Barefoot, because it’s quieter, I run outside and to his house where I drop down to the ground, making sure I’m close enough to hear what they’re talking about. I hear nothing besides the girl’s laughter and a few rough-sounding words from the neighbor.
Soon, as Cheryl promised, two police cars without sirens on appear at the end of the street. Her cruiser parks right infront of the house behind the truck, with the other one stopping a little farther. Cheryl gets out of the car, gesturing for the other guy to stay in his car.
“Are you sure you don’t need backup?” I ask when she walks up to me.
She shakes her head. “I don’t have a bad feeling about this one.”
“No tingly tingles?”
A firm shake of her head makes me pause.
“Like at all?”
“Not at all. I saw the guy in town today, and he didn’t give off any bad vibes. Just an average grumpy loner.”
“Ted Bundy didn’t give any bad vibes either,” I reply stubbornly. “Let’s go.”
Cheryl sends me a doubtful look but places her hand next to the gun on her belt. “Stay behind.”
“Yep.” I probably agree too fast because she narrows her eyes at me.
“Nora,” she says with a warning. “Behind.”
“Fine.” Rolling my eyes, I take a step behind her. But not far in case she needs my help.
With a hand glued to her belt just in case, Cheryl knocks on the door, and it flies open a few moments later. My new neighbor is on the other side with a confused look on his face. His eyes dart between Cheryl and me.
“Yes?” His voice is rough. Just like I heard it moments ago talking to the girl.
“We had an anonymous call about a teenage girl being dragged inside your house, and we’d like to check on her.”
His eyes narrow into tiny slits as they deliberately move to my face. “Anonymous, you say?”
A weaker person would have wilted under the pressure of his gaze, but Grandma raised me better. I square my shoulders, ready to own up to it, when Cheryl steps right between our standoff.
“Yes, anonymous.” Her voice becomes stronger. “Do you mind if we speak with her?”
Not taking his eyes off me, he yells into the house. “Junie, come over here.”
The same girl I saw before comes to the door. “What happened, Uncle Jericho?”
Uncle Jericho?
I blink, looking at her. Then blink a little more. And some more. Up close, she looks very much like Jericho aside from the curly, unruly hair falling over her shoulders.
Then I look at him only to find his right brow raised with a silent question.
“He’s your uncle?” Cheryl intercepts my moment of being an idiot.
The girl glances at the man. “Uncle Jericho? Yes, he is. Why?”
“And why are you here today?” Cheryl continues her interrogation.
“’Cause my dad went to Florida,” the girl replies with a note of irritation.
“Where does your father live?”
“In different places,” she replies with a nonchalant shrug. “We travel a lot.”
