It’s the “yet” that’s the dangerous part. The hope that living somewhere like this is temporary, and a positive life change is just around the corner.
A positive life change that you’d go to great lengths to achieve, like I did today.
I moved into this house years ago because it was all I could afford, and I haven’t saved up enough money to move—yet. Pretty sure everyone who lives here would say something similar.
This is not a forever kind of home, but that’s what it has somehow become.
My unit has its own exterior entrance at the back of the house, but seeing the light on in the kitchen has me moving to that door instead.
I twist the knob and push it open.
I see a handful of faces staring back at me from the scarred wooden kitchen table. Everyone is here.
“Any luck?” I ask.
Deacon shakes his head and says, “No, he’s still there.”
“Okay, it’s on to plan B.”
Chapter 3
Hank
AFTER THE ALIBI
Sunday, October 11
My tires squeal as I make the turn. I’m driving faster than I should on a residential street on a Sunday morning since there’s bound to be kids out, but I’m in a panic. It’s one of those perfect, crystal-clear, blue-skies kind of days where you’re looking for any excuse to be outside. Cars are being washed in driveways, weeds are being pulled from flowerbeds, and there’s a lemonade stand set up even though we’re well into October.
But this is the calm before the storm. Everyone I pass is completely unaware that their peacefulness is going to be shattered.
Just like mine was shattered when I received that frantic call seven minutes ago.
Slowing down just enough that I don’t take the turn on two wheels, I pull into the driveway.
My truck screeches to a stop, and I see her waiting for me exactly where I told her to. Looks like I’ll have a few minutes to talk to her alone, and it won’t be nearly enough time.
Camille is sitting on the stone steps that lead to the massive wooden front doors of her house, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs. Her hair is pulled back from her face, and she’s bathed in the midmorning light, making it easy to see how pale she is.
I’m in front of her within seconds, dropping down to a crouch.
“Hank…” Her voice cracks when she says my name.
There are trails of watery mascara down both cheeks and her nose is running. She ducks her head toward her shoulder, wiping her tears on the sleeve of her button-down, only for a fresh wave to take their place.
“Is anyone else here?” I nod in the direction of the 1970 red Mustang that’s parked in the overflow parking spot near the garage. It’s hard to miss and also very out of place.
She looks over her shoulder at the car and stiffens slightly. “No. That…was here. There’s no one else here.”
Her answer begs more questions, but I let it go for now. “Wait while I check inside.”
She grabs my arm, her eyes wide. “No…don’t go in…”
I take her hand in mine, giving it a quick squeeze. “I’ll be right back.” I press down on the handle with my elbow then use my shoulder to push the heavy door open.
The smell hits me first. My throat tightens as I pull my shirt up to cover my nose. The sight that greets me once I’m inside almost brings me to my knees. It’s as bad as she described. I take one step, then two, but stop before entering the home office just off the foyer.
Ben is lying on the floor, and the purplish-gray tint of his skin tells me he’s been dead for some time.
