Simba, sensing my distress, came over and pressed a wet nose into my hand. “Hello? Are you there? Maybe I’d better wait for Peg—” “No!” I cleared my throat and got the quaver out of my voice. He’d said that his information was urgent. Aunt Peg wouldn’t be back until after the weekend. The earliest I could reach her would be tonight. Even then, she’d be six hours away. “Please,” I said, “talk to me. I want to hear about Max’s death.” “I don’t want to do this over the phone.” “I’ll come to you,” I decided quickly. “Just give me directions.” He lived, I discovered, forty miles beyond Newark. Midday, if I didn’t hit traffic on the George Washington Bridge, I could make the trip in an hour and a half. I told him I’d be there as soon as I could and set about making arrangements for Davey. Joey Brickman’s mom, Alice, was home on the first try. She and I have saved each other often enough in the past that she didn’t even ask any questions. “Take all the time you need,”
