Dad frowned toward the window, then set his mug down and said, “Who on earth is calling for me this early?”
By the time I stepped onto the porch behind him, our neighbor Mrs. Donnelly was already at the curb with her phone held chest-high, recording as if she’d been waiting her whole retirement for this moment.
I didn’t ask where the dogs came from or where they went.
Mr. Grayson stood beside her. Mrs. Perez hovered near her mailbox, twisting her fingers together and watching the driveway.
A county cruiser sat crooked near the curb. Two uniformed officers stood by the gate, one younger, one older with deep lines around his mouth. The younger one did the talking.
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