“Me, too. You mind if I put in some earplugs?”

  “Go ahead. I’ll wake you up if the house is burning down.”

  Jack used the flashlight on her cell to find a pair of foam earplugs in her nightstand.

  Within two minutes she was snoring.

  I considered jerking off before blue balls set in, but McGlade’s snoring had ruined my ardor. And I didn’t want to put in earplugs in case there was another—

  On cue, the smoke alarm went off again. Louder this time.

  Marveling how a great evening had turned to shit, I heaved myself out of bed, yet again, and went into the hallway, realizing it wasn’t the basement smoke alarm.

  It was the kitchen smoke alarm.

  Again I sniffed, but didn’t detect any smoke. I reached for the wall fire extinguisher, just in case.

  It wasn’t on the wall.

  That’s when I remembered the smoke alarm going off earlier, when Jack made tacos.

  I also remembered taking the battery out.

  I was sure I took the battery out.

  Did Jack put it back in?

  I aimed my beam at the ceiling, and saw the dark figure standing on the kitchen counter, pressing the test button on the smoke alarm.

  Then came a flash of red as the intruder swung the fire extinguisher at my skull, and the last thing I remembered seeing was the wild-eyed face of a maniac, grinning at me with crooked teeth.

  LAROLD

  Pretense, Pennsylvania

  February 14, 1973

  The culvert had gotten colder, but his sister’s color never looked better. Rita had a vitality, an energy, Larold had never seen before.

  Like she’d been reborn.

  “It’s better today,” Rita smiled between bites. “Easier to chew. Not as stringy. Almost melts on my tongue. Like frozen strawberries.”

  “Harder to cut, though.” Hacking into the frozen thigh with his boning knife took an eternity.

  Next time, Larold would bring a saw.

  JACK

  April 9, 2020

  7:01 A.M.

  I checked the digital clock by the bed.

  Dark as the room. But some daylight peeked in through the slit in the curtains, so I knew it had to be after sunup.

  I tugged out my earplugs and patted the lump next to me, wondering why Phin was sleeping so late. He was usually up at sunrise to jog.

  Duffy turned over and stared at me with sad, hound dog eyes. He yawned, then went back to sleep.

  I swung my feet over the side of the bed, dressed in my discarded panties and sweatpants and shirt from the night before, and opened the curtains, letting the day in.

  I couldn’t hear any snoring, and wondered if Harry McGlade had finally succumbed to sleep apnea. I padded out of the bedroom and into the hallway, checked Sam’s room and counted two sleeping children, made my way to the bathroom, peed, brushed my teeth, and stepped out into the hallway, smelling coffee.

  Harry was in the kitchen. “Morning. Lights are out.”

  “How’d you make coffee?”

  “The old fashioned way. On your gas stove. It may be a little grainy. Phin up?”

  “He went jogging.” I sat at the kitchen table and let Harry serve me a mug of joe. “You sleep okay?”

  “Like the dead. Weird dreams, though. Had a nightmare there was a caveman in the house. And check out the kitchen floor.”

  I did. Saw dirty footprints.

  “Phin. He went into the basement when the lights went out. We didn’t turn the breaker back on because we thought there might be damage to the house wiring.”

  “Doubtful. Unless you have an AFCI breaker.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Standard circuit breakers stop the current when there’s an overload on the line, to prevent electrocution. Arc fault breakers detect shorts, and shut off to prevent fires. Unless your system is only a few years old, you probably don’t have AFCI.”

  “Can you check? It’s in the basement.”

  McGlade pinched the thumb on his prosthetic hand, and a light came out of his index finger. “Lead the way.”

  “Your prosthetic actually has a flashlight. That’s insane.”

  “Deluxe model for people with too much money. Flashlight, laser pointer, even a corkscrew. I’m like the world’s sexiest Swiss Army knife.”

  “Go go Inspector Gadget.” I stood, picked up my mug of black coffee, and took a sip. “A little grainy? It’s like drinking sand.”

  “Yeah. But it’s sand with caffeine.”

  I went first down the basement stairs, Harry shining his light over my shoulder.

  “Kinda reminds me of that shitty coffee machine back at the 26th District in the good old CPD. Remember that thing?”

