“We need to ask her about that. And about her criminal record. And try to get a feel for whether she’s failing cognitively,” A.L. said.

“I want to turn the clock backwards,” moaned Rena. “Yesterday, my most pressing issue was Laurie Cannon and a disappearing Volkswagen.”

A.L. turned his head. “Your Volkswagen disappeared?”

“Not mine. Mrs. Cannon’s. She’s a widow in her seventies who has reported her car missing six times this summer.”

“She loses her car?” A.L. said.

“Well, that’s what responding officers thought. Because they would always find it, within a block or two. They didn’t ignore the possibility that it had been moved but it got dusted for prints and there were never any besides Mrs. Cannon’s. They evidently suggested to her one too many times that perhaps she forgot where she parked it. She was so furious that she called in and complained. That’s when it got kicked over to me.”

“This is what I have to look forward to,” A.L. said morosely.

“Complaints from irate old women?” Rena asked.

“No. Forgetting where I park my car.”

“Cheer up,” Rena said. “She didn’t forget. Six sophomore boys from Baywood High were arrested early this morning. They were caught picking up, literally, a MINI Cooper four blocks away from Mrs. Cannon’s house and admitted that they’ve also been moving Mrs. Cannon’s vehicle. So I get to be a hero and tell Mrs. Cannon that the situation is resolved when I really did nothing.”

“That’s how it works sometimes. Other times, we bust our hump and we get nowhere. Enjoy the easy ones. Where was this?”

“Mrs. Cannon is on Kingview Street.”

She didn’t have to say more. A.L. would understand how this could happen six times without anybody being the wiser. The houses on Kingview didn’t come equipped with external security cameras. And the city didn’t have a street camera within three blocks.

“Never any damage to the vehicle?”

“Nope. Nary a scratch,” Rena said.

A.L. snorted. “Kind of refreshing, actually. It’s like a prank from a 1970s sitcom.”

“I know. Far cry from a missing five-year-old.”

A.L. nodded. “We’ve got enough time to swing by and give her the good news.”

The drive to Mrs. Cannon’s house took seven minutes. It was located at the far north side of town, where the houses were small, the yards big and worn-looking, several with rusted swing sets forlornly perched upon a field of thistles.

Rena picked her way across the grass with A.L. a step behind her. She noticed that half of the railing on the small front porch looked freshly painted. Her gaze went up, around. Pre-paint, the railing had been in better shape than the rest of the porch. Like it had gotten a coat of paint not that long ago.