Page 19 of Mountain Void

Something wasn’t right, and she knew better than to ignore the feeling.

Finally, she opened her car door and got out.

“You’re not going to leave your car like that, are you?”

Charlie startled, turning toward the voice.

A strange man stood in the next yard, near the low stone wall separating the properties. Late forties, maybe. Solid build. British, from the accent.

That had been Mrs. Neville’s house until she’d finally given in to her daughter’s pleas and moved in with her last summer. It had been empty ever since.

I guess it finally sold.

“Excuse me?” Charlie asked, confused.

He gestured sharply at the ground, his posture confrontational. “You’re on the line. I won’t be able to get my car out without hitting the door.”

She glanced back. He wasn’t wrong. She’d been able to open her own door easily enough, but he was broader.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ll move it. I wasn’t thinking.”

She was about to walk over, introduce herself—do the polite, neighborly thing—when he spoke again.

“No,” he said flatly. “You weren’t.”

Charlie bit back a response about his clear anger management issues. Instead, she nodded once and got back into her car. She corrected, careful this time to stick to her side of the line.

When she stepped out again, he’d retreated inside his house, but she could still feel his eyes on her.

Inside her own house, she locked the door and let her forehead rest briefly against it, sighing in relief.

She kicked off her shoes, dropped her bag by the narrow set of stairs leading up to her bedroom, and walked into the kitchen.

You’re tired.

That’s all.

Her phone rang, startling her.

“Terry,” she said, forcing brightness into her voice.

“Hey,” her sister replied. Morning light bled through the screen, the Florida sunshine bright behind her. “You’re home?”

“Just got in.”

They talked the way they always did—about Terry’s kids, about the school, about Terry’s latest attempt at baking sourdough and how it had nearly ended in disaster.

Charlie laughed in the right places, but of course Terry saw right through her.

“You sound sad,” Terry said finally. “What’s wrong? There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Charlie hesitated. She’d made up her mind not to bring up Lorenz—not tonight. But maybe that wasn’t fair. Terry had, after all, been the one who’d helped her pick up the pieces, who’d listened when Charlie hadn’t been able to finish a sentence without breaking apart.

“He’s back,” she said quietly.

A pause. “He?”

She sighed. Terry was going to make her say it. “Lorenz.”