He leaned toward the screen again, his eyes tracing the slice of blue, the scum of algae along the bottom, the curve of the hull. He could almost see a pair of hands caressing the side of it, feel a stiff warm breeze against his face.

1981

Frank walked up the pathway toward the front door of 61 River Ash Road with one hand resting protectively on the butt of his gun. Not that he expected he’d have to use it, but the neighbor who called 911 said she’d heard a scream coming from the house next door, and Frank couldn’t be too careful. It could be nothing—the woman could have heard a screech owl or a pair of brawling cats or a too-loud television—or it could be something else entirely.

Thunder rolled in the distance as the breeze picked up. The weatherman had reported a storm would be coming through overnight, and Frank wanted to be back at the precinct before the bottom fell out. His heart was already beating faster than normal, and he took a few deep breaths to steady himself. The caller hadn’t given a name—neither hers nor the neighbor’s—so Frank had no idea what to expect.

He knocked on the door. No response. Another knock, this time louder.

“Hello?” a voice called to him from around the side of the house.

“I’m Officer Roby.” Frank walked toward the voice. “Just checking things out. I got a call from a neighbor about some noise over here.”

When he rounded the corner, a man stood in the porch light, wiping his hands on a bandana, a smudge of blue paint on his forehead. “Must be old Frieda. She keeps everyone on the road in line.” The man’s face was open and friendly, and it sparked recognition in Frank, though he couldn’t pinpoint how he knew him. “Sorry you had to come out here so late at night. I was out back painting my boat, and I just hammered the paint can closed. That must have been what she heard.”

“I don’t think so.” Frank propped his hands on his hips. “She said she heard a scream.”

“Ah. Must be the foxes then. A family of them lives out in the woods there.” He pointed toward the thick, dark woods off to their left.

“Have you heard them tonight?” Frank asked.

“No, I can’t say that I have. My wife’s inside. Usually when the foxes are loud, they wake her up, but she’s upstairs sleeping like a baby.”

“How would you know that if she’s in there and you’re out here?”

The man laughed and shoved the bandana in the back pocket of his blue jeans. “Good point.”

Frank waited, but the guy didn’t offer any more. “What’d you say your name was?”

“I didn’t. It’s Jay Malone.”

Frank snapped his fingers. “That’s it. You’re the ice cream guy. Friendly’s Ice Cream, right?”

“That’s right. Friendliest ice cream shop in town.” His words were chipper and his tone light.