Shiver

night-owl neighbor types walking a dog, either. The residents had long since learned that their health was best preserved by staying off the streets in the small hours of the night. Nothing but a cat on the sidewalk, and it took off running as soon as it saw her coming. The yard was about the size of apostage stamp, with grass that had gone crispy from the heat and one bedraggled pine tree that was slowly turning brown from the bottom up. Like the rest of the yards on the block, which was an eclectic collection of aging shotgun-style single-family homes and duplexes, this one was enclosed by a saggy chain-link fence. Thrusting her gun into the front waistband of her jeans, yanking her shirt down over it so that Tyler wouldn’t see and ask awkward questions, Sam struggled with the latch on the gate, which was rusty and difficult to work, then flew up the walk toward the front door. The duplex itself was one story, pale blue frame, with two deep blue doors, one on either side of the covered front porch. She and Tyler lived in the unit on the left, which had two small bedrooms, plus a bath, kitchen, and living room. Although by now it was well past 4:00 a.m., some lights were still on inside her unit: she could see the pale glow through the drawn curtains. Mrs. Menifee was almost always asleep on the couch by the time Sam got in. But since she never would admit that she fell asleep, the TV was always left on, along with a fair number of lights.
    A white plastic grocery bag waited on the weathered wood porch by the front door. Kendra. She’d come through with the pancake mix and syrup. Sam’s chest felt tight as she scooped it up. Where would she be in the morning, when it came time to make Tyler breakfast?
    Short answer: not here.
    We’ll head into St. Louis, then keep going toward Branson, or maybe Kansas City, she planned frantically as she thrust her key into the front door lock. Make it Kansas City, because it’s got more people, which means we’ll be harder to find. God, how far can we get on a little over a tank of gas?
    I should ask Mrs. Menifee if I can borrow some money. But she knew already that she wasn’t going to do it. Asking to borrow money would take time; Mrs. Menifee would want an explanation. The last thing Sam could tell her was the truth and coming up with a plausible lie was, she feared, beyond her at the moment. Anyway, time was what she didn’t have. As it was, she was going to have to practically push Mrs. Menifee out the door. Usually the two of them had a nice chat, but Sam had a gut feeling that now every second counted. She needed to get Tyler, and get gone.
    When the lock clicked open, it was all she could do to restrain herself from bursting through the front door. Instead she walked in very calmly, closing the door behind her, glancing around the living room. The room was small, the furniture early Goodwill, but it was clean and comfortable and that was all she asked of it. As she had expected, the TV was on, a lamp burned beside the couch, and the throw that she kept on the back of the couch was flung across the coffee table. Mrs. Menifee had obviously been taking her usual nap in her usual place. Just at that moment, however, she was nowhere in sight.
    Maybe she’s in the bathroom, Sam thought, frowning as she glanced toward the back of the duplex, where the light was on in the kitchen, which was straight ahead at the end of the short hallway. But the bathroom door was open, and the light was off.
    “Mrs. Menifee?” Dropping the groceries onto the coffee table, she headed for the kitchen. It was the only place the otherwoman could be. Ordinarily Sam would have been careful not to wake Tyler, who should be curled up in his bed sound asleep, but since she was going to be bundling him out to the truck in the next few minutes anyway, being quiet as a mouse wasn’t anything she needed to worry about. Her bedroom was closest to the living room, Tyler’s was next to the kitchen, and the bathroom was in between. Like the bathroom, the bedroom doors were open and the rooms themselves were dark. For the briefest of seconds she pictured Tyler curled up in his cozy bed in the room she had painstakingly decorated with images of dragons and wizards and lightning bolts that she had cut out of a children’s magazine then enlarged with a copying machine so he could be surrounded by his favorite characters. Then her heart contracted as she realized that Tyler wouldn’t be sleeping in his