“What?” Thom waved at the house. “We’re here.” He braced himself against another yank. “No, the walk is over and we’re…”
Thom let the comment die as he looked past Dog. In the late afternoon light, Justin’s house looked as dreary as a house could. Thick heavy clouds drifted above it, casting long grey shadows. The drapes were pulled, and the lights appeared to be off. Dried leaves skittered across the yard, flicked by the strong cold fingers of the wind. That same wind rattled the aluminum garage door and snapped at the mailbox hanging by the front door, causing an oddly regular but not at all appealing percussion movement. Clatter, rattle, rattle, snap. Clatter, rattle, rattle, snap.It sounded even colder than the wind was making it feel.