“Bye. And don’t worry about your dog. We’ll take good care of him.”

We head outside to wait for our cab. The heat has died down to a gentle warmth, and the full moon lights up a clear sky full of twinkling stars. No Dog Star anywhere. What time is it anyway? Still THU July 01 4:30 by my watch, of course. But it has to be close to ten now. We rush to the cab as it pulls up.

“Where to?”

“Um, um. Westdale Avenue.” The driver looks at us suspiciously when Morgan can’t give him an exact address. “I’m sorry. The house has white pillars in the front with ivy growing on the walls. Could be 2638 or 2338. I’ll know it when I see it.”

“You have the money?” the driver asks.

“Oh, for sure.” Morgan waves a twenty-dollar bill in the air.

The driver growls something but punches an address into his GPS. We take off. What if the driver of the Smart Car hasn’t gone home, maybe headed out of town instead? She seemed in an awful hurry or she would have stopped in time to save Diesel.

“Could you just cruise down the street slowly?” Morgan asks the driver as we turn onto Westdale. The large oak trees form a canopy overhead.

“Sure. Why not?” he growls. “Got nothing better to do.” The cab creeps by the houses.

“That’s it!” Morgan whispers. “It’s there!” she shouts when the red Smart Car becomes visible in the driveway just beyond a tall hedge. The house has a triple garage, but the driver hasn’t parked it indoors.

“Thank you. Keep the change.” Morgan hands the driver that twenty and a five, which only gives him a dollar tip.

He growls again and drives away.

“I’ll pay you back,” I whisper. “What are we going to say?” I ask as we draw closer to the Smart Car.

“Look over here!” Morgan points to the passenger-side headlight, which is shattered. She takes a pencil and paper out of her bag and writes down the licence plate number. Then we head up the walkway.

The doorbell plays the first bar of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. Scary sounding. Morgan and I look at each other. I press the button a second time just to hear it again. Morgan makes fists. Beethoven’s Fifth stokes her!

A friendly-looking round lady with rimless glasses answers the door. “You girls are canvassing awfully late,” she tells us. “What are you raising money for?”

“Miss, there was a hit and run about an hour ago involving your Smart Car. I have the licence number and we should go to the police, but we thought we’d talk to the driver first.”

Whoa! Morgan takes my breath away. I make myself a promise right then and there: I will never think of Morgan as dumb or annoying again.

“Oh my god!” The woman puts her hand over her mouth. Then she drops it again and steps backward into the house. “Summer! Come down here immediately!”