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the docks; the warehouse district; Constitution Park (known for its homeless population despite a recent renovation); Maison Marianne (a now-abandoned mansion that had been the scene of an infamous triple homicide); a banana plantation that also housed one of the island’s tawdriest brothels; an under-construction resort hotel. Anywhere and everywhere children could be hidden. But the four boys had simply vanished.
    Lucien contemplates himself in the bedroom mirror. His coal-black skin looks rough, his large eyes deeply weary. He puts on his game face and emerges composed into the cozy kitchen.
    Their cottage is cheerful. Bright yellow café curtains, sewn by Agathe, lend warmth to the kitchen, which is the heart of their home, as do the madras plaid tablecloth and the array of carved masks by St. Lucian artists gracing the walls. Lucien and Agathe have lived in the city of Castries, the capital of St. Lucia, their entire lives, and the masks are the works of their friends. Each one has a story.

    Agathe, her green eyes (as ever) glowing against her café-au-lait-colored skin, thick curls caught up in a glossy ponytail, hands him a cup of strong coffee.
    “Didn’t you sleep?” she asks.
    “Not too well. But I’ll be fine. Baby still asleep?”
    “Yes. I just checked on him. We get to have breakfast alone for a change.”
    He grins at her, pleased. Agathe serves him: French toast, fresh fruit. He grasps her hand and kisses it after she lays his plate down, and is rewarded with a honeyed smile. They eat in silence, Lucien grateful for the sweet taste of the food and Agathe’s understanding that he needs quiet.
    But then his wife, his lovely, trigger-tempered wife, informs him she is pregnant again. With a baby only thirteen months of age, and the notion of uninterrupted sleep only a recent rediscovery, Lucien does not react to this news with the adoring jubilation Agathe has clearly anticipated. When he asks if she is sure, she flings a china plate at his head. The shattering plate wakes the baby, Bertrand, who begins to wail. Lucien begs off; he has to get to work. This only infuriates Agathe more. There he goes again, hiding behind work and avoiding his family! It is like he is always trying to avoid them as of late! His mind is absent even when his body is present! She could have predicted this reaction! Agathe rants on.
    Lucien retreats into the baby’s room and picks up the crying Bertrand. He strokes his son’s small, fragile back, calming him. Then he hands the baby over to Agathe, kisses her on the forehead, and makes for the door. He can’t tell Agathe how heavily the four missing boys are weighing on him. Can’t bring any of this case home to her warm embrace. Not with their baby boy, and now another child on the way.

“Where are we going?”
    Ellie was practically skipping, leading Rob down the Chelsea street.
    She smiled at him. “I told you, it’s a surprise.”
    She brushed a wisp of blond hair from her forehead. Light fractured in Ellie’s brand-new diamond engagement ring. The day was fine and clear, and even if Ellie wasn’t trying to move her hand just so to catch the light (which of course she was, just a little bit), the sun would have worked its magic. The diamond refracted spectacular prisms with every move.
    They turned the corner.
    “Here we are.”
    Now Rob knew. Before him was a little pocket park. But the playground at its center was like nothing he had ever seen.
    Four topsy-turvy miniature skyscrapers, paired off like two sets of lovers, rose from a padded, softly molded magic garden, a riot of fantastic shapes in brilliant hues. The skyscrapers resembled the buildings around them in appearance (except for their scale, of course); they looked like they were constructed of glass and steel. They were in fact the latest in environmentally sound “green” technology, and also crafted to reflect the latest concepts in the “science of play.”

    The four play structures were spirited