I’d been sitting in front of Trixie’s house, staring at it and our Camry in the driveway, for nearly fifteen minutes now. I’d considered all the possibilities.

1. Angie was a client. Unthinkable.

2. Angie was an apprentice. Unimaginable.

3. Angie had decided to drop by for a cup of tea. Unbelievable.

4. Angie was getting a gift certificate for me for my birthday. Unlikely.

I happened to glance at the digital clock on the dashboard. It read 10 P.M. Nuts. I was supposed to meet Lawrence Jones at the doughnut shop at 10:30. If I left right now, I might make it in time.

But could I leave Angie out here? And could I leave without knowing why she was here?

I got out my cell phone from my jacket pocket and Lawrence’s business card from my wallet. I keyed in the office number from the card. I could ask him whether he was on schedule, and whether I could afford to be a bit late to our rendezvous.

No answer.

So I tried the second number listed, his cell.

No answer.

“Shit,” I said.

Unless I was prepared to get out of the car, knock on Trixie’s door, and demand some sort of an explanation from the two of them, there wasn’t much to be gained by hanging around. It wasn’t like I could, at this hour, pretend to drop by Trixie’s, and discover Angie there by accident. All that would accomplish would be to give Angie the idea that I was a customer.

So, riddled with reservation and doubt, I turned the key forward.

And the car said, Whirwhirwhir.

This can’t be happening, I thought. I turned the key again.

This time, not even a whir. There was no sound at all.

This was not the best place to sit and wait for the auto club to show up. I mentally crossed my fingers and turned the key a third time.

The engine caught.

I put the car into drive and sped out of Valley Forest Estates, got back onto the highway, and broke the speed limit (once I was finally able to coax the Virtue into exceeding it) all the way back into town.

I arrived at the doughnut place around the corner from Garvin Street about 10:35 P.M. and glanced at all the cars in the lot as I pulled in. I felt a weight lift from my shoulders when I didn’t see Lawrence’s Buick. At least I hadn’t kept him waiting.

I went inside. Now that I had been thoroughly drained of coffee, I felt I could accommodate some more. But, rattled as I already was by the evening’s revelations, I opted for a decaf. And an oatmeal muffin.