“You’re being paranoid.”

Yes, he was, and he wasn’t going to make any apologies for it. Where he and Kate had grown up, paranoia kept you safe.

He jogged to the house, saw that Kate was asleep.

“C’mere, Buttons,” he whispered. The beagle came scampering over. Andrew clipped the leash to his collar and walked him to the tepee. “Go on, sniff around.”

Buttons went inside, tail wagging to beat the band, sneezing when the pine needles tickled his snout.

Now, the old dog was no bloodhound, but he was a dog just the same with a heightened sense of smell. Maybe he could at least point in the direction where their mystery neighbor had gone.

Inside the tepee, Buttons flopped onto the ground.

“What are you doing? No sleeping on the job. Get up.”

His tail thumped the bedding, eyes drooping closed.

“Look, I know you’re old as the hills, but you can’t be that tired. Show me who made this.”

He tugged on the leash, but Buttons wasn’t having it. The beagle closed his rheumy eyes.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Could dogs sniff out intent? If someone had been crouching in there with a head full of bad things, would Buttons – or any dog, for that matter – pick up on it, even if they were long gone? Was there a scent to evil? Would it linger like a ghost, an emotional specter?

How have you jumped all the way to evil?

On the plus side, Buttons didn’t seem the least bit concerned.

“Okay, let’s go inside and see Mommy.”

That got Buttons on his paws. Mommy was everything to him. Even a comfy tepee couldn’t keep him away from her for long.

By the time Andrew showered and changed and ran to town for some supplies, all thoughts of the sinister tepee had vanished. He had no idea why it had disquieted him so much. The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous he felt, until it was best to forget about it.

The Dewar’s and ice-cold craft beer chasers helped.

* * *

“You want to come out on the porch?”

Andrew’s tongue had gone soft at the end, porch coming out porsh. They’d watched a Coen brothers movie together, laughing at the madcap absurdity, a bowl of popcorn on the bed between them. It was a hot day. He’d found a standing fan in the supply closet and set it to oscillate, keeping it by the open sliding door to suck in the fresh air.

She didn’t know how many beers he’d had, but sometime during the middle of the movie, he’d poured himself a glass of Dewar’s whisky over ice. When she’d looked at the drink with surprise, he’d said, “You always said I’m a carbon copy of my dad.”

“I thought you hate Dewar’s.”