Dance texted Boling that she’d be a bit later than she’d planned. He replied that Maggie was still Skyping and Wes had not returned yet—but he had ten minutes until the promised deadline. Leftovers were heating.

Michael O’Neil was up the street and Dance had nothing more to do here. She started her own canvass, going the other way. The houses there had no view of Goldschmidt’s but the vandals might have parked in front of one. Those who were home, however, had seen nothing and Dance spotted no deception. As horrific as vandalism is, there’s not much of a risk of physical assault and witnesses are more eager to come forward than if they’ve seen a murder, rape or assault.

Two more houses, dark and unoccupied.

She was about to return to the crime scene when she noticed one more house—it was on the other side of a city park, which was a known migration stop for monarch butterflies. The tree-filled park was about two acres in size.

The house bordered Asilomar, the conference area, and, beyond that was the coastal park at Spanish Bay. It also overlooked a sandy shoulder, a perfect place for the perps to leave their car and hike through the park to get to Goldschmidt’s. Maybe these homeowners had seen them.

She waded into the park now, moving slowly; the place hadn’t been trimmed recently—budget issues, she supposed—and underbrush could trip her.

Any risk? she wondered, pausing. No. The perps would have headed off as soon as they’d finished. If not, surely they’d done so when they’d seen the blue-and-white flashing lights on O’Neil’s car.

She started through the dark preserve once more.

Chapter 50

Dude, somebody’s coming. I’m, like, sure.”

Wolverine was saying this.

“Shhh.” Darth waved him quiet.

“Let’s just go. Yo.”

Darth ignored him and scanned the dusk-lit scene. The two boys remained motionless, still as snipers, in the large backyard of the house that the owners, weird, had named Junipero Manor or something, nestled in mossy trees like something out of The Hobbit, all bent and gnarly. A house with a name. Weird.

The ocean was not far away and Darth could hear the water smashing on the rocks, the seals, gulls. Good. It covered up the noise of their movement.

“I’m saying, we should book.” Wolverine was in a navy jacket. Baseball cap, black, backward. Darth was wearing jeans and a black shirt and hoodie. Darth liked to think of him and his friend by their code names when they were out fucking up somebody’s house or a church. Felt like soldiers, felt like superheroes. On a mission.

They were both slim, young. Darth was bigger, older by a year and change, though they were in the same grade. The two hid behind a bush that smelled like pee, and his knees felt moisture from the fog-damp sand.

“Dude?” Wolverine whispered more desperately. “Now! Let’s history, man. We gotta get out of here.”

Darth shifted. And: clink, clink.

“Jesus, quiet!”