“Oh, I meant to tell you that I started asking around yesterday about babysitters,” Michael said. “It’s tough this time of year—it’d be much easier if the students were back. But I’m sure we can find someone. Or at least a mother’s helper—someone to keep Timmy out from underfoot while you get some work done.”

“Great idea,” I said. “Of course, I hope by the time you find someone, we don’t need a baby-sitter, but . . . ”

He nodded.

I turned my attention to Rob.

“So, let me tell you what we’re doing today,” I said.

“We?” Rob mumbled, through a mouthful of oatmeal.

“The sooner I find Karen or figure out what she’s up to, the sooner we can get a certain someone safely back into her hands,” I said, nodded toward where Timmy was picking the raisins out of his oatmeal and arranging them in decorative patterns.

“So you’re going to be out snooping today.”

“Snooping is very difficult with a toddler in tow,” I said. “Especially for a person whose nerves were shattered for several hours last night by the inexplicable disappearance of said toddler.”

“I already explained—”

“So you have your choice,” I went on. “You can stay here and take care of Timmy, or you can ride shotgun with me and lend a hand with Timmy as needed.”

“I’m not doing diapers,” he said.

“No problem,” I said. “But if that’s the case, you’d better come along with me.”

“We both appreciate how much you’re helping,” Michael said, as he hoisted Timmy onto his shoulders. “Come on, Timmy. Let’s see what kind of animals Dr. Blake has brought this morning.”

He sailed out into the yard with Timmy giggling happily.

“I’ll be in the yard when you’re ready to leave,” Rob said, and followed them out.

From the relatively easy time I had talking Rob into accompanying me, I suspected someone else was expecting him to be someplace doing something more challenging, and I’d end up being the fall guy for whatever went wrong. But at the moment, I didn’t much care.

When I turned on my car’s CD player, planning to treat Timmy to more of his favorite car music, I was nearly jolted out of my seat by a high-decibel blast of Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love.”

“Dammit,” I said, punching the off button. “What was that?”

“Led Zeppelin’s second album,” Rob said, unnecessarily.

“Yes, but what is it doing in my car? Were you playing Led Zeppelin to Timmy? And at that volume?”

“I tried him with Death Cab for Cutie, but I guess the kid’s a classic rock fan,” Rob said.

Translation: Rob was currently infatuated with playing albums older than he was, so anyone in his vicinity had better get used to it.

After mature consideration, I decided almost anything would be less annoying than Barney the dinosaur and “It’s a Small World,” so I agreed to play Led Zeppelin during our ride—though at considerably lower volume than seemed reasonable to the boys in the backseat.