By six thirty the next morning, I was out the door with the kids in the car. I had successfully glued George the Gnome back together before I went to bed, although he did look a little rough. Zack had minded a lot less than I expected and decided it needed a Band-Aid on one of the glued cracks. After close inspection, Bobby’s gnome had no signs of tampering. No vials. No semen.
I called Kelly, my freshman roommate at MSU and best friend, and dropped the boys and the gnomes—couldn’t leave them behind—off at her house so I could track down the Gnome Stealer.
Kelly lived west of town about ten miles, south of Four Corners in a neighborhood called Elk Grove. It was a subdivision about fifteen years old built on a swath of farmland. Surrounding it was more farmland. No trees. The Spanish Peak
