On the dresser in the bedroom, Owen found the stub of a paycheck from the gas station with the attendant’s name on it—Aaron Feit. He mouthed the name, and just then the man entered the room, sat on the bed, and put his boots on. In the living room, he stuffed the pistol into the waist of his jeans and threw on a waterproof poncho with a hood. Then he left the house. Owen passed through the door behind him and followed him down the road, away from town.

9

A RIGHT AND A LEFT down long streets in the rain, and Feit finally stopped walking. He stepped off the sidewalk into the darker darkness beneath a stand of tall oak. With the leaves blocking some of the downpour, he pulled back his hood and took out a pack of cigarettes. The instant Owen saw them, he had an urge to smoke again.

It was obvious from where his quarry stood that Feit were there to watch the house across the street. It was a sizeable place, nearly a mansion, but so well set back amid the border of the barrens that its corner turrets and second floor with gabled roof and two dormers were lost to the passerby. The whole structure was covered in some kind of dark brown wood shake. There was light in every other window.

Feit took out his phone and made a call. The name he spoke was “Kiara.” Owen moved as close as possible so as not to miss a word, and Feit partially passed through him. “I’m outside Crenshaw’s now. All the lights are on. Just checking to see if there isn’t another one in there with him. I can take care of him, but . . .” He listened for a time to Kiara. There was a pause. “How’s William?” he asked. He nodded and hung up. Feit and Owen stood on the corner in the wind and rain, watching. Owen noticed faint classical music coming from an open window in the left-hand turret and saw shadows move throughout the rooms.

An hour later, when Feit gave up and headed away, Owen lingered on the corner. He was fairly confident either this fellow was going to rob the big old house, or he and Kiara were going to. It was obvious whoever lived there was well off. Owen stepped into the street and was crossing it before he realized he was going to pay a visit to Crenshaw. By then it had stopped raining and the wind had died down. He guessed it to be somewhere around three AM in the waking world. He swept up the long flight of front steps leading from the sidewalk and, without hesitating, passed through the door into a hallway of polished wood and a flowered runner leading him toward the inner rooms of the house.