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“Are you okay?” Mrs. Odlum panted. “Who was that?”

“Let me see if I can get a license-plate number.” Mr. Odlum handed Sparky’s leash to Mrs. Odlum, and took off down the street after the intruder.

Zach tried again to rise. Something was definitely wrong with his knee. He swore quietly and sank back.

“Oh, you’re hurt!” Mrs. Odlum exclaimed.

“I twisted my knee, that’s all.”

Mrs. Odlum was already on her phone, calling 911.

Mr. Odlum returned a moment or two later, out of breath. “I lost her. I don’t know where she went.”

“That wasn’t ashe,” Mrs. Odlum said. “That was a man in a wig.”

“I don’t think so, dear.”

“Iknowso.”

“We can’tknowthat for a fact.”

“Icertainly do.”

Mr. Odlum threw an uncomfortable look at Zach. “But dear, we don’t know how she identifies herself.”

Mrs. Odlum began to splutter. “That was amanin a terrible wig.”

“Well, she—or he—didn’t drive away, as far as I can tell.”

“Well, no, of course not. He was here for Zach’s Mustang.”

“Oh, right! Of course.”

“Not that he would have gotten far in it.” Mrs. Odlum dropped her cell phone in her coat pocket and pulled Sparky, who was giving Zach a snuffling head-to-toe inspection, away. “Don’t worry, Zach. The police are on the way.”

“For all the good it’ll do,” Mr. Odlum put in.

“Now, that’s not fair,” Mrs. Odlum said.

The Odlums began to animatedly discuss crime statistics in Monterey County as a whole, versus Salinas specifically, and the shortcomings of local law enforcement.

“If you could just give me a hand?” Zach interrupted.

“Oh, right!” Mr. Odlum said.

“The poor boy sprained his ankle,” Mrs. Odlum explained.

Zach gritted his teeth as the Odlums got on either side of him and helped him to his feet. He tested putting his weight on his injured leg, and sucked in a breath.

Mr. Odlum began to brush him off.

“I hope nothing’s broken,” Mrs. Odlum waved hello to the neighbors on the other side of Zach’s house, who had come out to see what the commotion was. “Someone tried to steal Zach’s Mustang!”

“Why?” cried Mrs. Daly.

The Dalys, colorfully attired in the nightwear favored by characters in ’70s sitcoms, joined the enclave on Zach’s driveway, Mr. Daly helpfully picking up the discarded baseball bat as he approached.

Zach opened his mouth and then closed it.