There was a gleaming red Harley-Davidson motorcycle in the driveway that hadn’t been there last night. I pulled in behind it and stopped my car. The poor old Rabbit looked out of place in such an upscale neighborhood.

I rang the doorbell and waited a long time. My mother had taught me to be polite and part of me felt guilty for disturbing them during a time when they were probably used to sleeping. Guilt didn’t keep me from ringing the doorbell again.

It was Rachel who opened the door—and like me, she looked like she’d had a hard night. She wore a thin, bright yellow T-shirt that left a...