“Michael?”
She was pale.
“What?”
“There’s somebody downstairs.”
Daniel moved toward the window.
I followed.
A black sedan sat across the street.
Engine running.
Windows tinted.
“Do you know that car?” Daniel asked.
“No.”
The sedan remained there for several seconds.
Then slowly pulled away.
Daniel watched until it disappeared.
“Lock your doors tonight.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He picked up his briefcase.
“Go to the bank tomorrow morning. Don’t tell anyone why.”
“Not even the police?”
“Especially not until you know what’s inside.”
That answer bothered me.
A lot.
Daniel left.
I locked the door behind him.
Then checked it twice.
—
Vicky fell asleep around ten.
I didn’t.
I sat at the kitchen table staring at the key.
317.
Every few minutes, I thought I heard tires outside.
Footsteps on the stairs.
A knock.
Nothing came.
At midnight, I opened my laptop and searched everything I could find about the fire.
