Pete’s Ford Fairlane was no longer parked by the shrubs. I surmised, correctly as it turned out, that the new owner had put in an appearance and had made off with his new vehicle, such as it was. He’d left Pete’s gun-cleaning kit and the bag of birdseed in the alley, along with a bulging plastic bag that I was guessing contained the contents of the two map pockets and the glove compartment. I toted the items as far as the side door to the garage and left them there while I moved boxes into the already overcrowded space. When I’d finished, I grabbed the kit, the birdseed, and the bag of odds and ends, and knocked on the back door.

Ruthie appeared in an old-fashioned floor-length peignoir, a filmy pale blue with pin-tucking down the bodice and a matching nightgown under it. For the first time in all the years I’d known Pete, it dawned on me he had a sex life. The notion was so embarrassing, I averted my gaze. Ruthie’s hair was plaited in a long gray-and-blond braid that lay over her left shoulder. It was 9:30 by then and I’d assumed she was the sort who’d be up at the crack of dawn and ready to start her day.

When she opened the door, she said, “Oh, it’s you. I couldn’t imagine who was knocking at my back door. If I’d known you were coming, I’d have put on some clothes. I have the day off, so I was having a lazy morning.”

“I was just dropping off the boxes we picked up from Pete’s landlady. I left everything in the garage.”

I held up the kit and the two bags. “His car’s gone. Looks like the guy who bought it cleared out the trunk, the map pockets, and the glove compartment.”

Ruthie relieved me of the items and put them on the kitchen counter. “Come in and have a cup of coffee. I could use the company.”

“I’d like that, thanks.”