Then, hauling back on the leash, Brandon dragged the dog away from the door and far enough down the driveway that he was able to glimpse the house number. Bozo wasn’t ready to quit, but eventually he stopped fighting the leash.

“Here’s the deal,” Brandon found himself whispering to the dog as they walked back around the block to the car. “I’m worried Henry will try to take off before Dan gets here, so we’re going to create a deterrent. In a pissing match between a parked Escalade and a Ford Fusion, the F car loses every time, and my Caddy isn’t going anywhere. Get in.”

Without turning on the lights, Brandon drove the SUV around the corner and parked it at an odd angle in the middle of the driveway in a way he hoped would effectively block both sides of the garage.

Bozo was ready to get out again, but Brandon reasoned they were better off staying inside the vehicle for the time being. They’d be safer, for one thing, and if a resident happened to drive by, they’d be much less visible.

Then, phone in hand, he sent a text to Todd Hatcher:

Parked in front of 5850 S. Calle de Justicia. Dog says Lani is inside the garage. Can you give me any info on residence. Text. Do NOT call.

Finished with that, he sent a text to Dan Pardee as well:

Address is 5850 S. Calle de Justicia. Bozo says Lani is here. Blocking the driveway so he can’t get out. Waiting for you to show up before making a move. If he tries to leave before that, all bets are off.

In the time it had taken Brandon to key in the text to Dan, a reply came back from Todd:

Owner of that address is Miss Jane Dobson, age 69. Retired schoolteacher. Drives a 2006 Acura, AZ: License 583-­AMV. Sending driver’s license photo next.

The photo that appeared a moment later showed a perfectly ordinary-­looking woman, maybe a few years younger than Brandon and Diana.

“So what’s Henry Rojas’s relationship with Ms. Dobson?” Brandon asked, amused by the fact that he was once again conversing with Bozo, who thumped his tail in reply. Dan’s replying text arrived at the same time.

On I-­10. GPS says I’m five minutes out. Wait for me.

LANI HAD MANAGED TO GET enough purchase on the car seat with her left foot to push herself up off the floor and into a semisitting position. It wasn’t a huge improvement, but it took some of the weight off her aching shoulders. Half an hour later when the door from inside the house opened, Lani expected to see Henry Rojas emerge. He did not.

What came out instead was the silver-­haired woman Lani had seen before. This time she was stark naked, except for a pair of latex gloves and a pair of bedroom slippers. In one hand she carried a black plastic garbage bag. The other hand held Henry’s gym bag. Lani heard the woman open the trunk of a silver vehicle that was parked next to the Fusion.

Lani figured parading around naked meant one of two things: either the woman was completely nuts or else she had nothing to lose. If it turned out to be the latter, Lani worried that she herself had everything to lose. One thing Lani noticed was the difference between the woman’s body and her face. From the face and hair she looked to be close to seventy. Her body was that of someone decades younger. How could that be?

Over the course of the next several minutes, the woman made two more trips back and forth, loading things into the other car each time she came and went. The last time she entered the garage, she was dressed in a muumuu and a pair of chartreuse tennis shoes. She was carrying a walker she apparently didn’t need to use. After stowing the walker in the trunk of the vehicle and slamming the trunk lid shut, she walked over to Lani and knelt at her side. Lani noticed that the woman had brought a large purse along with her and that she was still wearing the gloves.

“Okay now,” the woman said, “I don’t know who you are, but you have a choice here. Henry was considerate enough to bring along some very nice meds. You can either hold still for a shot or two, or else I use my Glock. It’s totally up to you.”

As she spoke she set three clear glass vials down on the floor next to Lani.

Whatever it was, Lani knew that the medication in the vials was far less potent than Henry had thought. She’d already had two shots of the stuff. But would three more be too many? However, the choice between being given a possibly not-­too-­powerful drug and being shot in the head at close range wasn’t much of a choice at all.

She looked at the needle and nodded.

“Good girl,” the woman said. “Hold still now.”

Lani watched as the woman plunged the needle into her upper arm with practiced ease. By the time it came to the third vial, Lani noticed that the woman was reusing the second syringe, but the familiar lassitude was already creeping up through her body, and she really didn’t care. The last thing she heard was the woman saying, “Okay now. That should do the trick.”

Lani felt the drug’s rush immediately, noting with some irony that she’d missed her only chance to do any head-­butting. Too bad.

EXPECTING DAN’S EXPLORER TO ROUND the corner at any moment, Brandon was dismayed when the garage door started to open. He didn’t want to get into some kind of confrontation with either Henry or Jane Dobson on his own. That meant he needed to play for time.

He grabbed for Bozo’s leash and was about to exit the Escalade when all hell broke loose. A silver car, driving in reverse, shot out of the garage and slammed dead on into the front bumper of the Caddy. The blow was hard enough to rattle Brandon’s teeth, hard enough for the air bag to deploy, but not hard enough to hurt him. And as soon as the air bag deflated, a skittish Bozo came scrambling out of the back cabin into the front.

This was far better than Brandon had hoped. The driver hadn’t even glanced in the rearview mirror. He had simply assumed that his driveway was empty and hit the gas. Tough luck for him. Brandon supposed he had seen Henry Rojas on occasion, but would he recognize Brandon in this unfamiliar place in the middle of the night? Maybe not.

But then the driver’s door of the other car—­Jane Dobson’s aging Acura—­opened. Jane herself, presumably, stepped out and marched toward him, clearly enraged. There was no sign of Henry.

Brandon still held the leash. “Come on, Bozo. Time for old age and trickery to win out. Let’s put on a show.”

He opened the car door. With the dog in tow, he staggered out onto the driveway and meandered halfway across the front yard before righting himself and walking tipsily back.

“Who are you?” he demanded of the woman, while swaying drunkenly on his feet. “Where are Adam and Grace?” He slurred the words as best he could. Grace came out more like Grathe.

“Who are Adam and Grace?”

“I’m staying with them. Isn’t this their house?”

“It’s my house, you incredible moron. Get that wreck out of my way.”

“Oh my,” Brandon slurred. “I stopped for a leak and must have hit the wrong driveway. So shorry. Looks like your car took a real hit. Maybe we should try to pull the back bumper forward an inch or so. Otherwise it’s gonna wreck your tire.”

Bending over, Brandon pretended to examine the Acura’s smashed back bumper while he was really trying to see if Henry Rojas was seated in the passenger seat. As far as he could tell the vehicle held no other occupants.

“My car is fine. I don’t need your help. Now get that thing out of my way. I was just leaving. If I don’t go now, I’ll be late.”

“Lemme get my insurance info. It’s in the car.”

“I already told you, I’ll handle the damage. Just get the hell out of my way.”

The urgency in her voice was unmistakable. Just then a pair of headlights pulled up behind Brandon. Out of the corner of his eye, Brandon recognized Dan’s Explorer. “Hey, here’s Adam now. He’s a mechanic. Maybe he should take a look at your car and see if it’s okay.”