then right, then left again, as if making sure no one was following. Or watching? When he stepped out of the line of sight, I went outside and down the steps. Where was he? He’d been headed toward the pair of newly renovated townhomes on my side of the street. But they were still unoccupied, not even finished. Why would he be going there?

Maybe he wanted to buy one. To move. Or invest. But it didn’t matter why. After all, Victor had every right to cross the street. It was none of my business. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder. Why would Victor venture outdoors to go to an empty house? From the bottom of my front steps, I saw him pass through the front gate of one of the new houses. Casually, as if out for a stroll, I wandered over. No one was around. No workers. No one. The place seemed abandoned.

It made no sense. Maybe Victor had recovered. Maybe he’d overcome his agoraphobia. Maybe, as part of his recovery, he actually went outside and took walks every day—after all, I hadn’t been watching him. Even so, why would he go into an empty house? I told myself to mind my own business, to stop staring at the windows and the open gate. I was about to go home when the front door burst open and out flew Jake. Jake? But what about Victor? Was he still inside?

Jake hurried down the front walk so preoccupied that he didn’t look where he was heading. If I hadn’t said hi to him, he’d have barreled right into me.

“Christ,” he exclaimed, hopping sideways.

I smiled. “Sorry—”

“My fault, no problem,” he muttered, still moving.

“I haven’t seen you lately,” I went on. “How’ve you been?”

He glanced back at the house he’d just left, ahead at the street, shifting from foot to foot as if running in place. “Busy. Haven’t been around much—I got some jobs in Jersey, so I’m wrapping things up here.”

Ask about Victor, I told myself. Ask if he’s seen him. But Jake had gone on his way, calling over his shoulder for me to take it easy. “See ya,” he yelled.

Strange, I thought. What was Victor doing in that house? Did Jake even know he was there? And why had Jake been so unfriendly and unsettled? Something wasn’t right.

Mind your own business, I told myself as I watched Jake hurry down the street and climb into his truck. Go home. But I didn’t go home. I stood on the sidewalk, thinking. What was bothering me? Something about Jake was rattling me. What was it? Think, I told myself. Figure it out.

Angela disliked him; he made her uneasy. And what did I really know about him? Nothing, really. Nothing at all.

I reminded myself that Molly was home alone—I had to get back. But I didn’t go. I stood on the sidewalk, staring at the house. Maybe I’d just check inside. Pop in briefly, quietly, see what Victor was up to, and leave. I’d be back before Molly even knew I was gone.

I watched Jake start up his truck and drive away. When he’d rounded the corner, I swung the gate and stepped onto the property. Trespassing. But the front door was open—it wasn’t like I was breaking in. I was just a neighbor, making sure another neighbor was okay.

I glanced around the interior. Unpainted drywall. A half-built fireplace. Exposed wiring. An unfinished stairway to the second floor. No Victor. Quickly, I went into what would become the kitchen. From there, a second stairway led down to the basement. There was a light on; maybe someone was down there, working. Or maybe it was Victor. I couldn’t hear him and wasn’t about to go look—I’d already gone too far, had no business being there. I didn’t want anyone to catch me snooping. I’d just leave. No harm done. Sneak out the way I’d snuck in.

I turned, stepping away from the staircase. That was when I noticed the hallway. The small scarlet puddle clotting on the hardwood floor.

SEVENTY-EIGHT

THE BLOOD WAS FRESH, STICKILY WET. THIN SCARLET SMEARS led to my feet; smudges and droplets continued down the stairs.

Oh my God—Victor! I ran down the steps, following a path of blood drops. At the bottom, though, the path abruptly ended. I scanned the empty basement, saw nobody. A toolbox at my feet. An empty worktable. An electric bulb hanging from ceiling wires. Exposed ceiling beams, concrete blocks, a wood-paneled wall. No Victor.

I stood still, not breathing,