Was this how the Hardy Boys got started? I laughed at myself in the mirror. I didn’t have a famous detective for a father, but I had read hundreds of mystery novels. I would poke around, but I wasn’t planning to investigate houses on cliffs, old mills, or secret caves anytime soon.

Diesel followed me to the room next to my bedroom, another bedroom that Aunt Dottie had converted into a sitting room for herself. With a few small changes I had turned it into an office of sorts, mainly by adding my computer and printer.

The cat jumped up onto the desk by the computer—his usual spot—and watched as I turned the computer on and got comfortable in my chair. I had a little time to kill—an unfortunate phrase, I realized—before shops would open, so I might as well check my e-mail.

The first message I opened was from my daughter Laura, who had moved to Los Angeles two years ago to pursue a career as an actress.

The news about Godfrey had apparently hit the media in California last night, because Laura’s message was full of questions. She had no idea, of course, how closely involved I was in the case. I glanced at the time stamp on her message. She had sent it around two A.M. Pacific time.

I replied to her message at some length, explaining what I knew about Godfrey’s death and my own involvement. I knew there would be many questions to come, because Laura loved mysteries as much as I did. As a ten-year-old she wrote her own plays based on the Nancy Drew books, and naturally she starred as Nancy. If I wasn’t careful, she’d hop on the first plane home, determined to help me.

Then I remembered she was in a successful play at the moment, so I was safe from her enthusiastic assistance. Smiling, I clicked the SEND button.

There was no message from my son, Sean, but that wasn’t unusual. Much more taciturn than his younger sister, Sean wrote me an e-mail every week or so and called about as often. He and his mother had been very close, as Laura and I are, and I knew he was still struggling to come to terms with Jackie’s death.

Finished with e-mail, I shut down the computer. Diesel yawned at me, and I reached out to scratch his head.

“Are you ready to go, boy? It’s almost ten.”

The cat hopped to the floor and rubbed against my legs. He knew the word go.

Downstairs I heard Azalea running the vacuum in the living room. I fastened Diesel into his harness, and soon we were on our way in the car. I had decided not to walk this morning, despite fine weather, in case I needed to get somewhere quickly.