Jill wondered if Yasmin was being sarcastic or serious or maybe a little of both. Yasmin’s eyes were back on the monitor. She pointed.
“Wait, here it is. Take a look.”
It was a MySpace page entitled “Male or Female?—The Story of XY.” The wallpaper had a plethora of gorillas and monkeys. Under favorite movies, the two listed were Planet of the Apes and Hair. The default song was Peter Gabriel’s “Shock the Monkey.” There were National Geographic videos, all involving primates. One was a YouTube short called “Dancing Gorilla.”
But the worst part was the default picture—a school photograph of Yasmin with a beard drawn over the face.
Jill whispered, “I can’t believe it.”
Yasmin started crying again.
“How did you find this?”
“Marie Alexandra, that bitch, sent me the link. She copied in half the class.”
“Who made it up?”
“I don’t know. I bet she did. She sent it like she was all concerned but I could almost hear her giggling, you know?”
“And she copied other people in?”
“Yes. Heidi and Annie and . . .”
Jill shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?”
Jill said nothing.
Yasmin’s face turned red. “Someone has to pay for this.”
Jill looked at her friend. Yasmin used to be so gentle. She used to love to play the piano and dance and laugh at dumb movies. Now all Jill could see was the rage. It scared her. So much had gone wrong in the past few days. Her brother had run away, her father was in some kind of trouble, and now Yasmin was angrier than ever.
“Girls?”
It was Mr. Novak calling from downstairs. Yasmin wiped the tears off her face. She opened the door and called out, “Yes, Daddy?”
“I made some popcorn.”
“We’ll be down in a minute.”
“Beth and I were thinking about taking you guys to the mall. We can see a movie or maybe you two can play at the arcade. What do you think?”
“We’ll be down in a second.”
Yasmin closed the door again.
“My dad needs to get out of the house. He’s been freaking.”
“Why?”
“The weirdest thing happened. Mr. Lewiston’s wife showed up.”
“At your house? No way.”
Yasmin nodded, her eyes widened. “I mean, I guess it was her. I’ve never seen her, but she was driving his crappy car.”
“So what happened?”
“They started arguing.”
“Oh my God.”
“I couldn’t hear. But she looked really pissed.”
From downstairs: “Popcorn’s ready!”
The two girls came downstairs. Guy Novak was waiting for them. His smile was strained. “IMAX has the new Spider-Man movie,” he said.
The doorbell rang.
Guy Novak turned to it. His body tensed.
“Dad?”
“I’ll get it,” he said.
He started for the front door. The two girls followed, keeping a little distance. Beth was there. Mr. Novak looked out the little window, frowned, opened the door. A woman stood in the doorway. Jill looked at Yasmin. Yasmin shook her head. This woman was not Mr. Lewiston’s wife.
Mr. Novak said, “Can I help you?”
The woman peeked behind him, saw the girls, then looked back up at Yasmin’s dad.
“Are you Guy Novak?” the woman asked.
“Yes.”
“My name is Loren Muse. Can we talk a moment in private?”
LOREN Muse stood in the doorway.
She spotted the two little girls behind Guy Novak. One was probably his daughter, the other, well, maybe she belonged to the woman standing behind them both. The woman, she quickly noted, was not Reba Cordova. The woman looked fine and fairly relaxed, but you never know. Muse kept her eyes on her, looking for some sort of signal to show that she was under duress.
There were no signs of blood or trauma in the foyer. The girls looked a little timid but otherwise okay. Before she rang the bell, Muse had pressed her ear against the door. She’d heard nothing unusual, just Guy Novak calling upstairs about popcorn and a movie.
“What’s this about?” Guy Novak asked.
“I think it would be better if we talked alone.”
She stressed the word “alone,” hoping he would get the hint. He didn’t.
“Who are you?” he asked.
Muse did not want to identify herself as a law enforcement officer with the girls still in the room, so she leaned in, glanced at the girls, and then looked him hard in the eye. “I think it would be better in private, Mr. Novak.”
He finally got the message. He turned back to the woman and said, “Beth, would you take the girls into the kitchen and give them popcorn?”
“Of course.”
Muse watched them slip out of the room. She was trying to read Guy Novak. He seemed a little on edge, but something about his manner suggested that he was more irritated with her surprise arrival than truly scared.
Clarence Morrow and Frank Tremont, along with a few local cops, were nearby. They were surreptitiously checking around. There was still faint hope that maybe Guy Novak had kidnapped Reba Cordova and was holding her here, but as the seconds passed, that seemed less and less likely.
Guy Novak did not invite her in. “Well?”
Muse flashed her badge.
“You’re kidding me,” he said. “Did the Lewistons call you?”
Muse had no idea who the Lewistons were, but she decided to go with it. She made a yes-no gesture with a head tilt.
“I can’t believe this. All I did was drive by their house. That’s all. Since when is that against the law?”
“Depends,” Muse said.
“On what?”
“On your intentions.”
Guy Novak pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Do you know what that man did to my daughter?”
She had no idea, but whatever it was, it had clearly agitated Guy Novak. That pleased her—she could work with that.
“I’ll listen to your side,” she said.
He started railing then about something a teacher had said about his daughter. Muse watched his face. Again, like with Neil Cordova, she got no sense that this was an act for her benefit. He ranted about the injustice of what had been done to his little girl, Yasmin, and how this teacher didn’t even get a slap on the wrist.
When he took a breath, Muse asked, “How does your wife feel about this?”
“I’m not married.”