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Now, the tarp had blown up against the shed in a crumpled heap. The rocks had rolled, or been kicked against the side of the shed. His body was gone.

SIX

EMILY

Samantha shoved open one of the bifold doors and almost fell into the living room. Orange juice sloshed out of her glass. “He’s gone!”

Patrick’s phone clattered onto the hardwood floor. The way things were going, that phone might not survive the weekend. “What do you mean, he’s gone?”

“Exactly what it sounds like, Patrick. The tarp blew away and he’s not there!” Samantha said.

“Gone? Or shoved somewhere by the wind?” Patrick picked up his phone off the floor.

“He can’t have just vanished,” Keith said. “Did he wash back into the pool?”

Samantha rolled her eyes at him.

“Did you check?” I asked.

She placed her glass on a table near the door and wrapped her arms around her waist. “He’s not there. Do you think, maybe, do you think he wasn’t dead? Maybe he was only passed out, or something?”

“He was dead,” Patrick said.

As a firefighter, Patrick had seen more deceased people than the rest of us put together, so no one argued with him. It was obvious Samantha was indulging in wishful thinking.

“We could ask the neighbors,” I said. “I was thinking of walking over there today. It seems like we should at least meet them, get to know them a little.”

“I’ve met Linda, obviously,” Samantha said. “Multiple times, but I haven’t spoken to…” She paused. “Her daughter.”

The woman next door had also owned this house—the houses on adjoining lots that had once been a single piece of property. Because we’d signed the paperwork for the sale of the house at a branch of the title company located in Sacramento, none of the rest of us had actually met her.

“After that storm, it would be nice to know the only people in the neighborhood.” I sipped my water. My body was screaming for coffee. I wondered how long it took to restore power in a wooded area like this.

“This isn’t block party time,” Patrick said. “You think you’ll casually stroll over there, knock on the door, and ask if they’ve seen a dead body carried away by the wind?”

“Literally,” Keith mumbled.

I couldn’t help myself—I giggled. What we were dealing with was horrible beyond reason. Still, my husband’s dark, dry sense of humor never failed to make me smile or giggle, even when it was so very inappropriate.

Patrick turned toward me. “You manipulated Samantha into not calling the police! If you hadn’t, we would have called right away.”

“I didn’t manipulate her.” I sipped my water.

“Samantha does whatever you say,” Patrick snapped. “She’ll do whatever is necessary to make sure you’re happy, Emily. Always. She listened to your selfish worries, and because she respects you, she went along.”

“Not true,” I said.

“You make me sound like a lemming,” Samantha said.

“You’re not,” he said. “But Emily⁠—”

“Back off,” Keith said. “Em didn’t do anything but express her opinion. Samantha has her own brain. She wasn’t manipulated.”

“I just…” Patrick’s voice trailed off. He must have realized his attack was unjustified. He’d gotten himself so upset about wanting to do the right thing, he couldn’t think straight. We were all upset, but he seemed close to losing control. It was strange to see him so unsettled, for a man who had so much experience dealing with a traumatic situation every time the firetruck went out on a call.

I took advantage of the pause to get up and go into the kitchen. I needed something besides water. I decided to follow Sam’s lead and have a glass of OJ. I filled a glass with juice. I drank most of it, leaving the glass in the sink.

In the entryway, I grabbed my jacket, put on my shoes, and went outside. The rain had stopped, leaving behind a cool breeze. The clouds were just starting to break apart. I walked along the path that led to the side of the property, crossed through the border of pine trees separating the two lots, and started toward the house next door. I climbed the three steps to the porch and knocked on the door.