  I hadn’t thought about that coffee in years. “Were you there when we chipped in and bought a new machine, and someone stole it?”

  “I don’t recall. You miss being a cop?”

  “Hell, no. You?”

  “I miss abusing my authority. But I’m a rich white guy, so I can still do that most of the time.”

  We reached the bottom, and I wasn’t sure where the electrical panel was. We found it on a wall to the left. Harry walked past and opened the metal door.

  “These aren’t AFCI. They would have test buttons on them.”

  “So there’s no fire hazard?”

  “I didn’t say that. But if there was, it wouldn’t trip these breakers. And the main is off. That’s weird. Did you plug in something with a lot of horsepower?”

  I thought about the Hitachi and tried to hide my blush. “Uh, no.”

  “Weird.” McGlade flipped the breaker back on and we waited for a minute. It stayed on. Then he began to look around the basement. “Didn’t anyone clean up before you moved in?”

  “It was clean the other day.” I went to the wall and hit the light switch, noting the floor was covered with dirt. I peered into the crawlspace and saw the disturbed soil Phin had mentioned.

  Worse than I thought.

  “Jesus. Looks like a tunnel for CHUDs.”

  “CHUDs?”

  “Horror movie from the 80s. Cannibalistic Humanoid Underground Dwellers.”

  “Wasn’t that a Disney animated classic?”

  “It was not. I’m surprised nobody has rebooted it yet. CHUD is a classic begging to be reimagined with a diverse cast of woke zoomers. I’d love to see some of those entitled little plurals get eaten. Speaking of, you gonna sign my release?”

  “How long will it take to do the GPR thing?”

  “Maybe an hour. You want to watch? I can put on my tool belt, take my shirt off when I work up a sweat. Then you can come out in a bikini, bring me lemonade, and ask me to help you put on suntan lotion. Then your top falls off.”

  “You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

  “It’s the first scene in my new adult video starring our buddy, Abe. It’s called Erection Day: Check Out The Pole. I spelled pole with an E at the end. As in check out the big dick.”

  “Clever.”

  “Did you see the other movies I sent you?”

  “I can’t watch Abe have sex.”

  “I’m also in a few scenes.”

  “I also can’t watch you have sex.”

  “That’s mean.”

  “It’s not you. It’s me. Actually, it’s you.”

  We marched back upstairs. “I’m hurt.”

  “No you’re not. I’m an open-minded woman, Harry. But not that open-minded. I’m pretty sure Phin watched them, though.”

  “He did? What did he think?”

  I tried to find something nice to say. “He thought the lighting was pretty good.”

  “It was. I had the gaffer who did that porn version of Independence Day. Did you see it? In Da Pants Today?”

  “I don’t know how I missed it.”

  “The aliens turn cis guys queer with their gay guns. Lots of controversy. An uptight GOP senator tried to ban the move, then got caught teabagging the lead actor.”

  “I’ll put it in my Netflix queue. How about you do the radar, I’ll try to track down the Sheriff of Mayfolk County?”

  “Rogerpants. I’ll get started.”

  I finished the coffee, straining out most of the grounds with my teeth and wiping them on my sweatshirt. Then I took a much-needed shower, dressed in a sweater and some loose-fitting jeans that definitely weren’t mom jeans because I still retained a tiny shred of my old fashion sense, and tried to find Sheriff David Blaylock.

  While I didn’t have McGlade’s list of nefarious underworld contacts and preternatural Internet skills, my own search abilities weren’t too shabby.

  Unfortunately, they didn’t help me find the former sheriff. After ten minutes of hunting, I had no leads.

  I could ask McGlade for help, but he was outside, checking for sinkholes, and I didn’t want to pull him away from that. So I went another route. I FaceTimed an old friend with connections, and was pleased when he picked up.

  He looked healthy and trim, albeit grey and with an unkept beard. Sort of like a Santa Claus after two years on keto.

  “Jack! Good to see you. How’s the new place?”

  “Sinking. Long story. How have you been, Herb?”

  Former Sergeant Herb Benedict was my partner in the Chicago PD, and we’d been buddies for so long he might as well have been my brother. I didn’t connect with him as often as I should, and I felt sort of skeevy calling to ask a favor.

