Seven Minutes to Noon

denuded aftermath. Her father leaving, just like that. Her mother’s pain hardening into a tough, glamorous Hollywood shell — a persona who nevertheless remembered what mattered, and cherished the love of her family.
    Alice shook her head, scattering the burdened memories.
    It was 11:55. She crossed the street and went into the police station. The attendant at the front desk checked her name off a list and pointed her to the waiting area. This time, she didn’t look at the wanted posters; she couldn’t bear to see those awful, twisted, needy or, worse, average faces because every one of them was Lauren’s killer. Every one of them had held Ivy in his arms. Or had not held her. The possibilities were too cruel to consider.
    Alice stood in front of the fish tank and watched the big fish circle the little fish, darting through a miniature landscape of neon coral. One fish hid behind a sunken plastic pirate ship. Someone was keeping the tank meticulously clean.
    A familiar voice snagged her attention and she turned to see Tim pass through the lobby. He was with a tall man in a suit and tie, presumably a lawyer. As soon as Tim noticed her, he fell silent. She waved and he waved back, but that was all. The man with him glanced her way, then at Tim, then lifted his chin toward the door and directed them out of the precinct.
    Alice watched her friend leave, chilled by his cool departure. What had just happened? Had Frannie and Giometti told him she was the one who had pressed the issue of his baby’s gender? Had they told him she couldn’t be trusted? Was it true? Could any of the friends trust each other anymore? Were they all suspects in Lauren’s death?
    “Alice.” Giometti’s soft voice startled her. “Come with me.”
    He led her upstairs to the interview room, where Frannie sat at the table, waiting.
    “Hi, Alice,” she said warmly. “Have a seat.”
    Alice resisted the feeling they were friends. They were not friends. She reminded herself that she had been summoned here for what basically amounted to an interrogation.
    The light in the room was gritty and dim. As before, the blinds were closed. Giometti sat down next to Frannie, who leaned forward to switch on the tape recorder. She stated the date and time, and listed who was in the room. Then she looked directly at Alice.
    “The questions today are mostly routine.”
    “Okay.”
    They started with her whereabouts last Friday, when Lauren first disappeared. Alice repeated everything they already knew, retold it all until she was emptied of details. She recalled that day as if it were a jewel in a spotlight on a dark stage. She remembered waiting in the park for Lauren, her growing conviction that Lauren had had the baby, her excitement about Ivy. She remembered all of it with incredulity at her hopefulness that afternoon. She remembered walking along Court Street with all four children. The story of her day ended with the recollection of lying in bed and not sleeping that night or the next night or the next, the nights rolling over her in sleepless redux, until finally she crashed the car. But Alice didn’t say any of that; she simply said, “I went to bed,” and eased into a pause that ended the interview. Frannie’s eyes flicked to the wall clock, then announced the time into the tape recorder and turned it off.
    “Thanks.” Giometti half stood and leaned over the table to extend his hand to Alice.
    “That’s it?” Alice asked.
    “You’re done.”
    “All right if I ask you a question?”
    Frannie smiled. “Shoot.”
    “What just happened in here with Tim?”
    Giometti tensed up a little. He glanced at Frannie before answering. “I’m sorry, but that isn’t a conversation we can have with you.”
    Alice looked at Frannie, into her dark eyes. “What did he tell you about the baby? How did he know she was a girl? What did Dr. Rose tell you? Did you even speak with her?”
    “We spoke with Dr. Rose,” Frannie said, “if it makes you feel any better.”
    “And?”
    “I’ll tell you what.” Frannie stood up and came around the desk to guide Alice to the door. “If you want to know how Tim found out the baby was a girl, ask your friend. Ask Maggie.”
    Alice walked out of the police station into the bright afternoon and saw Maggie walking slowly up Union Street, late for her one o’clock appointment. She was wearing a tight yellow skirt that flared just below her knees and a pair of the dove-gray suede shoes with spiky one-inch