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I turned back around with ahumph.“We need to figure it out.”
“Add it to the list.”
At the end of the cul-de-sac, two houses sit closely together. Both are similar in style, sharing the neighborhood aesthetic of two-story Nantuckets. One is blue, like the Taylors’, the other a stained, weathered yellow that was probably considered “buttercup” many years ago. The first-floor windows are boarded up, the second floor’s are cracked, some streaked with duct tape. The sides of the home are overgrown with gangly brown vines. The yard is covered in a blanket of moldy dead leaves. This abandoned home has been vacant for some time.
Next door, an elderly man in overalls and a brown straw hat is tending to his landscaping. He straightens when he sees us, frowns in suspicion.
“No,” Rhett says as I brake to turn into the abandoned home’s driveway, “keep going.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
I accelerate, turn the wheel and circle the end of the cul-de-sac.
The old man’s craggy, pale face fills my rearview mirror and I am certain he is taking note of my license plate.
“We’ll have to check out the house sometime later, when curious eyes aren’t watching.” Rhett says. “Do you know who that man was?”
“No clue. I don’t recognize him.”
“Well he sure didn’t like us pulling into his end of the neighborhood.”
“I imagine he doesn’t get much traffic unless it’s for him.”
We peer at the Taylors’ home again as we pass, and I notice the silhouette who was standing on the terrace next door is gone.
What a peculiar place this is.
“Where to now?” I ask, exiting the neighborhood and turning onto the gravel road that leads back to town.
“That’s it for today,” Rhett says.
Disappointment grips me. That’s it? No more sleuthing? No more adventure?
An awkward moment passes. … So what am I going to do with him now? This ex-con of mine.
“What would you—”
“Just drop me off downtown.”
“Where?” I ask. “What are you going to do?”
“I have to meet with my parole officer, call him before midnight.”
“Do you want to use my cell phone?”
“No.”
I want to ask more, but bite my tongue. My mother’s voice echoes in my head.A woman should never be too eager.
At the first stop sign in town, Rhett suddenly releases his seatbelt.
“Here?” I frown.
“Yes. Thank you, Sylvia. I’ve got it from here.”
“Wait, wh…?”
