What their younger competitors didn’t realize was that not only had Troy and Rod been playing pick-up ball as a two-man tandem for over twenty years, both of them had been members of the Morehouse basketball team—and Rod had been an All-American and drafted in the second round of the NBA. He had played pro ball for three seasons before a knee injury forced him to hang up his sneakers, after which he’d returned to school to earn his law degree.

And both of them still had game, in wild abundance.

Within the first few minutes of their contest, Troy had sized up their opponents: the kids were good, but relied far too much on natural youthful athleticism than actual skill. Troy and Rod, deeply seasoned veterans, may not have been as fast, may not have jumped as high, but what they lacked in physical prowess they more than compensated for with crisply executed technique, and well-honed teamwork. Their passes were sharp; their shot selection was on target; their defense was tenacious; and they ran their beloved pick and roll plays over and over, with machinelike efficiency.

They beat the young guys easily, eleven to four.

“You guys should have taken those three points we offered to spot you,” Troy said. He was breathing hard, but it felt good, damn good. “The game might have been a little closer.”

“Hold up, man,” one of the guys said, sweating profusely. “I can’t believe this shit just happened. Who the hell are you dudes?”

“We’re just a couple of old heads, remember?” Rod said. “We’re out on a day pass from the local senior citizens home.”

“I left my cane in the locker room.” Troy grinned.

“Man, whatever,” the other guy said. “You dudes are like pro ballers or something out here hustling folks.”

“Want to play another game?” Rod asked.

“Hell naw,” both of the guys said in unison. They made a show of looking at their smart phones, and quickly drifted away from the court.

Troy and Rod both laughed.

“We should have warned those young bucks,” Rod said.

“Serves ‘em right,” Troy said.

“Now.” Rod slowly dribbled between his legs. “Before they interrupted us, we were talking about why you suspect this woman Grace killed your dog.”

“For starters, we don’t know anything about Grace,” Troy said. “We know a few basic pieces of info, but the bottom line is that she’s a stranger. I get a weird vibe from her, too.”

“What kind of vibe?” Rod’s gaze was sharp.

“Like there’s a lot more to her than she’s shared with us,” Troy said. “Like she’s keeping secrets about what she’s been doing since she gave up Monica.”

“Something criminal, you think?”