Two days after first seeing Rozier, George saw Dana Rozier. Harvey had a tasteful '94 Lexus. She had a red Mazda sports car. From a distance she looked younger than her husband. Up close, when he checked her out when she went out shopping, she looked tight, blond, maybe a little too skinny, at least for George's taste, but sending out signals of money. Just the jewelry she wore for an afternoon out would have been enough to keep George in food, rent, paint, and nights in the local bars for half a year, even if he got only a nickel on the dollar.
The Roziers had no kids and no live-in maid. A couple of black women-looked like mother and daughter-came to the house Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Stayed all day. Left at five on the dot. Had their own key. George was sure they'd be the number-one suspects the night he cleaned the place out.
One night when he was watching the Roziers, a Tuesday, Harvey came out to the Lincoln dressed like Fred Astaire and his wife like Ginger. Tux, gown, the works. George followed them downtown, where they let a valet park them in front of the Bismarck. George considered making it back to their house in Saginaw and doing it fast, but he had learned to be careful. Two times downtime for felony made a thief careful. Maybe they were just picking someone up, having a few drinks, and then having a party at home. Maybe a hell of a lot of things. George wasn't the valet parking kind, but he didn't want to lose the Roziers.