The Marsh Madness

NO ONE WAS home at 41 Belleview Crescent, Shelby’s parents’ address. No car in the driveway. No sign of life. Lance peered through the window of the garage. No car inside that either.

The house was a classic design, updated with a sharp charcoal paint and a new-looking porch in the front. I craned my head and caught a glimpse of a sunroom addition in the back past the three-car garage.

Nice. This was a lovely middle-class home. It was a home to be proud of in a pleasant neighborhood on a tree-lined street where everyone kept their property looking good. But Shelby’s family home wasn’t in the same league with Summerlea, for sure.

A solitary light glowed from a fixture in the central hallway. That was like a welcome mat for burglars. Come on in. Take everything. We’re not home.

I rang the doorbell and knocked loudly for the third time. “She’s not here. Maybe she knew we’d find her,” I said to Lance as we paced in front of the house, exasperated.

He glanced around and noticed a woman across the street, ambling slowly with a large dog.

I said, “Someone has to come home sometime. I’ll sit here all night if I have to.”

“I can’t stay. I have to work tomorrow. I need to get some sleep. And don’t give me a hard time because I have a job.”

“When did I ever do that, Lance? Get some sleep. My job is to find Shelby and exonerate myself, Kev and Vera. But I need a car to sit in.”

Lance blinked.

I said, “Shelby and her driver know the Beamer now. And I’m sure the neighbors do too. So we need to get another vehicle here for my surveillance until she comes home.”

I didn’t want to say “if she comes home.” I shivered at the thought that I couldn’t quite keep out of my mind.

As we chatted and plotted, a silver-haired woman with a matching silver-haired dog strolled along the sidewalk and met up with the first neighbor, whose dog was now sitting patiently. The two women began shooting us glances, not at all subtle.

On the house closest to us, a curtain twitched. That’s the trouble with these neighborhoods. They’re filled with nosy people.

Lance bleated, “We may need another vehicle, but how can I drive two cars, Jordan? Even I have limitations. Only one body and all that.”

“Let’s move on before these people call the police on us.” I waved to the woman with the matching dog and hopped back in the car.

Five minutes later, Lance and I were parked around the corner on the next block, waiting for Uncle Mick to arrive. We were close enough to see through the trees if anyone arrived at Shelby’s place, but no longer in full view of the neighbors. Uncle Mick seemed to have run out of anonymous and untraceable vehicles. Who knew that could happen? He was driving Uncle Lucky’s Navigator. That was good news. I love the Navigator. It meant I’d have a comfortable night waiting for Shelby.

I’d left my deep-orange purse with everything I’d really need at Uncle Mick’s. I’d asked for that and a change of clothes. He delivered a pair of black Keds, dark jeans and a black hoodie from my old closet. Somewhere he’d turned up a ball cap with a mouse brown ponytail and matching shaggy bangs showing. The things that man had at his disposal . . .

Better yet, it all came with a care package from the Kelly kitchen: Dr Pepper, chock-full of caffeine, a package of Oreos, a giant bag of Cheetos and a fresh burner phone, because you never know.

He also brought Walter.

“Really, Uncle Mick? Walter? I’m going to be in the car all night. Does that make sense . . . I mean, is that the right thing to do?”

“’Course it is, my girl. Dogs are a good cover. You should know that better than anyone. Everyone trusts you when you have a dog. Especially a little dog like this, not good for protection or anything.”

Walter snorted his resentment of this description. In his mind he could take on armed men, Rottweilers, sky’s the limit.

“But . . .”