“What’s the matter?” Chandler asked.
“Nothing,” she mumbled.
Chandler squatted down and eyed her suspiciously.
She made a face. “Today’s Fairfield Town Spirit Day at the community center, but I don’t have anything that says Fairfield to wear.”
“Just ask Michelle. She has stuff,” Chandler said.
Replacement’s ponytail danced back and forth as she shook her head. “Nope. She has two Fairfield shirts, but she’s wearing one and she’s letting Moisha wear the other.”
“I’m sure Michelle didn’t know,” Chandler said.
“I know that.” She pouted. “And I know Michelle would give me her own shirt if I asked, which is why I’m not asking.”
“Does it have to be a middle school shirt?” Jack asked.
Replacement didn’t look up. “No. Just anything with Fairfield on it.”
Jack looked down at the logo on his shirt and then pulled the t-shirt off. He held it out to her. “It’ll be huge on you, but it’s a Fairfield High shirt.”
She stared up at him, blinking, but didn’t reach out for the shirt.
“I just put it on.” Jack sniffed the shirt. “It’s clean.”
Her mouth dropped open, and slowly she reached out for the shirt.
Chandler laughed at Jack. “You gonna go out half-naked, or do you want me to run upstairs and get you another shirt?”
“Nah. I got a clean shirt in the trunk.”
Replacement suddenly rose to her feet, clutching Jack’s shirt to her chest, and bolted inside.
“You’re welcome, kid,” Jack muttered.
Chandler smacked his arm as they walked to the car. “Wow, man. You just made Replacement’s month. Hell, I bet she never forgets that.”
“What?” Jack shrugged. “It’s a shirt.”
Chandler shook his head. “Sometimes you’re clueless.”
“What?”
“I probably shouldn’t say anything, but—Michelle told me that Replacement has a huge crush on you. Besides, you remember what it was like. How many people do you think would do something like that for her?”
“You, for one.” Jack opened the trunk, grabbed a clean gym shirt, and pulled it on.
Chandler made a face. “You know I would.” Then he smiled. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this either, but Michelle said Replacement thinks you’re like Batman. But”—his chest puffed up—“she thinks I’m like Superman.”
“That’s cool.” Jack opened the door to the Impala and hopped in.
Chandler got in too. “That’s cool? I know you’d rather be Superman.”
“Are you kidding me? Think it through. Superman has a nine-to-five job. He digs a chick who doesn’t know he’s alive, and she has the hots for his alter ego.”
“Yeah, but Superman can’t be hurt by bullets.”
“So what? Bruce Wayne is a boy billionaire. Babes abound. Catwoman. He doesn’t work. Sweet cars. Sleeps all day and fights crime at night. And he has a butler. There’s no contest.”
“Superman can fly,” Chandler said. “Case closed.”
Jack laughed and rolled down his window. He felt it in the air that today was going to be a scorcher.
“This isn’t the way to your house,” Chandler said.
“Really?” Jack smiled sheepishly.
“What now? Almost getting arrested wasn’t enough?”
“Five minutes.”
Chandler sighed. “A lot can happen in five minutes.”
Jack drove to Morton’s Hill and parked the Impala across the street from Stacy Shaw’s little yellow ranch. It was a pretty home with flowerboxes in the windows. The grass was long and needed a cut.
Jack settled back into his seat and stared at the house. After a minute, Chandler shifted uncomfortably.
“What?” Jack asked.
“You’re parked sorta close.”
“Close to what?”
“The house.” Chandler pointed. “In the movies, they always park sorta far away. Or in a van with dark windows or something.”
“I’m not staking it out.”
“Then why are we here?”
“I’m thinking.”
“Couldn’t you do your thinking at home?”
Jack ran his knuckle along the door panel. “No. You’re supposed to try to get inside the victim’s head. I guess that’s what I’m doing.”
“I thought people say you want to get into the killer’s head.”
“That too. But I figure you should get to know the victim. Kinda like the guys who spot counterfeit bills. They don’t look at fake bills; they study the real ones. That way, when they see a counterfeit, it sets off alarms in their head.”