Page 126 of Love Me Fierce

“We’re doing a survey of the neighborhood,” I say. “Do you happen to know which of the homes near you are occupied full time?”

She sways while she pats the baby’s bottom. “Um, across from me. Carla and Joe. They’re full time, though they’ve been spending more time in Florida.” She nods to her left. “That one’s a rental.” While holding the baby in place with one hand, she points to a new two-story home down a few homes from Carla and Joe with the other. “That just sold like a month ago. I haven’t seen anyone move in yet.”

I nod toward the other side of her house, where a gravel driveway curves out of sight. “How about there?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen them.”

“Mom!” a little girl calls from inside the house.

“Thank you,” I say.

“Sure,” she replies, and closes the door.

On the opposite side of the street, Zach is talking with a resident, his back turned partially away from me and his hands on his hips.

I wait a moment longer, but when their conversation drags on, I continue to the gravel drive. It splits, with one side continuing to a detached garage, and the other to a one-story brown home with a wide porch partially hidden by tall trees. On the right side of the fork, a NO TRESPASSING sign is stapled to a giant spruce. Below it rests a large, pale boulder with a smooth face and the house numbers painted across it in yellow.

I glance back at the homes on this street. All the garages are either attached to the homes or are carports. While I wait for Zach, I pull up google maps. Are the two structures part of the same residence?

Zach finishes up his conversation and the door shuts behind him. When he sees me at the edge of the gravel drive, he crosses the street.

“So far I’ve got four that are weekend only,” he says, scanning the driveway. “And it sounds like all are non-locals. What’ve you got?”

“Neighbor doesn’t have info on this house,” I say. “Looks like both buildings are part of the same residence.”

Zach puts his hands on his hips, his eyes narrowing. “Huh.”

“What?”

“That rock,” he says, nodding at the one with the house numbers. He takes a slow scan of the street, frowning. “I looked up that stuff that Tisdale told Vivian, about isotope and chlorine dating and all that. It’s a real thing. That rock looks like the ones in all the pictures.”

A chill walks down my spine.

My phone chirps. It’s Ballard.

“Where are you guys?” he says, his voice curious.

“Uh, little field work.”

I wait through a heavy pause. “What’s going on, Rumsey?” he asks.

I rub my forehead. “Are you at the station?”

“Yeah, in the conference room.”

“I need you to look up a house for us.”

“Don’t tell me you’re flashing Tisdale’s face allover town.”

I cringe at the frustration in his tone. “We’re not.” I walk to the other side of the driveway. “Just humor me, okay?”

He gives a tense sigh. “Go ahead.”

I rattle off the house number and street while he types. “What’s so special about this residence?” he asks.

I give him what Zach told me and my curiosity about the detached garage, but Ballard is unimpressed.

“Let me call you back,” he says, and hangs up.

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