Tasha was arranging plates.
Sunlight filtered through the oak tree.
For a moment, Marcus felt completely content.
Then he noticed a car passing slowly in front of the house.
He didn't think much of it.
He couldn't have known that, across the street, someone was watching.
And he certainly couldn't have known that before the afternoon was over, police officers would be standing in his backyard.
Karen Whitman had lived in Willow Creek Drive for twenty-three days.
She had counted.
Twenty-three days since the moving truck pulled away.
Twenty-three days since she had placed the last box in her new living room.
Twenty-three days since she had stood in front of the house and told herself that starting over would be good for her.
The neighborhood was beautiful.
That wasn't the problem.
The houses were well maintained.
The streets were quiet.
The schools had excellent reputations.
There were walking trails nearby and a small lake where people went fishing.
Karen had wanted a peaceful place.
Instead, she felt unsettled.
At first, she blamed the move.
She had left a neighborhood where she had lived for nearly fifteen years. Her husband had died two years earlier, and after his death, the house they had shared had become too painful to remain in.
So she sold it.
She moved south.
She told everyone she wanted a fresh start.
But grief traveled with her.
That morning, she stood behind the curtains of her living room window, looking across the street.
The Johnsons were having people over.
Karen watched Marcus move around the grill.
She watched two cars park along the curb.
She watched a woman carry a tray into the backyard.
Children ran across the grass.
Someone laughed.
Music played softly.
Karen frowned.
She couldn't explain why.
The music wasn't loud.
The gathering wasn't unusually large.
There was no argument.
No shouting.
No obvious disturbance.
Still, something in her tightened.
She watched longer.
Her mind began filling in blanks.
Who were those people?
Why were there so many cars?
Was everyone supposed to be there?
Could the gathering get bigger?
What if something happened?
She knew these questions were assumptions.
She knew she had no evidence.
But fear rarely waits for evidence.
Karen stepped away from the window.
She went into the kitchen.
Opened the refrigerator.
Closed it.
Returned to the living room.
Looked outside again.
The Johnsons were still laughing.
A little boy kicked a ball.
Marcus caught it.
He tossed it back.
Karen's eyes narrowed.
She remembered something her late husband had once told her.
"You can always tell when a situation is about to become trouble."
At the time, she had admired his instincts.
Now, she wondered if her instincts were warning her.
She picked up her phone.
Put it down.
Picked it up again.
Across the street, Marcus laughed at something Tasha said.
Karen watched him.