“Hush!” a voice yelled. An elderly man in gray chinos, a red plaid shirt, and bright-orange track shoes opened the door. A four-pound Yorkshire terrier yapped and growled at his feet, trying to slip past his legs, as if it wanted to tear Lance’s ankles apart with its tiny teeth. The man backed out onto the stoop, pushing the furious dog back inside. Chuckling, he closed the door. “Sorry about that. Grizz is fifteen years old and still has no manners. I don’t suppose he’s ever going to.”

Lance handed the old man a business card and introduced himself.

“I’m Bob Johnson.” Bob squinted at the card, then pulled a pair of black-framed reading glasses from the chest pocket of his shirt. “A private investigator? I’ve never talked to one of those before.” He sounded excited. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for your neighbor, Olivia Cruz. Do you know her?”

“Yes. I know Olivia. She inherited her aunt’s house. Knew her aunt too. I’ve lived in this house for sixty years. My wife and I bought it after our third child was born.”

“Is your wife home?”

Bob shook his head, his eyes misting. “No, she passed away last year, right after our sixtieth wedding anniversary.”

“I’m sorry.” Lance felt the old man’s sadness. He couldn’t imagine losing Morgan. Ever.

Bob’s smile was bittersweet. “I’m grateful for all the years we had together. She kept me in line.” He winked, brushing off his nostalgia. “Someone had to.” Bob was probably in his early eighties, but he seemed pretty spry for his age.

“When did you last talk to Olivia?” Lance asked.

Bob rubbed his chin. “A couple of days ago, early in the morning. She was working in her garden. I asked her advice on ground cover for my flower beds. I can’t get down to pull weeds like I used to.”

“Do you remember what day that was?”

“What’s today?”

“Friday.”

“I’m retired, and the days all blur together now,” Bob explained. “I’d say it was Wednesday.”

“But you haven’t seen her since then?”

Bob’s brows drew together. “She drove by the house last night. I was walking the dog. Neither one of us sleeps through the night anymore. Grizz was sniffing his way around the side yard when we saw her drive by.”

“Do you know what time that was?” Lance asked.

Bob rested a fist on his lower back. His head tilted as he concentrated. “I guess it was actually early this morning, probably between two and three. I don’t know the exact time. Grizz and I went back to bed.”

“Was Olivia behind the wheel? Was anyone else in the car?”

“I didn’t see her face.” Bob pointed down the street. “She was driving that way, so the passenger side of her car was facing me. But I didn’t see anyone in the passenger seat. I assume she was alone.”

Lance assumed nothing. “You’re sure it was her car?”

“I didn’t check the license plate.” Bob lifted one shoulder. “But she’s the only one on the street with a white Prius.”

“Have you seen anyone else around Olivia’s house recently?”

Bob rubbed his chin. “There was a guy knocking at her door last night about seven o’clock. He knocked. She didn’t answer. He left. That was it.”

Lance snapped to attention. A lead. “Can you tell me what he looked like?”

Bob frowned. “He was tall, blond hair. I couldn’t see his face in the dark.”

“Thin, fat, average?” Lance prompted.

“He was wearing a jacket, but I’d say average.”

“Did you see what kind of car he was driving?”

“Yes!” Bob’s voice rose, and he pointed to his own chest with his thumb. “I’m a car guy. It was a 1971 Chevy Nova. I’m pretty sure it was black, but it could have been dark blue.”

“Is that an expensive car?” Lance was not a car guy.

“Not particularly, but if you like muscle cars—and I do—it was in very good condition.”

And distinctive. How many dark-blue or black 1971 Chevy Novas could be in the area?

Lance took a small notepad out of his pocket. “Could I have your phone number, Bob?”

“Sure.”

Lance wrote down Bob’s contact information. “Have you seen anyone unusual around the neighborhood lately? Salespeople, meter readers, construction crews . . .”

Bob gestured toward the brick house a few doors down the street. “The Browns have been renovating their house for a year. There’s always a work vehicle of some kind out front.”

“You saw workers there this past week?”

Bob tucked his hands into his front pockets and hunched as if he were cold. “There was a white van parked there on and off for the past two weeks.”

“Can you describe the van?”

“White, no windows in the back. A little dinged up.” Bob closed his eyes. “Sorry. I don’t remember what kind of tradesman it was. I’m afraid I’ve gotten so used to seeing vehicles there, I don’t pay much attention anymore.”

Lance thanked him and left the porch. He walked to the brick house and knocked. A blonde woman in her late thirties opened the door. Tall and slim, she wore a long blue sweater over yoga pants.

“Mrs. Brown?”

At her nod, Lance offered her a card and introduced himself.

She frowned down at the card, and suspicion lifted her chin.

“I’m a friend of Olivia Cruz. She lives in the white house over there.” Lance motioned toward Olivia’s bungalow, catercorner to the Browns’ house.

“I don’t talk to strange men.” She moved to close the door.

Lance wished Morgan were with him. She would be less threatening to a woman. But Sharp needed her more.

“Please wait!” He took one step back, away from the door, and tried not to look intimidating. It wasn’t something he did very often.

She hesitated.

Lance smiled. “You can call the Scarlet Falls Police Department. Almost anyone who answers the phone can vouch for me. I was a police officer for ten years.”

With a humph, she closed the door. Lance heard the dead bolt slide into place.

Was she going to call? Or was he out of luck?

He turned away from the door and leaned on the porch railing. He’d give her a few minutes. If she wouldn’t talk to him, he’d go back to Bob and beg for an introduction from him. He studied Olivia’s quiet street. Mature oak trees lined both sides. Sprawling branches shaded the sidewalk. There were lots of shadows to hide in.

He was so engrossed in his thoughts that the click of the door at his back startled him.

Mrs. Brown shook a lock of hair out of her eyes. “The sergeant says hello.”

She had actually called. Lance respected her for her caution.

“Do you know Ms. Cruz?” he asked.

From inside the house, Lance could hear children’s voices and the thuds of running feet.

Mrs. Brown stepped onto the porch and closed the door behind her. “I know her enough to wave. That’s all. I didn’t even know her name until you told me.” She flushed. “We’ve lived here for a year, but we don’t know many of the neighbors.”