A Nike untied and strewn across the floor, the other shoe nowhere to be seen, until he tripped over it, kicking it clear across the other side of the living room in the dark. Frightening the dog, he rubbed his big toe, heart beating in his foot. A part of him wanted to scream out expletives. His more disciplined side held back, choosing instead to bite his tongue, screaming internally. The beagle sat down at his feet, eyes begging to be let outside, even though Chris knew if he did that, the dog was bound to start braying at the slightest movement in the backyard. He was also smart enough to see if he didn’t let out the hyperactive pup it would likely make a mess on the floor. Thankfully for the Gunderson’s, the doggie door needed to be unlatched, allowing the Snoopy looking dog outside to do its business. And, yes, bray at the nonsense outside, none of which the dog could see, just sense.

Unlatching the simple mechanism waist-high allowed the door to swing freely, and Haps stared at her owner, poised and ready to bark at the slightest leaf blowing through the crisp October morning air. “Go on, Haps. Go take care of your business,” Chris snapped and pointed at the dog as if that would work to get her outside. It worked for Lexi, his wife. He wasn’t exactly sure what she did to make the dog obey, but whatever it was, Haps responded faster to Lexi than Chris. “Come on, Haps. Go outside already.” Haps looked back to the staircase, whining and pointing her nose toward the second floor, where Lexi was sleeping. “We are not going back upstairs. You go outside to do your thing. And then we can come back inside and sleep with Lexi.” Haps was getting anxious, prancing back and forth, wagging her tail at the sound of Lexi’s name. “Fine,” an exasperated Chris said to Haps, who was still frantically wagging her tail. Haps’s attention was snatched away from Chris, pointing outside before Chris heard a thud and squealing tires on the pavement outside his two-story house. Then the braying and barking started, loud and painful on the ears, a regular occurrence since Haps came to live with Lexi and Chris six years earlier.

“That didn’t sound right,” Chris said to the empty kitchen. He poured a cup of coffee while arguing with the dog. Haps’s whining was getting louder, and she crouched behind Chris. Whatever was outside scared the Gunderson’s dog. And that didn’t happen often.

Chris did his best to calm down the pup, stroking her head and hoping Lexi didn’t wake up. Lexi needed at the very least eight hours of sleep. If she got less not only did her coworkers at the hospital suffer, Chris did too. That was why he did his best to keep the dog sleeping, if possible. But the beagle could hear and sense Chris moving around. Haps just had to know what was going on. And like it or not, Chris got used to keeping the dog quiet, usually with a bribe of a sweet potato chip or a small piece of bacon, which he kept away from Lexi. She couldn’t stand the smell of oil and grease in the house, so Chris cooked it outside on the back porch or bought it from Sandy’s, a little breakfast place close to the shoreline.

“Christopher?” The shrill sound of her waking voice made Haps yowl once. “What’s going on down there?”

“Lexi, honey. Go back to bed. I’m trying to figure that out.”

“Sounded like something hit the house. Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine, babe. Go back to bed. I’ll let you know if anything is weird, okay?”

“You’re sure?”

“Lex. I got this.” Neither of them saw each other, just voices through the house.

“Is my dog okay?”

“She’s fine. Can’t figure out if she wants to go outside.”

“She doesn’t. Haps!” Lexi clicked her cheeks, snapped twice and the beagle bounded up the stairs, not thinking about outside anymore.

Rolling his eyes, Chris walked to the front door after checking the dog’s door, ensuring the latch was closed.

Theirs was a quiet suburban neighborhood. White picket fences. Neighbors who regularly checked in on each other, offering a cinnamon roll, coffee, or donut was ordinary. So, the sound of tires accelerating on the pavement was odd, bringing out Gunderson’s noisiest neighbor, Mrs. Hollis. Sandy Hollis lost her husband fifteen years earlier. Lexi and Chris moved into Brookhurst Street days after her husband passed away. Sandy knew every person on Brookhurst Street, including the ones buying and selling their homes. A former real estate agent, Sandy, long since retired, managed to invest in several rental properties that she sold years earlier for millions of dollars. The land was worth more than the buildings, and what did Sandy care if hundreds of her former tenants had to clear out and find somewhere else to live? She wasn’t kind, spent her money cautiously, and stopped speaking to her one and only sister thirty years ago. Mrs. Hollis was the kind of woman to hold a grudge, keeping all her feelings inside until someone made her mad. Then that unfortunate person or persons would listen to her tirade, until she said her peace. None of her blowups lasted more than a few minutes. But, heaven forbid if you were the one she had her sights on! Then, it felt like hours.

Chris unlocked the deadbolt and opened the front door, the storm door keeping some of the cold from wafting in. He kicked his daughter’s purple Nike into the middle of the living room, ensuring he wouldn’t trip over that one, too. Mrs. Hollis was outside, wrapped in a pink fuzzy bathrobe with pink fuzzy slippers on her feet, a tight floral headwrap, and an oversized pink mitten on her left hand, leaving her right hand free to take rapid drags from her Pall Mall stained with red lipstick. “Christopher! Christopher!” Mrs. Hollis waved her cigarette through the air, leaving specks of ash floating near her head. “Did you hear that? And what did they throw at your house, anyways?”