  “I’m well. Bernice and I are entering a tango competition.”

  “During COVID-19?”

  “It’s an online thing. You should see her lustrada.”

  “Yeah I should. Good for you, Herb. Are you going to record it?”

  “Of course. I’ll send you a link.”

  “Looks like you’re still working out.”

  “Gym is closed. But I still see Tequila once a week. He’s got this insane setup at his place.”

  “How is he?”

  “Old man can still do an iron cross on the rings. Guy is more shredded than wheat.”

  “Not the best analogy.”

  “They can’t all be good. What do you mean you’re sinking?”

  I gave Herb the two minute version, ending with the big reveal that McGlade was currently in my backyard.

  “You invited that jackass into your home?”

  “Are you feuding with Harry again?”

  “I just signed a release so he could use my name in his new TV shitshow.”

  “You signed it?”

  “I did. With the condition that he didn’t ask me for any more favors for the rest of our lives. I hate that. We’re in a pandemic, and rather than call up just to see how I’m doing, he needs something from me. It’s rude.”

  “It’s very rude.”

  “So, how you doing?”

  I bit my lower lip. “I need something from you.”

  Herb laughed. I explained the Wintergarten situation, ending with the need to find Sheriff Blaylock.

  “And you thought of me because of my uncanny detective skills.”

  There was a stretch of silence. He sighed, figuring it out.

  “You thought of me because of my sister-in-law.”

  “Does she still work for the SSA?” I asked, hopeful.

  “She does.”

  “So if Blaylock is getting Social Security, she’ll know. If he’s dead, she’ll know.”

  “I’ll give her a call. How’s Phin? Sam?”

  “He’s jogging. She’s fine. Eight years old, going on forty. She’s asleep. Harry Junior came over, and they were up late playing Gunface Death Warrior 3.”

  “Video games these days. Whatever happened to Ms. Pac-Man?”

  “She’s a downloadable character. They gave her a rocket launcher.”

  “Makes sense. Lemme call Ann, I’ll call you right back.”

  I took the opportunity to check on Harry and see if my backyard ate him. He was still above-ground, pushing around something that looked like a lawnmower.

  Mr. Friskers, my hyper-aggressive rare male calico cat who mostly kept to himself, came out from under the sofa and gave my leg a rare head-bump. Since the cat was criminally antisocial towards all people except Sam, I automatically checked his dishes, figuring he was trying to tell me I was being a shitty cat owner.

  Both his food and water were full.

  “What’s up with you? Decided to be friends after all these years?”

  He sat and stared at me, thinking cat-thoughts. Probably about how he’d gnaw my head off if only I was his size.

  I slowly reached down, and he actually let me pat him on the head.

  Weird.

  I wondered if I’d somehow shifted to some oppositeland parallel dimension where Harry McGlade was pleasant and helpful, and my cat didn’t act like a furry, four-legged barracuda, and no one tried to murder me or Phin in almost a year.

  If this kept up, I could almost accept sinkholes and COVID-19.

  Well, maybe sinkholes.

  I went to the broom closet for—aptly enough—a broom, and began to sweep up the dirt on the kitchen floor. Some of it didn’t come up. Mud, maybe. Or clay. Reddish clay.

  I was getting ready to break out the sponge mop when Herb called me back.

  “Sheriff Blaylock is alive, on disability. I got a phone number for you.”

  He rattled it off and I jotted it down. “Thanks, Herb. Is Bernice around?”

  “She is. Why?”

  “I wanted to see that lustrada.”

  Herb grinned. “Okay. Gimme a sec. Bernice!”

  He went to fetch his wife, who had a definite glasses-and-grey-hair Mrs. Claus look, and the same fashionable taste in loose jeans as I did.

  “Hey, Bernice.”

  “Hey, Jack. You’re letting your hair grow out. Looks good.”

  “And you’re looking svelte.”

  “It’s the tango. It drains calories like a Jane Fonda workout.”

  Herb went to a boom box, which was on an entertainment center next to his VHS player, and popped a cassette in.

