Coop assumed she was referring to Keenan. “Nice kid. What’s he, five, six?”

“Just four. Bright as a button. They grow them smarter these days. Teach them faster, too. The little love’s in preschool now. He’ll be home any minute.”

“His mother went to pick him up, then?”

“Oh, no, not her week for car pool. Alice Miller—that’s the white house with blue trim, down the block—it’s her week. She has a boy and a girl. Little darlings. The youngest, Steffie, is Keenan’s age. Now her oldest, Brad, there’s a pistol for you.”

As she began to fill Coop in on the neighborhood rascal, he decided it was time to draw the interview to a close. “Maybe you could tell Miss Fleming I was by? I can leave a number where she can reach me when—”

“Oh, goodness.” Mrs. Finkleman waved a hand. “I do run on. Nearly forgot why I came out here in the first place. Zoe called and asked me to look out for you. Got held up at the flower shop. She works there three days a week. That’s Floral Bouquet, down in Ellicott City? Nice place, but expensive. Why, it’s a crime to charge so much for a daisy.”

“She got held up,” Coop prompted.

“Her relief had car trouble, so Zoe’s going to be a little late. Said you could go right on into the kitchen there, where she left the lease and the keys.”

“That’s fine. Thanks.”

“No problem at all. This is a friendly neighborhood. Always somebody to lend a helping hand. I don’t think Zoe mentioned what you did for a living.”

“I’m a sportswriter for the Dispatch.”

“You don’t say? Why, my Harry’s just wild for sports. Can’t budge him from in front of the TV when a game’s on.”

“That’s what makes this country great.”

Mrs. Finkleman laughed and gave Coop’s arm an affectionate bat that might have felled a lesser man. “You men are all the same. You can come over and talk sports with Harry anytime. Me, if it’s not baseball, it isn’t worth talking about.”

Coop, who’d been about to retreat, brightened. “You like baseball?”

“Son, I’m a Baltimore native.” As if that said it all. “Our boys are going to go all the way this year. Mark my word.”

“They could do it, if they heat those bats up. The pitching rotation’s gold this year, and the infield’s tight as a drum. What they need—”

Coop was interrupted by a cheerful toot. He glanced over to see Keenan burst out of a red sedan and rocket across the side yard.

“Hi, mister. Hi, Mrs. Finkleman. Carly Myers fell down, and there was blood.” The big brown eyes gleamed wickedly. “Lots and lots of it, and she screamed and cried.” He demonstrated, letting go with a piercing yell that had Coop’s ears ringing. “Then she got a Band-Aid with stars on it.” Keenan thought it would have been worth losing some blood for such a neat badge of honor. “Where’s Mama?”