One of the boys, who’d been watching from the window, came running out the door. “Hey, mister, let me see your badge. Are you a real police officer?”

“Yes, I am,” Jack said with a smile, crouching down.

“I saw a bad guy once,” the boy reported, his eyes shining with excitement.

“You did?” Jack asked.

“Tommy, what are you talking about?” Monique demanded.

“I was outside our building. The bad guy pulled up on a motorcycle and threw ugly flowers on this lady Cleo’s car. I thought that was mean.”

“When did this happen?” Monique asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You should have told Mommy and Daddy.”

“But you said you didn’t want to hear one more word about Cleo Paradise. Not one more word.”

Out of the mouths of babes, Regan thought.

Monique groaned. “I’ll get the list. Come on, Tommy.”

“But, Mommy!”

“Hey, buddy,” Jack said kindly. “Do as your mother tells you.” He held out his hand. “But first give me five.”

Tommy squealed with delight. He drew back his skinny little arm then slapped his hand as hard as he could into Jack’s palm.

“Way to go,” Jack said, then patted Tommy’s head.

Reluctantly Tommy followed his mother and their scowling cousin into the house. A minute later, Monique came back out with a sheet of paper. “Take this. Dizzy keeps extra copies.”

“Thank you,” Regan said. “Would you mind giving me your number?”

“My cell number is on there.”

“Great,” Regan said, then handed Monique her card. “Please have your husband call me when he returns. As you can see from what your son just told us, Cleo could be in danger. Maybe Cleo mentioned something in passing to your husband that could help us.”

“Okay,” Monique said.

Regan and Jack got back in the car. “Well, at least we know Dizzy didn’t leave Cleo the flowers in Los Angeles,” Regan said as she put on her seat belt.

“But who was the guy on the motorcycle?” Jack wondered aloud. “What do you want to do now, Regan?”

“Why don’t we go back to Edna’s? I’ll start to make these calls. I’m sure Monique will have Dizzy call me when he gets back. If not, we’ll pay them another visit later.”

As Jack drove, Regan made call after call. No one she reached had seen Cleo.

“There’s been a restaurant menu stuck halfway under her front door for days now,” one of Cleo’s neighbors reported. “I don’t think she’s been here.”

“Thanks so much,” Regan said, then hung up. “It’s pretty clear Cleo hasn’t been back to her apartment in Los Angeles.”

“Daisy’s probably right,” Jack said. “Cleo most likely stayed somewhere not far from here.”

Regan’s phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID. “I don’t know who this is,” she said, then answered.

“Regan!” a woman shouted hysterically. “It’s Edna!”