And I was thinking of taking several classes next semester, because, truth be told, my retirement was turning out to be rather, well, boring. During the day, I worked at the Pork Pit, of course, just as I always had. But at night, I didn’t know quite what to do with myself since I wasn’t reviewing files, trailing marks, and plotting the best way to kill someone. I could only watch the Food Network for so many hours a night. Most of the time, I ended up staring blankly at the television, wondering if eight o’clock was too early to go to bed. On the bright side, I was always extremely well rested now.

Finn and I hadn’t found Violet Fox during our search of the student center. It had lots of little cubbyholes for students to hide and study in. Or Violet and whomever she’d been with might have decided to study in the library or a computer lab or even someone’s dorm room. Too many possibilities and no way to narrow them down. So we’d come to the one place Violet Fox had to show up sooner or later—the parking lot.

“Trust me,” I said. “She’ll come back and get her car. Nobody in their right mind would leave their wheels here overnight.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Finn muttered and shifted in his seat.

I stared out the window. Ashland Community College was located in the downtown district, a small circle of knowledge hidden among the glass-and-chrome corporate buildings that passed for skyscrapers in the city.

Even though the college took up a couple of city blocks, the various halls and buildings were more or less grouped together and connected by a series of grassy quads. But space was at a premium in the downtown area, and the lots that surrounded the college had been developed long ago. All of which meant there was no student parking anywhere on campus. Instead, those who commuted every day had to leave their vehicles in a variety of lots and garages on the outskirts of downtown, then hike or bike their way over to the campus.

The parking lot we were in was the farthest one from the campus quads and located just below the Southtown border. A single light flickered overhead, painting the cars below a ghostly silver. Four-foot-high concrete barriers ringed most of the area, warning the drivers away from various potholes in the cracked asphalt. Spray-painted gang symbol runes, including clenched fists and crude outlines of guns and knives, dirtied the stone surfaces.

Crumpled fast-food wrappers, crushed-out cigarette butts, and limp, used condoms littered the ground.