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up the block. You don’t see many Mercedes in that neighborhood. It had tinted windows, and the driver’s window was rolled down. I’m sure I saw someone sitting in the driver’s seat, but I couldn’t be sure.
    “Anyway, as I was pulling out of the lot, I noticed that the Mercedes was still there. And then, about two blocks from work, I looked into my mirror and saw the same black Mercedes several cars behind me.
    “I turned on Froberg, like I always do, and sure enough, the Mercedes did, too. Why would anyone be following me? It doesn’t make any sense.”
    “Coincidence, probably,” I said. I was lying.
    “I don’t think so. Just to be sure I was right, when I was the last car through the green light at Kling and I saw he was stuck there until the light turned again, I took a quick left onto Kling and then, as soon as I couldn’t see his car, I turned into the alley right behind the row of stores. I watched in the mirror and sure enough, he’d turned left on Kling, too. I saw him drive past the alley, but I don’t think he saw me. And then I came on home, and didn’t see him again.” 
    I was impressed, but didn’t want to add fuel to his concern.
    “Well, like I say, probably just a coincidence,” I said, not believing it.
    He looked at me with a slightly raised eyebrow. “Do you suppose it was that guy who called me, and he’s really mad at me for not showing up?”
    “I doubt it,” I said. Damn, I hated lying.
    I had little doubt it was whoever had made the call that had lured him out onto a deserted road on the edge of town, and I was sure the guy wasn’t concerned about Jonathan’s not having shown up. I was rapidly becoming convinced Jonathan had shown up exactly as he was supposed to—but that whoever it was had just missed the chance to kill him.
    I was suddenly very interested in having a look at Jonathan’s windshield.
    “You know, if your windshield is broken maybe you should take my car to practice tonight and to work tomorrow. I can take your truck in to get the windshield fixed. We might as well get it taken care of right away.”
    “Would you mind? It isn’t a very big hole, but it goes all the way through, and there are a bunch of cracks around it. They’ll only get worse.”
    “Consider it done,” I said, and we finished our dinner.
    *
    As soon as Jonathan left for practice and Joshua and I had cleaned up from dinner, I said, “Let’s go take a walk downstairs for a minute. I want to take a look at Uncle Jonathan’s truck.”
    Joshua, who never passed up an opportunity to go somewhere—anywhere—waited impatiently by the front door while I rummaged through our top dresser drawer to find Jonathan’s spare set of keys.
    Since Jonathan always backed the truck in, the minute I unlocked and opened the door to the garage and switched on the light, I saw the hole, almost directly in the center of the windshield, just to the left of the driver’s seat as seen from the front. I moved up for a better look. Though it was warm in the garage, I felt a definite chill.
    “Where are we going?” Joshua asked.
    “Nowhere,” I said. “I just want to look for something.” Wanting to keep him from getting into any mischief or wandering into the alley while I was about it, I said, “Tell you what—why don’t you sit in the driver’s seat while I look.”
    “Can I drive?” he asked excitedly.
    “You can pretend-drive,” I said, “but don’t touch any of the buttons, okay?”
    “Okay,” he said, unconvincingly.
    I let him in the driver’s side and moved around to the passenger door, stepping partly into the truck to check for what I was afraid I was going to find. And I found it—a small round hole in the upholstery about a foot to the right of the driver and in line with but slightly lower than the hole in the windshield.
    Luckily, the truck had a split seat, so I was able to pull the passenger’s side forward without disturbing Joshua. He couldn’t reach the brake or