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address.”
    He took the keys from his pocket, ready for action of any kind.
    * * *
    1801 V ANCE S TREET turned out to be located within a small villa of condos arranged around a central courtyard, all encased within the confines of an ornate iron fence. At this time of year, the pool had been drained and covered in preparation for cold weather. The trees were a riot of color, leaves drifting to the ground as the wind teased them loose.
    They found a row of brass mailboxes built into a small arch near the street. The name on 1801 was V. Richards.
    “Vicky, Valerie, Vivian?” Lily mused.
    “Or Vincent, Victor, Val,” Chance said.
    “How do we find out?”
    “We ask.”
    She looked around at the complete absence of other people and raised her eyebrows.
    “Look, at the risk of making you mad, how about you let me knock on the door and see what I can find out.”
    “Why you?” she said. “I’ll do it.”
    “What if this person is actually home and what if you know them or they recognize your face? You aren’t disguised, remember?”
    “I know. But so what?”
    “So they call Block, Block calls the cops, Charlie spends the next twelve years living with daddy dearest.”
    “Oh.”
    “Just go sit in the car, okay?” he coaxed.
    “Okay, but don’t mess this up.”
    “Your faith in me is truly heartwarming,” he said. “Here, take my hat with you so I don’t stand out so much.” He waited until she got back in the car, then he walked down the narrow path to 1801. He wasn’t surprised when no one responded to the doorbell as it was a late weekday afternoon. He imagined the tenant of the condo was still on his or her commute. He walked around the grounds looking for someone, anyone, and finally spied a middle-aged guy raking leaves out by the pool/patio area.
    “Excuse me,” he called. “I have a delivery out in the truck for 1801, V. Richards. They’re not home. Is there a manager here or anything?”
    “I’m the manager,” the man said, leaning on his rake. He gave Chance a once-over, probably deciding he didn’t look much like a delivery man but glad for anything that interrupted the raking, especially as the fading light must make the job a tough one. “What can I do for you?”
    “Is it safe to leave a package outside the door? It’s pretty heavy. I wouldn’t want it to be a problem for the recipient to get it inside by themselves.”
    “Yeah, it’s safe enough. That door doesn’t face the street. If Valentine needs help, all she has to do is ask for it. She’s a nice enough kid.”
    “Kid?”
    He laughed. “Everyone under thirty is a kid to me and she’s way under. Probably nineteen or so.”
    “Does she live alone?” Chance asked and immediately wished he hadn’t. But the manager didn’t seem to find the question intrusive.
    “Oh, you mean how does a gal her age afford this place? Easy. She’s a student. Her parents pay the bills and they wanted her someplace safe.”
    “So she lives off her folks and goes to college,” Chance said, hoping he sounded like a jealous guy who had had to support himself his whole life and begrudged Valentine her address on easy street.
    “Yeah, tough, right? She’s been here for two years now. Well, kids these days, you know.” His gaze suddenly focused over Chance’s shoulder and he straightened up. “Hey there, Mr. Hasbro.”
    Chance turned to see a grumpy-looking man in his late sixties. “The circuit breaker blew again. You need to fix it pronto.”
    “Sure thing, Mr. Hasbro. As soon as I finish raking...”
    “No, now. Betty is in the middle of making my dinner.”
    “I’ll be right up, sir. Just have to get my tools.”
    “Don’t dawdle,” the older man said and stalked off.
    “His breaker wouldn’t blow if his wife didn’t overload it,” the manager confided to Chance. “Just leave the package,” he added as he set aside the rake and hurried off.
    “Well?” Lily asked as he slid into the passenger seat.
    “You were