“What?” Marcus blinked.

“Did you see him? I swear, I think I recognized him.”

“What are you talking about?” Marcus frowned in confusion, but Christine was already reaching for her phone, tucked in the side pocket of her purse.

“He looks like our donor. Let me check that video—”

“Of course he’s not our donor.” Marcus snorted, then faced front, shrugging it off.

“But he looked a lot like him.”

“Don’t be silly.” Marcus put the car in reverse, still shaking his head.

“I know what I saw. Did you see the video?”

“No, and what’s up with Al? What kind of guy follows serial killers?” Marcus backed out of the space, then drove toward the side entrance of the school, where they had left the gifts and leftover cake, because teachers never wasted anything.

“Hold on.” Christine tried to log onto the Internet, but couldn’t. Cell reception was spotty around the school, which drove her crazy.

“What are you doing?” Marcus pulled up at the side entrance and parked.

“Going on CNN. They probably have the video on their website.”

“You’re not serious, are you?” Marcus looked at Christine like she was crazy or hormonal, which was an expression she’d seen on him in the past, not completely unjustified.

“I don’t know, it was just weird.”

“What was weird?” Marcus let the car idle, readjusting the lattice vent so that it blew on Christine.

“I just took a look at the TV, and it struck me all of a sudden—that’s him. It was like I recognized him.”

“You think that guy was our donor?” Marcus’s lips parted in puzzlement. “He’s just a guy on a news story.”

“But he was blond and tall, and he had those eyes, his blue eyes—”

“A lot of guys look like that. My dad does. I do.” Marcus opened the car door, and the hot air blew in. “Stay here. Try to relax. I’ll load the trunk and drive you home. I don’t want you driving like this. We’ll get your car later.”

“I can drive, I’m fine.”

“No, sit tight.” Marcus got out and shut the car door, and Christine returned her attention to her iPhone. She tried again to get online but there was no service. She knew she’d have better luck near the office, so she opened the door and got out of the car. She walked down the sidewalk until she saw a bar pop onto the top of her iPhone screen, then logged onto the Internet. She typed CNN into the search function and tapped through to the news of the day until she got to the third story, with the heading SUSPECTED SERIAL KILLER APPREHENDED.

“Christine, I thought you had left!” Pam emerged from the front doors with a surprised smile, carrying three tote bags.

“Marcus is just packing up. Thanks so much again.” Christine tried to put on a happy face, but she was dying to look at the CNN video. She slipped the phone into her pocket as Marcus returned to the car with the bags and started loading the trunk, which caught Pam’s attention.

“Oh, I could’ve given him a hand,” Pam said, waving to Marcus, who shut the trunk.

“Thanks. He’s got it, and you’re carrying enough.”

“When are we ever not carrying enough? Did you see my new bag, by the way? My daughter gave it to me.” Pam held out her largest tote bag, a floral Vera Bradley pattern, which was the real version of Christine’s knockoff purse.

“Gorgeous. Teacher porn.”

“Hey ladies!” Marcus called out, striding toward them, his hand in his pocket. “Pam, you sure know how to throw a party, thanks again.”

“Happy to do it.”

“Honey?” Marcus took Christine’s arm and they walked as a threesome toward his car, which was in the same direction as the parking lot. They said good-bye to Pam again, and Marcus opened the door for Christine, then went to the driver’s side of the car and got inside. “Why did you get out of the car?” he asked, putting the car in gear.

“To see the video.”

“You’re being silly.” Marcus pulled out of the drive and headed for the exit.

“Maybe, probably. Let’s just head home. In three blocks I’ll be able to get better reception, on Glastonbury Road.”

“Silly.” Marcus reached on the console for the wraparound Maui Jims that he used for golf, and slipped them on his face. “Honey, he’s not our donor.”

“He could be. I mean, it’s possible.”

“No, it’s not possible. It’s out of the question. I can’t even believe you’re serious. They screen these donors.”

“I’m sure they do some, but how much? And what?” Christine thought about it. She had never asked anyone the question about what kind of screening they did for donors. She remembered reading some boilerplate on the site and wished she had paid more attention.

“These are reputable banks. We were referred to them by Dr. Davidow. It’s not like some fly-by-night operation.”

“But still, it’s not impossible. Someone committing a murder, or really any kind of crime, how do you screen for that?”

“Our donor must be a medical student by now. That guy they arrested wasn’t a medical student.”

“Maybe he was, we didn’t hear the story.” Christine thought that sounded improbable, even to herself, which made her feel a little better. They drove down the winding road toward the stone bridge. She checked her phone but there was still no reception. They’d be at Glastonbury Road in minutes. Sunlight dappled the asphalt from tall oaks lining the street, and the cornfield was a solid block of leafy green, fairly high for mid-June.

“Anyway, you only have one day left of school. Amazing, huh?”

“Yes, but I want to get this video up. Then I want you to look at it and see if I’m crazy.”

“You’re crazy.” Marcus chuckled, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. He steered the car onto Shire Road, and Christine logged onto Safari, then navigated to the CNN site, tapping the heading of the news story on her iPhone screen, then enlarged it with her fingers to read it better.

“It says, ‘Zachary Jeffcoat, a Pennsylvania man, was arrested today—’”

“See, already. It’s not our guy. Our guy’s from Nevada.”