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Igor’s head lifted.
“Lisa,” I said slowly, “the doorbell rang.”
“Don't answer. Anyone important has your cell.”
Bzzzzzt.
It hadn’t gone away five minutes later. At that point, with Lisa swearing at Wyatt to ‘drive around the damn soccer mom!’, I unbarricaded myself, gripped the bat, and promised to call right back.
When the doorbell rang again, I headed to Lisa’s bedroom. Her view overlooked the neighborhood. Leaning my bat against the wall, I cracked the window.
Footsteps paced the length of the porch, back and forth, back and forth.
“Hello?” I called.
The walker stopped.
“Come off the porch and introduce yourself.”
A tall, thin man dressed in khaki ambled onto the walkway. As his smile turned toward Lisa’s window, his eyes flashed. “You’re Marcy, aren’t you? You texted Harlowe about staying home.” The man reached into his pocket. It may have been fear stuffing my ears, but I swear the peepers paused to listen to his clear, crisp voice. “I’m his deputy, Larry Cho.”
“Larry Cho?”
“Yeah.” He held a badge toward the window as if I could read it. “People here act as if ‘Cho Beom-Seok’ is a tongue twister.”
“Touché.” Plenty of people Americanized their names. My grandmother’s cribbage partner was a Stephanie when she’d worked at a Manhattan advertising firm and Nephele in the comfort of our living room. Nevertheless, I scowled down at him. “What do you want, Larry?”
“I have your housemate's keys.” From his pocket he produced an evidence bag containing a key fob and Lisa’s Yankees-themed house key (she’d taken her spare to New York). “Harlowe’s instructions are to hand them to you or her, preferably you.”
“What happened to her lanyard?”
“Not even the miracles of science could remove the blood.”
“So, destroyed.” A typical precaution to prevent the more curious from obtaining lupine DNA?
“Yep. So, wanna walk on down?”
“No,” I decided. “Set them on the doorstep and have a nice night.”
Larry’s exasperated sigh seemed extra loud on the quiet street. “Our chain of custody demands I hand them to you direct.”
I glanced toward the driveway. No cruiser or vehicle beside mine. “Where’d you park?”
He pointed at the snaking ridge of cars. “Truck’s been cornered by Vilkas family vehicles since eleven this morning.”
I rocked on my heels, indecisive. “Is the sheriff there?”
“He’s pursuing a lead.” Larry picked at the evidence bag seal. “Look, my shift ends in an hour. There’s no reason to involve the boss in a ten second exchange.”
“No reason to open my door for a stranger nearly matching the description of a potential suspect, either.”
His ensuing eye-roll carried an animalistic flare. “You can’t expect me to wait outside all night.”
“The sheriff said someone would. I expect you’ll go home when your shift ends.”
“What do you want me to do, yell at a group of mourners to move their cars so I can prove I’m the sheriff’s deputy?”
“If you want to go home you’ll have to yell at them anyway. Better get walking.”
