“She’s a sweet girl.” Crystal winked at Sharon. “Now, how late were you up that night, anyway?”

Even with Sharon’s blackout curtains up, red and blue flashes lit up her darkened bedroom. No noise other than the hum of the engines of two police cars, one sitting near Sharon’s house, the other parked further down the block.

“I don’t know, Crystal. It was late. That mystery novel you sent me? It kept me up, especially after reading the shootout with Detective Farrell. I know better than to read an action-packed novel like that before bed, but it was so good!”

“Mhmm,” Crystal said, sipping her coffee. “But you are liking the story, right?”

“Yes, and it took me forever to relax. You know I don’t do scary or exciting before bed.”

Crystal laughed. “I didn’t anticipate you reading it right before bed. Especially after the first three chapters.”

“But they were so good! After reading the first three chapters, I drank two cups of chamomile tea to go to bed.”

Looking through her curtains was obvious, so Sharon put on her robe and sat on the porch swing facing the street. It wasn’t unusual for her to be up late in the evening or early morning, so Greg, her next-door neighbor, wouldn’t see it as odd. Before walking out the front door, she heated a cup of tea. Was it to have something hot to hold in her hands? Or was it to look like she was doing anything other than being nosey? Sharon didn’t care – not really. She also hoped no one was hurt.

The night was warm, not sticky. The heat index hit 99 degrees earlier, while the air temperature was 86 degrees. Now it was 67 degrees, humidity making it feel almost 70 degrees. Comfortable enough for Sharon and her fluffy pink bathrobe. The flashing red and blue lights made seeing anything in the dark difficult. Greg was an electrician and lighting designer for the half-million-dollar Kansas City and Topeka houses.

“Lumens,” he said, walking up the three steps to the porch swing. “That’s how they measure the strength of the lights.”

“Gregory Franks, how dare you sneak up on me like that? You could’ve sent me into cardiac arrest or worse – spilled my tea.”

Greg sat next to her on the wide porch swing. It was big enough for four people to sit on, even though Sharon couldn’t test that theory. She and Greg could share it, staying far enough away from each other to maintain a safe separation boundary. A cigarette hung unlit from his lips. “Yeah? You think so, huh? I doubt it, Sharon. If I know one thing about you, it’s your uncanny sense to hear or smell people coming up from behind you. Surprised that you didn’t hear that creaky door of mine.” Greg wasn’t a carpenter and tried, on multiple occasions, to fix his squeaky front door. He didn’t know if it was the wood, a loose hinge, or something else causing the squeak. He tried everything. WD-40. Graphine. Graphene. Lard. He even tried something called an anti-chaffing cream, thinking it would get rid of the squeak. It didn’t. Greg was never home long enough to call someone out to fix it.

Sharon held her hand up, shielding her eyes from the flashing lights.

“You were wondering why the lights were so bright tonight, weren’t you?” Greg asked Sharon. She sipped her tea and nodded. “10,000 lumens would be my guess. Bright enough to be seen in daylight and so bright at night to scare regular people. Like you and me.”

“Greg, nothing about you is regular.” Sharon sipped more of her tea.

Greg chuckled. “You’re probably right about that.” He whipped out a zippo, lit his Camel, and exhaled, pointing down the street. “How long have they been down there?”

“Don’t know. I woke up from the brightness of the lights. Looks like daylight inside my house.”

“With all those blackout curtains?” Greg asked.

Greg helped her install the three sets of curtains twice. The first time, he didn’t know what he was doing. Greg attempted to secure the curtain rods on the old plasterboards of Sharon’s home built in the 1930s. The second time he tried using longer screws, believing that was his problem. After drilling multiple holes in two of Sharon’s walls, the rods falling off onto the floor in the middle of the night, scaring the heck out of Sharon, she finally had enough. The next day, she called Pastor Theodore, who moonlighted as a carpenter. The Pastor had the curtains up and secured in less than ten minutes. She tried to pay him, but he kindly refused, saying, “Next time? Unless it’s electrical, don’t let Greg come anywhere near it. Deal?” Sharon agreed.

Sharon gave Greg the stink eye. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your destroying my walls.”

“Hey, now. I didn’t destroy your. . .” Greg’s voice trailed off, watching a flatbed tow truck back down the small street. “Now, what in the heck is that?”

Sharon shook her head. “That, Greg, is what they call a flatbed tow truck.”

Most of the time Greg missed her sarcasm. But not this time. “I know that, Sharon. Sheesh. You act like I was born in a grain bin.”

“Well, you’re Mama, and I were close once upon a time, but not that close. I don’t think it was a grain bin. Maybe a turnip truck?”

“Ha. That’s funny.” Greg finished his cigarette and flicked it far enough to reach the sidewalk and bounce into the street. “Wow! Didn’t think I’d make it that far.”

Sharon shook her head. “Land in my yard, and we’d see how far I could throw you, Greg.”

Shadows at the end of the block skirted around the flatbed truck. Three men wearing bulky dark clothing and utility belts. Sharon was sure they were cops but didn’t see weapons or anything else to identify them as police officers. Searchlights shot out through the darkness between the houses up the block.

“What do you think they are looking for?” Greg asked.

“If I had to guess, a person.”

“Well, that’s just scary. What if it’s a convicted murderer? Or worse. A serial killer!”

“Thanks for putting that idea in my head, Greg. There is no way I’m going back to sleep now.”

Greg shrugged, lighting another Camel. “You’re off tomorrow anyway.”

“How did you know that?” Sharon asked, finishing the last of her tea.

Greg stood up, letting the swing rock back and forth, making Sharon a little seasick. Greg wasn’t a big guy, but he was slightly round, the beer gut jutting out just below his waistline. He took a drag, pulling out his phone. “You asked me to check on your place after tomorrow night. So, I’m guessing you are heading out to see Crystal, right?”

“You really need to mind your own business.” She picked up the empty teacup, holding it close like a security blanket.

“Right. ‘Cause that’s what we’re doin’ tonight, isn’t it?” Greg laughed, pointing down the street to the tow truck. It sped away, flipped around, and backed up to the house precisely four houses down from Greg and Sharon’s. The police lights made it impossible for them to see what the tow truck was picking up, but they could hear the lift going down. A few seconds later, the lift went up. The driver crept down the street with a fluorescent yellow motorcycle on the bed. Sharon was watching the truck and missed both officers leaving the scene, the lights no longer flashing through their small neighborhood. “Think it was stolen?”

“I don’t know,” Sharon said, walking inside her house. The door clicked behind her, leaving Greg outside on her porch.

“I guess that’s my cue,” Greg flicked the smoke into the street, this time missing the sidewalk by a mile. “If she didn’t see it, she can’t get onto you, Gregory.” He did his best impression of her.

“Get that off my grass, Greg,” Sharon popped her head out long enough to say her peace.

“Wait. Are you telling me everything happened right before you came to California?” Crystal finished her coffee but was leaning on the table, waiting with bated breath to hear the last of her story. “So, was the motorcycle stolen? Did someone burn out through the neighborhood? Did it belong to someone in one of those houses?”

Sharon shrugged. “I’ll never know. No one was awake except me and Greg.”

“That’s so weird.”

“Yeah. Tell me about it.”