  The tango music began, and he clutched his wife close and they began to dance and it was so adorable I wanted to squeal. Then they stopped, and Bernice ran her foot up along the outside of Herb’s leg, and it was officially the cutest thing I’d ever seen in my life.

  “That’s the lustrada,” Herb beamed.

  I clapped, my smile huge.

  Then they kissed and…

  Oh, my. The kissing got very serious, very fast.

  Maybe I needed a bit of tango in my life.

  “I’ll catch up with you guys later,” I said, switching off the PDA. Then I dialed the sheriff’s number.

  A woman answered. “Who’s this?”

  “I’m a former police officer. My name is Jack. I was hoping to speak to Sheriff Blaylock.”

  “Can I ask what this is about?” She had a musical, Jamaican patois. “The sheriff, he don’t get many calls.”

  “Who am I speaking with?” I asked.

  “I’m his caregiver, Tonika Shantel Conway-Baldwin. What is this in reference to, Jack?”

  “It’s an old case of his, Tonika. From 1973.”

  “Would that be the Goodalls?”

  “It would.”

  “Bad memories for the sheriff. Is this really necessary?”

  “Maybe. I’m not sure. I think Larold Goodall may be living next door to me.”

  “That ain’t no good. Let me discuss it with him. Can you hold on for a second?”

  “Sure.”

  I heard Tonika speaking in the background, unable to make out her words. The replies were raspy, monosyllabic grunts. After a few exchanges, she came back on. “The sheriff wants to speak with you. Do you know how to Zoom?”

  “I do.”

  She gave me her info to log onto a video chat and hung up. I went to my laptop, finger combed my hair, adjusted my webcam, and loaded the Zoom app. After turning up the audio, I started the video feed and met Tonika, a smart-looking woman with her hair wrapped in a purple scarf.

  “Nice to meet you, Jack. The sheriff is having a rough morning, so we’re gonna keep this short. But he wanted to talk to you.”

  She swiveled her computer around, pointing it at a man lying in bed.

  An elderly man with a face like a gnarled fist. It was some of the worst scar tissue I’d ever seen, and I’d seen some shit.

  “Thanks for speaking with me, Sheriff Blaylock. My name is Jacqueline Daniels. I used to be a homicide lieutenant with the Chicago PD.”

  “Do you have a picture?” His voice was rough, like he had a burr caught in his throat.

  “A picture? Of my neighbor?”

  He nodded.

  “No. But I can get one. He’s in his seventies, six foot two, large build, is using the name Larry Wintergarten, which I think is fake. Said he used to be Amish, and had a sister.”

  “Rita,” he rasped. “Never forget her. Big girl. Tall and thick. And those eyes. She had some sort of disorder or disease. Where you hurt yourself.”

  “She was a cutter?”

  “No, not a cutter. She had no fingernails. Just scabs on the ends of her fingers, because she chewed them. Wore an old Salvation Army wig, because she plucked out all her hair. Eyebrows, too. And her eyelashes. She also picked at her eyelids. Picked them bloody. Made her eyes seemed huge. Like two big hardboiled eggs, sticking out of open wounds.”

  Not a pleasant image. I chose to get back on track.

  “I wasn’t able to find the arrest report, or anything about the alleged victim, James Neil Clarsen. I understand all the old records burned in a fire.”

  “With me in the building. Eighteen skin grafts. Can you tell?”

  He winced, which I took to be him trying to smile.

  “What can you tell me about the crime?”

  “Clarsen was discovered in a culvert. Most of his flesh sliced off.”

  “They tortured him?”

  “They ate him.”

  “Excuse me? Did you say they ate him?”

  “I did. Happened in the winter. According to the autopsy, they returned to the crime scene at least three times.”

  “Were there bite marks on the body?”

  “Hunter saw them there. Watched them cut the vic up into steaks. Witnessed the sister, Rita, eating him raw. Reported it to us, I staked the spot out, was there when they came back. Saw it with my own two eyes. Brother did the slicing. Had a saw. Sister did the eating. They claimed they were starving, just found the body.” He took a few ragged breaths. “Believe it or not, no laws against cannibalism. They didn’t admit to the murder. But I traced them back to a local shelter, got a wit who saw them following the vic into the woods. We picked the brother up.”