call gave me another idea. “Helen, where does Victor live? I think I’ll drive over and check his house.”
“Oh good.” She wrote out his address from memory and handed me the slip. “Will you promise to call me when you find him? I just want to know that he’s okay.”
“Promise. Thanks, Helen. You’ve been a big help.”
Mom was waiting for me by Jackson’s desk. “There you are. What happened to you?”
“I was with the head nurse. Come on, Mom.” I edged her out the front door to the sidewalk. “We’re going on a mission.”
She cocked her head. “To?”
“Victor must be somewhere. Home is the most logical place to check.” I showed her the note in my hand. “His address. We’re going to pay him a visit.”
“Brilliant. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“I don’t know,” I said as we got in the car. “You spent forty years married to a detective and you raised another. Good thing I picked up a hint or two from Dad and Dave.”
“You picked up hints. I gave them
lessons
.”
Mom started the car and punched Victor’s address into her dashboard GPS. “Hold on, dear. We’re going to Silver Lake.”
She drove across town like a dancer elbowing to the front of a chorus line. Twenty minutes and two arguments on speed and caution later, Mom turned the Cadillac onto Victor’s street. Cement driveways separated rows of postwar stucco houses with manicured lawns. We parked in front of Victor’s cream Tudor home in the middle of the block and climbed the steps to his front door. Drapes covered the windows, blocking the view inside. A jumble of flyers and letters crammed his mailbox.
Mom rang the bell. No answer. She rang again with her ear to the door and shook her head. “I can’t hear anything.”
“Look.” I pointed to the newspaper on his driveway. “Either he didn’t come home last night or he hasn’t left yet today.”
“Maybe he’s too sick to answer the bell.” Mom banged on the door. “Victor? Are you in there? Yell if you can hear me.” She put her head to the panel again and waited. Nothing.
“I wonder if his car is in the garage.” I scurried across the lawn to his driveway. The garage door was windowless. A tall, gated fence blocked access to the backyard.
Mom called to me from the sidewalk. “Let’s ask the neighbors if they’ve seen him.”
We rang doorbells of the houses on both sides of Victor’s. No response. Up and down the block, driveways were empty and the sidewalk vacant. We started back to Mom’s car with my good plan feeling like a waste of time.
The garbage cans lined at the curb caught my eye. I started to wheel the neighbor’s blue recycle can up Victor’s driveway.
“What are you going to do with that?” Mom said, following me.
“I’m going to crawl on top and peek in his backyard. Maybe I can see if his kitchen lights are on.” I positioned the can at Victor’s back gate. “Steady me.”
Mom clenched the handle with both hands while I bolstered myself to a sitting position on top of the plastic bin. With a hand on the fence I swung myself around to kneel, then peeked over the gate. White flowers bordered the house, and a grapefruit tree stood in the center of the yard. A lounger, patio table, and chairs sat on the back porch with a kettle barbeque. Another unopened newspaper lay on the ground. I reached over the gate, slid open the inside lock, and hopped off the can.
Mom moved swiftly across the yard to the back porch, cupping her hands to the sliding glass door to see inside. “No lights on in the house.”
I tiptoed over a flowerbed and peered through the garage window. “No car.”
Loud, agitated barks coming from the driveway vaulted my heart into my throat. I spun around and stopped short. At the gate, a black and brown dog with paws the size of softballs crouched to attack.
Chapter Twelve
T he dog bared its teeth, snarls rumbling deep from its throat. I froze in place under the tree, searching for something to
“Oh good.” She wrote out his address from memory and handed me the slip. “Will you promise to call me when you find him? I just want to know that he’s okay.”
“Promise. Thanks, Helen. You’ve been a big help.”
Mom was waiting for me by Jackson’s desk. “There you are. What happened to you?”
“I was with the head nurse. Come on, Mom.” I edged her out the front door to the sidewalk. “We’re going on a mission.”
She cocked her head. “To?”
“Victor must be somewhere. Home is the most logical place to check.” I showed her the note in my hand. “His address. We’re going to pay him a visit.”
“Brilliant. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“I don’t know,” I said as we got in the car. “You spent forty years married to a detective and you raised another. Good thing I picked up a hint or two from Dad and Dave.”
“You picked up hints. I gave them
lessons
.”
Mom started the car and punched Victor’s address into her dashboard GPS. “Hold on, dear. We’re going to Silver Lake.”
She drove across town like a dancer elbowing to the front of a chorus line. Twenty minutes and two arguments on speed and caution later, Mom turned the Cadillac onto Victor’s street. Cement driveways separated rows of postwar stucco houses with manicured lawns. We parked in front of Victor’s cream Tudor home in the middle of the block and climbed the steps to his front door. Drapes covered the windows, blocking the view inside. A jumble of flyers and letters crammed his mailbox.
Mom rang the bell. No answer. She rang again with her ear to the door and shook her head. “I can’t hear anything.”
“Look.” I pointed to the newspaper on his driveway. “Either he didn’t come home last night or he hasn’t left yet today.”
“Maybe he’s too sick to answer the bell.” Mom banged on the door. “Victor? Are you in there? Yell if you can hear me.” She put her head to the panel again and waited. Nothing.
“I wonder if his car is in the garage.” I scurried across the lawn to his driveway. The garage door was windowless. A tall, gated fence blocked access to the backyard.
Mom called to me from the sidewalk. “Let’s ask the neighbors if they’ve seen him.”
We rang doorbells of the houses on both sides of Victor’s. No response. Up and down the block, driveways were empty and the sidewalk vacant. We started back to Mom’s car with my good plan feeling like a waste of time.
The garbage cans lined at the curb caught my eye. I started to wheel the neighbor’s blue recycle can up Victor’s driveway.
“What are you going to do with that?” Mom said, following me.
“I’m going to crawl on top and peek in his backyard. Maybe I can see if his kitchen lights are on.” I positioned the can at Victor’s back gate. “Steady me.”
Mom clenched the handle with both hands while I bolstered myself to a sitting position on top of the plastic bin. With a hand on the fence I swung myself around to kneel, then peeked over the gate. White flowers bordered the house, and a grapefruit tree stood in the center of the yard. A lounger, patio table, and chairs sat on the back porch with a kettle barbeque. Another unopened newspaper lay on the ground. I reached over the gate, slid open the inside lock, and hopped off the can.
Mom moved swiftly across the yard to the back porch, cupping her hands to the sliding glass door to see inside. “No lights on in the house.”
I tiptoed over a flowerbed and peered through the garage window. “No car.”
Loud, agitated barks coming from the driveway vaulted my heart into my throat. I spun around and stopped short. At the gate, a black and brown dog with paws the size of softballs crouched to attack.
Chapter Twelve
T he dog bared its teeth, snarls rumbling deep from its throat. I froze in place under the tree, searching for something to
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