“Wait a minute, wait a minute. My computer says this thing was never picked up. That’s what I’ve been telling the Ames police all morning. I’ve been telling them some asshole boosted it from our lot, loaded it with drugs, and drove it straight to that school. Now you’re telling me somebody picked up that car and signed for it? Mr. Flores?”

“No, Mr. Mattson—”

“Just Rob.”

“No, Rob, it was Mr. Dulac, the man who placed the initial reservation.”

At that moment, Connie opened the door, stuck his head into the room, and started to laugh. Somers waved furiously, sign language for get the hell out, and Connie just laughed harder as he shut the door.

“Sorry about that,” Somers said. “Mr. Dulac picked up the truck? Did you see him? You got some kind of description I can pass along to the police?”

“Well, I was the one who signed the paperwork with him, so I saw him. I don’t really know. Young guy. Seemed nice enough.”

“You got anything else? Hair? What color was his hair? Or his eyes? Or, Christ, anything I can give these guys?”

“No, Mr.—no, Rob. Just a nice young man. Oh. Wait. He did have freckles. I remember that. Lots of ’em.”

“Freckles, all right.” A stab of disappointment went through Somers, but he forced himself to focus. “And you’re sure he’s the one that picked up the truck. How the Christ did it get to Ames?”

“Well, you didn’t check the GPS?”

“Check the GPS? Well, Christ, of course I did. But I can’t get anything to come up on this goddamn machine. I figured it was busted.”

“No, I’ve got it right here. Made two stops, just like you’d expect with an in-town move. Went to—hold on. It doesn’t have a street address, but I can give you the coordinates.”

“That’ll be fine.”

She read off the coordinates, which Somers jotted on a napkin. Then she said, “You ready for the second stop?”

“You’re telling me this truck is still in Wahredua?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s just the GPS being broken, that’s what it is. They stopped somewhere and busted it and then they drove off.”

“Rob, I’m telling you, it’s still here. The signal is still active.”

“Well, sweet Jesus, I’m going to call those Ames cops and hand them their asses for ruining a perfect day for golf.”

“Here, before you go, let me give you those numbers.” She read them to him, and he copied them below the first set.

“Doll, you’re perfect. You tell that bitch sister of yours that I’m going to make the two of you swap. You ought to be running that place if she’s going to leave you to do all the work. Sorry again about being an asshole.”

“Oh, that’s all—”

He hung up and stared at the numbers. Then he shouted, “Connie!”

Connie let himself through the door carefully, closing it behind him to minimize the chance of someone seeing into the room. “I know your stupid, white, entitled self didn’t just make me come running at your beck and call.”