Save Your Breath (Morgan Dane #6)(16)

He walked up two steps, stood on the front stoop, and rang the doorbell. Inside the house, a small dog exploded into a frenzy of high-pitched barking.

“Hush!” a voice yelled. An elderly man in gray chinos, a red plaid shirt, and bright-orange track shoes opened the door. A four-pound Yorkshire terrier yapped and growled at his feet, trying to slip past his legs, as if it wanted to tear Lance’s ankles apart with its tiny teeth. The man backed out onto the stoop, pushing the furious dog back inside. Chuckling, he closed the door. “Sorry about that. Grizz is fifteen years old and still has no manners. I don’t suppose he’s ever going to.”

Lance handed the old man a business card and introduced himself.

“I’m Bob Johnson.” Bob squinted at the card, then pulled a pair of black-framed reading glasses from the chest pocket of his shirt. “A private investigator? I’ve never talked to one of those before.” He sounded excited. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for your neighbor, Olivia Cruz. Do you know her?”

“Yes. I know Olivia. She inherited her aunt’s house. Knew her aunt too. I’ve lived in this house for sixty years. My wife and I bought it after our third child was born.”

“Is your wife home?”

Bob shook his head, his eyes misting. “No, she passed away last year, right after our sixtieth wedding anniversary.”

“I’m sorry.” Lance felt the old man’s sadness. He couldn’t imagine losing Morgan. Ever.

Bob’s smile was bittersweet. “I’m grateful for all the years we had together. She kept me in line.” He winked, brushing off his nostalgia. “Someone had to.” Bob was probably in his early eighties, but he seemed pretty spry for his age.

“When did you last talk to Olivia?” Lance asked.

Bob rubbed his chin. “A couple of days ago, early in the morning. She was working in her garden. I asked her advice on ground cover for my flower beds. I can’t get down to pull weeds like I used to.”

“Do you remember what day that was?”

“What’s today?”

“Friday.”

“I’m retired, and the days all blur together now,” Bob explained. “I’d say it was Wednesday.”

“But you haven’t seen her since then?”

Bob’s brows drew together. “She drove by the house last night. I was walking the dog. Neither one of us sleeps through the night anymore. Grizz was sniffing his way around the side yard when we saw her drive by.”

“Do you know what time that was?” Lance asked.

Bob rested a fist on his lower back. His head tilted as he concentrated. “I guess it was actually early this morning, probably between two and three. I don’t know the exact time. Grizz and I went back to bed.”

“Was Olivia behind the wheel? Was anyone else in the car?”

“I didn’t see her face.” Bob pointed down the street. “She was driving that way, so the passenger side of her car was facing me. But I didn’t see anyone in the passenger seat. I assume she was alone.”

Lance assumed nothing. “You’re sure it was her car?”

“I didn’t check the license plate.” Bob lifted one shoulder. “But she’s the only one on the street with a white Prius.”

“Have you seen anyone else around Olivia’s house recently?”

Bob rubbed his chin. “There was a guy knocking at her door last night about seven o’clock. He knocked. She didn’t answer. He left. That was it.”

Lance snapped to attention. A lead. “Can you tell me what he looked like?”

Bob frowned. “He was tall, blond hair. I couldn’t see his face in the dark.”

“Thin, fat, average?” Lance prompted.

“He was wearing a jacket, but I’d say average.”

“Did you see what kind of car he was driving?”

“Yes!” Bob’s voice rose, and he pointed to his own chest with his thumb. “I’m a car guy. It was a 1971 Chevy Nova. I’m pretty sure it was black, but it could have been dark blue.”

“Is that an expensive car?” Lance was not a car guy.

“Not particularly, but if you like muscle cars—and I do—it was in very good condition.”

And distinctive. How many dark-blue or black 1971 Chevy Novas could be in the area?

Lance took a small notepad out of his pocket. “Could I have your phone number, Bob?”

“Sure.”

Lance wrote down Bob’s contact information. “Have you seen anyone unusual around the neighborhood lately? Salespeople, meter readers, construction crews . . .”

Bob gestured toward the brick house a few doors down the street. “The Browns have been renovating their house for a year. There’s always a work vehicle of some kind out front.”

“You saw workers there this past week?”

Bob tucked his hands into his front pockets and hunched as if he were cold. “There was a white van parked there on and off for the past two weeks.”

“Can you describe the van?”

“White, no windows in the back. A little dinged up.” Bob closed his eyes. “Sorry. I don’t remember what kind of tradesman it was. I’m afraid I’ve gotten so used to seeing vehicles there, I don’t pay much attention anymore.”