None of Tom’s neighbors had noticed anyone or anything out of the ordinary. No phone call from Chance or Malone, either. At least that’s what Stella had said when they’d gotten back in the SUV. Quinn looked at the dashboard clock. Only five minutes ago.“Do you think—?”“They aren’t dead.”“You haven’t heard from either of them,” she pointed out.“I’d have heard if something happened.”“What if they can’t contact you?”“They can. We have a system set up.”“What kind of system?”“The kind that always seems to get me stuck with people who ask a lot of questions,” she grumbled, pulling up in front of Quinn’s apartment. Crime-scene tape stretched across the bottom of the staircase. More blocked the front door.“I guess they don’t want us here,” Quinn said. “I wonder if my landlady knows what happened.”“If she’s that lady who’s staring at us from the shop window, then I’d say she does.” Stella pointed to the storefront, and the wizened face that was peering out from it.“Lucille!”
