I locked the office, fired up the Mustang, and drove the twelve blocks to Hermosa Street in a matter of minutes. I pulled into his drive, slammed the car door behind me, and scooted up his porch steps. I knocked, then crossed to the front window and peered in. Lights were off in the living room and there were no signs of life in the areas beyond. I pulled out my notebook and scribbled a hasty message, indicating the time I’d been there and asking him to call. I jotted down both my home and office numbers, then stuck the note between the front door and the screen. I stood indecisively, looking out at the street. As though by magic, Madaline walked into view, Goldie Hawn ahead of her, tugging at the leash. I waited.

As she turned up the walk, she said, “Where’s Michael?”

My, my. The little lady seemed cross and out of sorts. I said, “I have no idea. That’s what I came to ask you.”

“He left the house this morning to go meet some guy. He didn’t say a word about what time he’d be back.”

“He didn’t mention the guy’s name?”

“Nuh-uh. He was in a rush and all goofy. He said maybe now people would believe he was telling the truth.”

I pondered the implications, knowing it would be a waste of time to press her further. Madaline would be no help. She was too wrapped up in herself. I said, “I left a note for him stuck in the door. If you see him before I do, tell him I stopped by.”

“Oh great. Now I’m stranded. He’s got the car and I have to be someplace.”

“Really.”

“Yes, really,” she said. “I have a job interview downtown. It’s, like, completely critical to be there on time. Michael promised me a ride and now what?”

“Guess you’ll have to walk.”

“In heels? By the time I get there, I’ll be all sweaty and out of breath.”

I looked at my watch. “When’s your appointment?”

“Ten-thirty.”

“So start now and walk slowly. You have plenty of time.”

“Fuck you.”