“I don’t know, Mrs. Hollis,” Chris replied. The tone of his voice matched his feelings about Mrs. Hollis. He spoke to her only if needed, leaving most of those uncomfortable conversations to Lexi instead. But Lexi carried every trump card and excuse in her back pocket to end their conversation. Unlike Chris. Ballet lessons. Basketball. Volleyball. Cheerleading. Chris and Lexi’s daughter, Brianna, did it all. Unlike some of her teammates on the cheer squad and volleyball team, Bri did it because she wanted to, not because Mommy wanted her to or because it would look good on her high school transcript. As a very involved 8th grader at St. Mary’s of the Valley Academy, Brianna was a straight-A student, was rarely sick, and had so many friends. Too many for Lexi and Chris to hold her 13th birthday party at their house. Lexi sent out fifty-two invitations and all but one R.S.V.P’d. The only one who didn’t was Brianna’s closest friend, Cheri, the daughter of a government official who was under a security watch due to a supposed death threat.

“If you don’t clean all of it up by 11 A.M., the homeowner’s association will need to hear about it.” Chris saw her holding a cup of coffee in the same hand that moment earlier had her Pall Mall smoldering between her fingers. He had to blink a few times, thinking he couldn’t have missed it a moment ago. She pointed to the side of his house. Puzzled, Chris squinted, thinking it would help him see in the early morning twilight sun. It didn’t. Whatever it was, Chris thought it smelled fishy, like it came from the dock or the pier a mile away.

The side of the pink stucco was stained with whatever was inside it. It looked like fabric, either a rolled-up rug or carpet. Maybe it was a massive roll of material for upholstery. But whatever it was, it was stinking to high heaven, a smell that even Chris had never smelled before. He was thankful that Lexi wasn’t up. She didn’t do bad smells, so he was surprised she agreed to live this close to the coast. They were four miles from the beach, which meant a whiff of dying sea creatures on the beach, and seaweed, kelp, and dead fish. She didn’t seem to mind that. But if she had to open the garbage cans to smell their trash? Forget it! Lexi would get Bri or Chris to take care of the trash. Or she’d find Esmeralda, their housekeeper, to take care of it.

Mrs. Hollis crossed the street, lighting another Pall Mall. “You know, Christopher, that stucco looks a bit rough. Has Candice mentioned it to you?” Chris gave a sideways glance and sighed.

“No, Mrs. Hollis. Candice and I haven’t talked since her birthday party at the clubhouse two weeks ago.” Chris didn’t mind Candice Gladstone, the current H.O.A. president. A sweet woman with a pleasant disposition, she made sure to keep everyone in the neighborhood happy except Mrs. Hollis. Candice was a retired AT&T Vice President, so all the bylaws were regularly enforced, including each home’s landscaping and outside maintenance. Mrs. Hollis made everyone miserable, including Candice. But somehow, despite Mrs. Hollis’ insistence on ridding the H.O.A. of Candice, she continued to get reelected every three years. And the neighborhood appreciated Candice’s honesty in the enforcement of the bylaws. Her leniency kept her in the position and kept the neighborhood happy. Well, most of the neighborhood.

The sun was up now, the material visible in the sunshine. A rusted coloration stained the material, be it rug or upholstery, as it did the stucco. Standing almost above the rolled-up thing resembling a burrito, not even Chris could stand the smell. Something was rotten inside. Lexi yelled at him from Bri’s window on the second floor, “What the hell is that smell, Chris? Get rid of that!” She pointed at the rolled-up thing, the same thing that destroyed the small three-foot white picket fence. Haps was too big to fit between the slats. Chris hesitated to touch whatever it was but knew he needed to figure out if it was blood or something worse. Blood he could deal with. But it was something chemically treated? He’d instead not find out it was acid and burning off his fingerprints. The longer he looked at it, the more it looked like dried blood. But how would someone in a moving vehicle throw it hard enough to hit the stucco wall with the thud everyone heard? Was it a body? Or body parts inside the rug? With the sun rising, Chris could see that the carpet was clearly oriental in design. Police would have to be called. There would be questions. And Chris wasn’t ready for any of that.

Backing away from his house, he held out his hand, snapping his fingers.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Mrs. Hollis said, handing him a cigarette and her long candle lighter.

“I haven’t,” he said, taking a long drag. Smoke filled his lungs, and he held it in before exhaling. The rush was distant and familiar. Chris quit fifteen years earlier, two years before he and Lexi found out she was pregnant. “This is going to be a very long morning.”

“Yeah? Why is that?” Mrs. Hollis asked, lighting her fourth smoke.

“Because I believe a body, maybe two, is wrapped up inside there.”

“The whole neighborhood is going to hell in a handbasket, Christopher.” She walked away, heading inside. “Want me to call the police?”

“You haven’t called them yet?”

“No, I have. But not about a body. Just the disturbance. Wonder if those donut-eatin’ fools will get here faster if I mention the possibility of a body.”

Chris took another drag before throwing the cigarette to the street, crushing it out. “It’s worth a shot.”