He had thick dark hair and a squarish face that was rugged and tan. He wore a trench coat, a white shirt, and gray slacks. A slight bulge near his shoulder indicated he was packing some heat, as they say in detective novels about folks who carry guns. He looked down at me with twinkling blue eyes, and smiled. “Bianca, how’s your mom?” Suddenly, it hit me. He was Steve Paluchek, a detective with the Baltimore City Police who had served with my dad and occasionally checked in on us. I liked him. He was like an uncle to me. And right now, he was the one person in the world I was happiest to see, because out of the corner of my eye I could now see Lemming Lady approaching. “Fine, fine,” I said, keeping track of the Lady. She had slowed down when she saw me talking with a stranger. I couldn’t help noticing that her wardrobe selections had not improved. She still wore impractical boots and skin-tight pants, but today her choice had run to electric blue leggings topped by a black sparkly tube top under the leather jacket.
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