Karen didn’t answer.
I didn’t sleep that night. And by sunrise, I’d find out I’d waited too long.
Red and blue lights painted my bedroom walls before the sun was even up.
I stumbled to the window, heart pounding. Six officers stood in Mrs. Harper’s backyard, shovels in hand, while neighbors gathered on the sidewalk in their robes.
“David, don’t go out there,” Karen whispered behind me, gripping my arm. “Whatever this is, it’s not our problem.”
“Karen, she’s 72.”
“And the police don’t show up at 72-year-olds’ houses for no reason.”
I pulled on my jacket anyway.
By the time I reached the fence, detectives had already cracked open one of the holes, and the crowd was murmuring like a swarm of bees.
“Sir, step back, please,” an officer said.
