Listen

The barista handed Kay her card and took Sha

A minute later, Sha

Kay hesitated. She wanted to relate with Sha

“I guess,” Sha

Kay nodded, studying Sha

“Green tea and mocha for Kay!” the barista called.

“You drink both?”

“No. One’s for Je

“It did? What, is she friends with this Gabby girl? Zoey said Gabby’s kind of weird, a loner.” Sha

Kay turned and walked to the counter to pick up her beverages. She started to wave bye to Sha

Sha

“Is everything okay?”

She shook her head, her eyes wide. “That was Zoey. She told me to get home. The police are at the house.”

About the time he usually arrived at work, Damien felt the need to get out of the office. It had become all at once stuffy and suffocating.

In one sense, it was exhilarating. The news was a driving force, and everyone was a willing passenger. But even though he was a newsman, he was also a guy with a lot of ideals. As much as he didn’t want to admit it to the people around him who were doing their jobs, what had happened last night shook him to the core.

This was Marlo. He’d grown up here and decided to plant his family here. It once was a place where dreams flourished and happiness bloomed. Now it had the stench of death.

By nine thirty, he’d made his way to a solitary bench in the middle of Marlo Park. In the spring, ten thousand dollars would be spent planting flowers and grooming the grounds. He’d once written an editorial about its importance after there was an uproar by some people aggravated that so much money was to be spent on a park.

But Damien had swayed their opinion. He’d pointed out that this was the heart of the city, and the roads were the arteries leading to the rest of the body. If the core of the city was not taken care of, what would be next? The schools? The retirement home? The churches?

The editorial had been so popular that the town created Grounds Day on April 1, and three hundred people showed up to work, saving the city five thousand dollars.

Even in its dormant state in the winter, the park held a certain majesty and pride. People still walked the sidewalks, kids still rode their bikes, and on a good snow day, on the south end of the park, a small hill provided hours of sledding entertainment.

But now, in the middle of the pristine park with its vibrant evergreens and neatly swept sidewalks, Damien felt betrayed, as if Marlo were a living, breathing person that had just slapped him in the face and blackmailed him to boot.

Maybe it had always been this way and Marlo was just now giving up its bag of secrets. Or maybe they hadn’t watched over the town carefully enough, and slowly but surely a dry, putrid rot had set in.

He was weighed down like tree limbs burdened under heavy snow. He should’ve done more to protect Marlo. Pushed harder to not let complacency win at the end of the day. In a sense, the residents had decided that their pristine and tidy little town was incapable of foolishness and treachery. But still there was the question: had complacency been here all along or had it slipped in as an unexpected guest?

Damien considered the slow-drifting wispy clouds. That was the Marlo he knew and loved, pure and i

He had to stop this craziness. But how? Who was behind all this? And did it have anything to do with Gabby? Had the person hiding in the darkness of cyberspace come out in the blackness of night to strike in a new and evil way?

His phone vibrated in his pocket, indicating he had a text message. It was from Edgar: Get back now. Breaking news.

Frank and Murray sat on an enormous leather couch that dominated an already-impressive living room. Zoey Branson stood nearby, her arms crossed, doing something with her bright pink phone. Her hair was swept high in a ponytail, and her makeup sparkled like she was headed to a disco.

Frank found himself staring at the sixty-two-inch TV. He felt like throwing himself sideways on the couch, grabbing the remote, and counting their cable cha

Marlo had always had a decent number of upper middle-class citizens. If they weren’t really rich, nobody knew. There was a certain kind of house you wanted to keep, a certain kind of lifestyle you had to live. It never seemed dangerous or excessive. It wasn’t by any means Frank’s cup of tea. He lived in a small, two-bedroom wood frame house that was built in 1942. But he never minded the people with more wealth. He was not bothered by having less. He had responsibilities, and those were his priorities that he would never, ever give up.

Yet now, sitting in this room, he couldn’t help but feel engulfed by status. Genuine oil paintings hung on three out of the four walls. Besides the enormous television set that could rival the local movie theater, there were the leather furniture, the Persian rug, the enormous chandelier. For a house this size, it seemed cram-packed with overstated luxury.

From the back door, a Chihuahua whined and scratched.

“Shut up!” Zoey barked, sounding like she might be one gene off from the breed.

The front door suddenly flew open, ushering in, presumably, the mother. Her eyes widened as she saw Frank and Murray sitting on the sofa.

Frank stood, offering a hand. “Officer Merret. This is Detective Murray.”

She shook hands limply, then rushed to her daughter, patting the girl’s cheek as if she had a fever. “What’s wrong?”

“Get off me!” Zoey said, backing away and straightening her outfit. “I don’t know what’s going on. I just thought I should call you. This seems like the kind of thing a parent should be aware of.” Her sulky eyes seemed to drown in their own burden.

“Your name, ma’am?” Murray asked.

“Sha

“You’re Zoey’s mother?”

“Yes. Tell me what’s going on.”

“We’d like to ask Zoey some questions about what happened to Gabby Caldwell last night.”

“Why would she know anything about that?”

Frank heard someone else come through the front door. He assumed it was the father, but when he turned, he was taken by surprise. “Kay? What are you doing here?”