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“Dad,” the boy calls from the front yard. “There’s somebody here to see you.”
I step up onto the porch and raise my hand to knock. Through the screen door, I can see the foyer and kitchen. But no one’s inside.
“As I live and breathe,” a voice says from behind me, causing me to jump. “Look who it is.”
I turn around to see my old friend, Parker, standing in the grass next to the porch, wiping his hands with a rag. He must have come around the side of the house, as silent as a cat. Whether he’d meant to sneak up on me or not, if he’d been a criminal, he would have gotten the drop on me.
I try to act like he didn’t startle me. I can’t tell by his expression if he’s suspicious of me turning up like this or just pleasantly surprised.
“Hey, old buddy,” I say, sounding more chipper than I mean to.
“What brings you here, Rory?” Parker says, and I can’t help but detect a trace of unfriendliness in his voice.
CHAPTER 8
PARKER WALKS AROUND to the porch steps and starts up, tucking the rag into his back pocket. He’s wearing jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt, showing off muscular arms. He was always a fitness buff, and even though he’s in his early fifties now, he looks like he’s in better shape than most men half his age. He’s my height, but he’s got at least fifteen pounds on me, all muscle. He always had an intimidating glower that he could turn on and off like it was on a switch. I’ve seen many criminals squirm under that stare, but this is the first time I’ve seen anything but approachable friendliness leveled on me.
“I was in the neighborhood,” I say, trying not to let his intense gaze get to me. “Thought I’d stop by for a visit.”
“Really?” Parker says, not hiding the disbelief in his voice.
“No,” I say, forcing a laugh. I gesture to the cornfields and woods that abut his property. “There’s nothing in your neighborhood.”
He chuckles, and I’m pleased to see his tough exterior begin to soften.
“I’d shake your hand,” he says, “but I was fixing the lawnmower out back. Might be a little greasy.”
“I’ll take my chances,” I say, and give his hand a firm shake.
I still sense a feeling of confusion about my visit. He’s got his guard up.
“I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch,” I say. “And I wish I was just stopping by for a visit. But I am here on some business.”
Now his expression darkens again.
“Lieutenant Abrams has me looking into one of your old cases, the murders that happened around here.” I make sure not to use the name Cereal Killer—and I don’t mention it was my idea to revisit the case. “You know how Lieutenant Abrams always was about cold cases.”
Parker nods seriously.
“I don’t think I can be of any help to you, Rory,” he says. “I haven’t stayed connected with law enforcement in any way. I don’t even think like a cop anymore.”
“Still, you’d be doing me a favor if we could talk for a few minutes,” I say.
He takes a deep breath, and his body stiffens. Just then, I hear footsteps coming from inside the house and look up to see Josie, Parker’s wife, strolling down the hallway. The screen door opens with a screech from the hinges.
“Rory!” she says, showing more enthusiasm than Parker did. “So great to see you.”
Josie wears jeans and a tank top, showing off arms that are svelte and strong. Probably in her mid-forties now, she’s stopped dying her hair since I last saw her, but the varying shades of silver pulled back in a loose ponytail suit her more than any artificial color could. Her skin is tan from outdoor work, and despite some wrinkles, she looks like she could pass for ten years younger.
I always figured Parker got lucky when he found her. They always had the kind of relationship I wanted but could never quite find. They had kids later in life than most people do, but that’s because they hadn’t met when they were younger. I’m still in my thirties, but if a family is in my future, I better get to work on it soon. Either that or I’m going to end up like Lieutenant Ty Abrams—no bride except the badge.
Josie gives me a tight hug, which I return, feeling guilty for not keeping in touch. These are good people. I hate being here under false pretenses.
When she breaks the embrace, she asks, “Can you stay for supper?”
“He’s here on Ranger business,” Parker says with a tone of disapproval.
“So what?” Josie says, shrugging. “You two can chat work stuff and then we’ll all catch up.” She looks at me. “We’ve got some friends coming over for a cookout tonight. We’d love it if you’d stay.”
