Their first week of espionage proved a washout: Nobody entered or left the Benbow house for five straight evenings. Of course, it was possible that Rex conducted his excursions in the mornings while the girls were at school, but Lizzie didn't have the courage to suggest this to Julia. Most days, they had the porch entirely to themselves, except for the occasions when Lizzie's eleven-year-old sister, Rebecca, an aspiring newspaper reporter, asked them to use vocabulary words for her in context: vertiginous, mandrake, cantilever. Also vigilante, pedophile. Once, as twilight approached, Myra served them hot chocolate and then sat silently in a wicker chair while they drank—looking as though she wanted to share something profound. Several times, Bill Sucram steered his motorized wheelchair down the makeshift plank that covered the porch steps and complimented the girls on their artistic efforts. "Few hobbies more wholesome than painting," he said. "And if you two ever want a live model," he added, winking, "you just ask." At those moments, Lizzie felt a twinge of remorse that she wasn't spending more time with her father—and less with Julia—but then she'd hear her friend's electrifying voice, and the guilt would pass.

Julia's precautions did ultimately prove prescient, but not as protection against the suspicions of the Sucrams. Rather, it was her own father and brother who appeared on Lizzie's porch that Saturday morning, the latter armed with a clipboard. Dr. Sand and his son had lantern jaws and deep-set black eyes; in their matching cardigan sweaters, they reminded Lizzie of Mormon missionaries. Julia herself referred to her family as "victims of the body snatchers" and often claimed she was a changeling.

"Fancy meeting you here, Julia," said Dr. Sand as though this were the world's funniest quip. "Morning, Elizabeth. Your parents home?"

Lizzie leaned through the front door and shouted for her father. Less than a minute passed before Bill Sucram emerged from the house.

"Morning, Bill," said Dr. Sand. "How are you holding up?"

Dr. Sand smiled uncomfortably. His son stood at broad-shouldered attention, the clipboard behind his back. Julia continued to paint.

"I'm joking," said Bill. "Cut me some slack. I have to cram 30 years of bad humor into six months."

"Of course," agreed Dr. Sand. "In any case, my boy and I are trying to persuade the town to enact an ordinance prohibiting sex offenders from residing within five hundred yards of children under 18."

"Are you now?" inquired Lizzie's father.

"We're hoping you'd be willing to sign. Your wife, too, if she's around."

Julia's older brother stepped forward with the clipboard.

"And why exactly do we need such a law?" asked Bill.

Dr. Sand glanced at the girls, then up the block toward the Benbow house. "I thought you'd be more aware of what's going on. I don't want to delve into details at the moment," he said, looking pointedly at Lizzie and Julia, "but there's a level-one predator living on your block. Haven't you seen our flyers?"