Emily shone the light, trying to penetrate the pile. The glassy eyes of a Care Bear gleamed back at her. It sat in a box of stuffed toys on the floor between the bureaus. Emily realized that box had been moved since she was last there. She thumbed back through the pictures she’d taken on her first visit. The stuffed animals had been on top of a bureau. And the dark stain which was now visible across the papasan chair’s gold seat cushion had been hidden beneath a burlap-backed area rug.

Her heart racing, Emily stepped closer to the pile and examined it from end to end, top to bottom, in the flashlight beam. The rolled-up rug had vanished.

She switched to the camera and zoomed in. Took a shot of the empty chair seat, and then another. That’s when she heard it. A lapping sound. The cat was drinking from the saucer. Emily slipped her phone into her pocket, snuck over, scooped up the cat, and unceremoniously dumped it back in the kitchen. Raced the saucer to the sink, rinsed and dried it, put it in the cabinet, and then hurried back out to the garage, taking care not to let the cat slip past her this time.

She found where she’d dropped her gear bag, picked it up, and got out the garage opener. But before she could activate the mechanism, it clanked and whirred and the door started to rise. Just audible, beyond the sound of the door opening, was a car engine revving. A band of sunlight appeared at ground level. When the door was inches off the ground, a red car bumper came into view. Then a black grille with a license plate affixed to it, flanked by squinty-eyed headlights. Quinn’s Miata.

Emily drew back as the garage door rose. She could see the silhouettes of a driver and a passenger in the car. She considered sauntering out to greet Quinn and her companion as if everything were hunky-dory. After all, Quinn had told her to come back anytime. But Emily was a lousy actress and a worse liar.

Counting on it taking a few moments for Quinn’s eyes to adjust to the relative darkness in the garage, Emily hid behind one of the bureaus as the Miata slipped in and stopped. The engine shut down and the garage door descended. A car door creaked opened and slammed shut. Through a sliver of space between the bureaus, Emily could see the driver had gotten out. Yoga pants. Light-colored sneakers. Quinn. Emily ducked lower and prayed that Quinn wouldn’t sense her presence.

The passenger door opened, and, moments later, there was a click as it was pressed shut. The squeak-squeak of soft soles on the concrete floor. Emily heard what sounded like a man clearing his throat.