I climbed the steps and rang the doorbell. In my hand I held the folder containing the photos, now stained by a greasy fry I’d dropped on it during lunch.

Lia, the five-year-old, opened the door.

“Aunt Beth!”

“Hi, sweetie.”

“Mommy! Aunt Beth is here! Are you here for dinner? Daddy said Susie could eat with us, so I guess you can too.”

“No, honey, I just need to talk to your Mommy for a minute. Who’s Susie?”

“She’s my dolly, duh!”

Good lord. How nice to see my nieces were learning good manners.

Justine appeared behind Lia and shooed the girl away. “What do you want?”

She didn’t open the screened door. I bent the folder open to the cemetery picture and held it up against the screen.

“What do you know about this?” I asked.

She glanced at it and shrugged. “It’s a picture. Looks bad, so I guess it’s one of yours.”

“Look at it.”

She sighed elaborately. “That what I have to do to get rid of you? Fine.”

She opened the door, took the folder, and looked at the pictures with an obvious lack of interest. Then she stiffened. I could see her knuckles turn white, hear her stop breathing. Slowly she looked up at me. Long seconds passed. She just stared.

It wasn’t guilt I saw on her face. It was confusion and fear. No, not fear — terror.

Finally she snapped back to life, as though someone had hit her play button. Without saying a word, she threw the folder at me and slammed the door in my face.

For a few seconds, I stood there amazed. It hadn’t been the reaction I was expecting. At all.

I gathered up the pictures and rang the bell again. No one answered. I knocked on the door.

“Justine? Justine?”

I couldn’t hear anything at all from inside the house. No voices, no footsteps, no TV. It was as though the whole place had gone to sleep. Strange. I knew at least two people were in there. I went from knocking to something closer to pounding.

“Justine! Lia? Ben? Ben!”

This was weird. Why had Justine freaked out like that? Was she afraid I’d get her in trouble for the prank? Surely not — playing a joke on someone wasn’t illegal. I walked around the side of the house. The lights were on, but the shades were drawn. I stopped to listen.

It wasn’t just quiet. It was still. Utterly still.