Terry didn’t, other than that he’d been in the fortyish age range. “Sorry. Like I said, we’re a pretty casual group, and people come and go. I collect phone numbers for people who want to get the updates on where we’re going to meet, but I put that on Facebook, too.” He studied me. “I can see this is important to you. Let’s ask everyone else if they remember anything.” He looked around. “Rosalind? How about you?”

“Sure,” said a nearby young woman who might have been fifteen. “He came with us on that ride around Dooley. Was he the one with that yellow bike? His name was . . . oh, darn. I thought I knew it. Started with an A, maybe? I think? Or a D? No, I’m probably thinking D because we went to Dooley.” She shrugged. “Sorry.”

And no one else, not at the beginning of the ride, or throughout the entire length of the ten-mile ride, could remember anything else.

*   *   *

The only thing that saved me from collapsing into a small pile of sweaty Minnie on our return to the parking lot was the happy fact that the sun was down at seven thirty, and it wasn’t safe for bicyclists to be out on the road, so the ride was miles and miles shorter than summer rides.

Rosalind, my new young friend, helped me get my bike back into my car and slammed the trunk lid down for me. “See you next week?” she asked.

“I might have a meeting,” I said. Which could be true. There was undoubtedly a meeting somewhere I could find to attend. Chamber of commerce. Historical society. Fantasy football. Anything.

“Only a few more weeks of this.” She tugged at the hem of her shirt and grinned. “Then it’s time to do things steep and snowy. Do you ride? Or ski?”

Snowboards and I weren’t compatible, but I did ski. However, I had a feeling this energetic youngster wouldn’t consider my easy cruising down the intermediate slopes as true skiing. Still, I didn’t want to come across like the old fuddy-duddy I suddenly felt myself to be, so I smiled, waved, and said, “See you on the slopes!”

I dropped into my driver’s seat and collapsed. “Just out of shape, that’s all,” I muttered. No way was I old. I was only thirty-five. Not even all the way to middle age. But I was old enough to know I was probably going to hurt the next day.

Sighing, I put my car key into the ignition, but instead of starting the engine, I opened the baby backpack I’d stuffed my cell phone into and checked for text messages. No texts, but there was a voice mail from a number I didn’t recognize.