Light and movement coming from the back of the house across from hers caught Petra Wilson's attention. In the cool, May dusk, the lights in the family room of the big brick house flooded through the sliding glass doors. Inside, a woman gestured with one hand as she shouted and with the other held a colorful object against her dark blouse.
Petra froze on her back deck, no longer aware of the rubber bone in her hand or her golden retriever, Mason, waiting eagerly below for her to throw it. The woman's profile was framed by the patio door, and Petra couldn't see her neighbor's face clearly, but it must be the woman who lived there. Dull brown hair hid her face, but the slightly dumpy figure seemed right for—what was her name? Mrs.…Hall? Howard?
"Starts with an H," Petra whispered to herself. The couple had moved into the roomy house last fall, and Petra had only seen the woman up close a few times. She knew almost nothing about them, but the homes on the next street ...
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