Would have?”

“She died thirteen years ago. Hit-and-run accident on the street in front of the house. She and her brother both. Rick survived, but Poppy didn’t. Police say she died on impact. She didn’t suffer.” She sniffled. “At least there’s that.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Odelia with feeling, as she reached out a hand to the woman.

Poppy’s mother took Odelia’s hand and pressed it gratefully. “The day Poppy died was the last day I set foot outside this house. For some reason I haven’t been able to go out ever since. Psychologists say it’s not uncommon for people suffering a great trauma to have lasting damage. But in my case it’s extra hard, since my husband not only lost his daughter that day, he also lost his wife—or at least he lost part of me—and so did I.”

“Did they ever catch who did it?”

“No, and that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I’ve been working closely with a therapist for years, and we’ve come to the conclusion that I’ll never be able to work through this issue as long as there’s no resolution to what happened to my little girl.” She directed a hopeful look at Odelia, and scooted a little forward on the couch. “You see, the police interviewed a number of suspects, and their investigation focused on five men in particular. Five young men who were out joyriding that night, tearing through the neighborhood. One of those five men killed Poppy, and I want him identified and brought to justice. And maybe then I’ll be able to be healed—and so will my husband and son.”

“They’re not here?”

“No, both Dominic and Rick are foresters. I’m also a forester, but for obvious reasons I haven’t been able to work for the last thirteen years. And I must say I miss it terribly.”

“You and your husband used to work together?”