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interestingly enough, very similar to you , Mr. Adams.”
    “Me?” Joe repeated in a tone of genuine surprise. I bristled and jumped up like a ferocious terrier.
    “I don’t like the direction this conversation is taking!” I shrilled, my eyebrows glowering. “Should we have an attorney present? I can call my friend Paul Nelson—he’d be here in five minutes, weekend or not!”
    “Please, calm down,” the officer said, and I noted with triumph that he’d broken into a light sweat already. “I just came to ask you where you were last night, between the hours of nine and eleven—that’s all! You don’t need an attorney if you haven’t done anything wrong.”
    “Of course not!” I snapped, as bitchy as a woman with PMS. “Joe wouldn’t harm a fly! Would you, Joe?”
    “Actually, I do swat at them when they get in the house,” he admitted mildly, “but I wouldn’t want to bother Paul if we can help it. You said nine to eleven?” When the officer nodded, Joe laughed. “Well, that’s easy! I was with Mike and some of my work buddies at the Main Street Bar and Grill until almost midnight. We took Hank home too, so you can ask his wife.”
    “Ah!” the officer said, although he now looked slightly mystified. “And I assume there were other customers there, as well?”
    “Well, yeah! It’s usually pretty full on a Saturday night.”
    “I was trying to teach Joe and his friends how to dance,” I put in with a sly grin at Joe, who also smiled back.
    “I think we’re a lost cause, Mike!”
    “Well, you can’t blame a guy for tryin’!” I shot back.
    “Uh… well, uh… thanks for your cooperation,” the officer said, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “And if you have any more trouble with vandals, let us know.”
    “Will do,” Joe answered.
    As the officer turned to leave, I asked off-handedly, “Say, how badly was Brandon hurt? Is he in the hospital?”
    He shook his head.
    “No, it wasn’t that bad. Just a little bruising, that’s all.”
    “Oh, good! So it was just… cosmetic .”
    At that word, the officer looked back sharply at me, but I had already returned to my painting. After a moment, we heard his footsteps plodding down the driveway in defeat.

Chapter 11
     
     
    W HEN Joe went to work that week with his newly tricked-out truck, the guys were very impressed, and a couple of them even wanted to know how much I charged. Not knowing what the going rate was, I threw out some rough figures for my time and materials and was surprised when one of the subcontracted electricians called to have me put his company logo on his truck. Since my new-build designing business was winding down after the Parade of Homes, it was a welcome source of extra work, which grew even more when I decided to paint my own truck and use it as advertising.
    For my baby, I chose a black panther prowling over the rear tire on the driver’s side, staring at you regardless of the angle at which you looked at it. The shimmering light on its back came from the crescent moon up on the cab, and its green eyes actually glowed with the help of some glow-in-the-dark paint. On the other side I had a swooping white owl, like Hedwig in Harry Potter , simply because I thought it was a magnificently beautiful creature. On the tailgate I painted my cell phone number with the note: Mike Stevenson, Interior Designs and Custom Paintings. I got eight calls that week alone, two of which turned into work—not bad for a side business!
     
     
    A FEW weeks after the whole Truck-Egging Incident, when things had settled down, Joe asked me if I could help him get his wedding band off. It had taken him that long to come to that decision, so I didn’t question it. I got the ring over his knuckle with liquid soap and some leverage from the back end of my tweezers, then rinsed it off before handing it to him. He contemplated it for a moment as it lay on the palm of his hand.
    “Are you okay?” I asked him gently, worried about what