1. Never allow your car to get low on gas. I was looking at a third of a tank at best. Now I was in a hurry and had no time to top it off.

2. Never pass up a chance to pee.

I traveled surface streets. The Shores was on Cabana Boulevard across the street from the turnaround point on my usual morning jog. The location must have seemed perfect to tourists who flocked to our city in June and July, not realizing we’d be socked in by a marine layer that blocked the sun and chilled the summer air. The hotel itself had seen better days. Age and the sea damp had taken their toll, though the facility still played host to small conventions.

I hadn’t had a chance to tell Nash that Christian’s mother, Geraldine, worked for Prestige Transportation Services Inc. I had no doubt she was at the wheel of the limousine, decked out in her stern black suit, white shirt, and black bow tie. I couldn’t imagine why she’d ferried him to a bus stop unless it was a habit left over from his grade school days when his morning dawdling required her to load him in the car and drive him to prevent his being late.

I turned left at Cabana and followed the boulevard as it paralleled the beach. The entrance to the Shores was on a small street that ran behind the hotel. An adjacent parking lot allowed guests the use of valet services. A few hundred yards to the left, a passenger pickup area was designated for the airport shuttle that made the round-trip to Los Angeles eight times a day.

Across the street, the limousine was idling at a length of curb painted red, despite numerous posted signs that forbade parking, stopping, and loitering. One of the Shores’ minivans was parked directly behind the limousine in a spot designated for passenger loading and unloading. I pulled the Honda to the curb behind the minivan, which allowed me a modicum of cover while I kept the stretch in view. Rear and side windows were heavily tinted, creating the impression that someone famous was currently on board. On the street, people would turn and stare, wondering who it was. I saw the front driver’s-side window descend. The driver reached out to adjust the side-view mirror. In the convex oval, I saw a portion of Geraldine’s face reflected before she withdrew her arm and closed the window.

I considered scurrying into the hotel lobby in search of the ladies’ room, but worried the limousine would take off while I was gone. Instead, I unearthed my index cards and recorded the content of Detective Nash’s phone call and the bits of information I’d gleaned. I wondered who at the STPD hoped to cultivate Christian as a source. Cheney had worked vice once upon a time, but he was now assigned to homicide. Next time I saw him, I’d quiz him on the subject.

I tapped my pen against my lower lip. If Christian was taking the Airbus to LAX, why hadn’t his mother simply dropped him off and reported for work? Maybe her intent was to drive him the hundred-plus miles, in which case, why was she still sitting there with the engine running? I checked my rearview mirror.