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Brooklyn.”
    â€œDo you agree with them?” I asked.
    â€œNo. I’ve got plenty of direction—I just don’t want to move in the direction they want me to. Here’s the real story: I want to go to art school and my parents want me to go to business school. We couldn’t agree, so as a compromise I’m taking time to explore both art and business.”
    â€œThat makes sense,” I said.
    â€œIn theory, yes,” said Felicity. “I’m taking a figure-painting class at Pratt, the art college in Brooklyn. Working here was part of the deal, because it’s giving me experience with business. Plus, I need the money, because my parents want to teach me the value of a dollar. Whatever that means!”
    â€œSo how do you feel about working at Sonya’s Sweets?” I asked. “It sounds like you’re not so excited about it.”
    â€œIt’s fine,” she said with a shrug. “You know—except for all of the flying glass. I guess you could say it’s a lot more exciting than I thought it would be.” She peeked over her shoulder toward Joshua.
    â€œLet’s talk about the flying glass,” I said. “Do you have any idea who would have destroyed such a gorgeous window?”
    â€œNot a clue,” Sonya replied quickly. “That’s what we’re all wondering—right?”
    â€œDid you notice anything suspicious yesterday? Or any customers who seemed particularly odd?”
    â€œI was too busy working,” said Sonya. “Check out my hands. They’re totally wrinkled from all the dishes I’ve had to wash.”
    Sonya held out her hands, palms facing me. They did look a bit prune-y. Her nails had specks of green and blue around the edges. She noticed me noticing them.
    â€œThat’s paint, but it won’t come off no matter what,” said Sonya.
    â€œWhat are you working on?” I asked.
    â€œWe’re doing self-portraits,” said Sonya. “Which aren’t my favorite thing, but my teacher is amazing.”
    â€œSonya told me you’re living with her family,” I said.
    â€œYup. Sonya and I share a room and everything. It’s like we’re suddenly sisters, which is funny because we’re both only children.”
    Felicity looked behind her again. Joshua, I noticed, was lingering in the background. He kept mopping the same two feet of floor, the tiles of which were already sparkling. He was obviously eavesdropping. I didn’t mind, exactly; I just found it strange.
    I put the letter
J
for “Joshua” in my notebook. Sonya pretended not to read it, but I saw her eyes narrow into a squint.
    I turned to a fresh page and said, “Sonya and her mom are pretty excited about the soda fountain.”
    â€œI know,” said Felicity. “It’s all they’ve been talking about since I’ve been here.”
    â€œThey’ve got a lot riding on it,” I said. “So let me ask you again—do you have any idea who might have broken the window?”
    Felicity shook her head. “Nope.”
    I wasn’t getting very far, which frustrated me. On some level I knew what the problem was. Detectives aren’t supposed to ask yes or no questions. Leading questions—the kind that require more thought and explanation—are how you get interesting information. So, for example, I shouldn’t have asked Felicity where she was from. I should’ve said, “Tell me about yourself.”
    But for some reason—maybe it was the fact that Felicity was already so uncomfortable—things just didn’t pan out that way.
    Joshua was outside now, sweeping the sidewalk. I lowered my voice and pointed to him. “How well do you know that guy?”
    â€œWho?” Felicity asked, even though there wasn’t anyone else in front of the shop.
    â€œJoshua,” I said. “That’s his name, right?”
    â€œOh, him? I guess