Well, Mitch didn’t think that way. His experience had taught him that when the pieces didn’t fit into place there was always a reason. His staff hated it when he said, “If you are not 100 percent certain, then you are 100 percent wrong! I don’t want excuses. Solve the problem. Period. End of story.” Unbeknownst to Mitch, one of the junior architects did a spot-on imitation of him giving that particular lecture, right down to the flourish he would brandish when sending the underling on his way at conclusion of his tongue lashing.

But the Logan Vonda mystery wasn’t so easily explained. So Mitch decided that he should have a chat with him—except he had apparently departed from the suburbs of Akron and disappeared. Mitch was determined to find him and so had written a few hefty checks to the private investigator in order to track him down, but thus far, he hadn’t had any luck. Then one day his cell phone rang and things started to fall into place, along with an amazing stroke of luck.

“Hi, Mitch, this is Devito, Charlie Devito. I think I have something for you.” The burly detective had spent a few decades with the Cleveland PD and then left under suspicious circumstances. However, the guy came highly recommended and was known as an absolute bloodhound, even though he was admittedly a bit rough around the edges.

“Great! What is it?”

“This Vonda scum has a rap sheet as long as my grandpa’s nuts, so I figgered it was only a matter of time before this jerk got hisself nailed for doing something stupid, and sure enough he did.”

Mitch tried to contain his excitement. “What did he do this time? Where is he?”

“Well, he got pinched for trying to scam some old biddy out of a few thousand bucks by telling her he was a friend of her grandson’s and that he needed the money to bail the kid out of prison. Wooda got away with it if the bank teller didn’t smell something fishy and start asking questions and then Vonda bolted.”

“And did they catch him?” Mitch could smell his prey.

“Yeah, he went back to his girlfriend’s apartment and they tracked him down a few days later. The guy’s not too bright, ya know.”

“No, apparently not,” said Mitch. “Anyway, where is he?”

“It seems he got out on bail, but he’s not allowed to leave the state.”

“And which state is that?”

Then Mitch got his nice surprise. “Oregon. The guy was last seen in Portland—”

“You’ve got to be kidding me! I’m going there in a week! Where does he live?”

Devito hesitated, and then caved. “By law, I’m not supposed to give you his address. But what the hell, you’re payin’ for it. Just keep your mouth shut, ya hear?”