Chapter 6 - THE MAN IN THE WINDOW
Ben waited until Animal Control left.
Then he crossed the street.
“Where are you going?” Mercer asked.
“To meet my fan.”
“Ben.”
But Ben was already walking.
The second-floor apartment belonged to Harold Price.
Ben knew him.
Everybody on Willow Street knew Harold.
Retired insurance adjuster.
Seventy.
Lived alone.
Complained about music.
Complained about delivery trucks.
Complained when the city planted a tree because its leaves might fall on his car.
Ben climbed the stairs and knocked.
No answer.
He knocked again.
“Harold!”
A lock clicked.
Harold opened the door three inches.
“What?”
“Did you call Animal Control?”
Harold’s face stayed flat.
“Yes.”
Ben blinked.
He had expected denial.
“Why?”
“Because those dogs don’t belong there.”
“They’re not bothering you.”
“They bark.”
“They barely bark.”
“They attract rats.”
“The dumpster attracts rats.”
“They’re dangerous.”
“They’re Golden Retrievers, Harold.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
Ben pushed down his anger.
“Four puppies almost drowned tonight.”
Harold shrugged.
“That alley isn’t a kennel.”
Ben stepped closer.
“Did you know they were out there during the storm?”
“Yes.”
“And you still called instead of helping?”
“I’m not responsible for stray animals.”
“No. Apparently you’re only responsible for making things worse.”
Harold’s eyes narrowed.
“You think feeding them makes you some kind of hero?”
“I don’t think I’m anything.”
“Good.”
Harold started to shut the door.
Ben stopped it with his palm.
“Why do you care so much?”
Harold went still.
Ben saw something in his face.
Not anger.
Fear.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Move your hand.”
“Harold.”
“Get out.”
Then Ben heard a sound from inside the apartment.
A whimper.
He looked past Harold.
Harold blocked the doorway.
“Move.”
“Do you have a dog?”
“That’s none of your business.”
The whimper came again.
Ben’s anger disappeared.
“What happened?”
Harold’s shoulders sank.
For the first time, he looked old.
“My wife had a dog.”
“Had?”
“Golden Retriever.”
Ben said nothing.
“Her name was Maggie.”
Harold looked toward the dark apartment.
“My wife died four years ago. Maggie died six months later.”
Ben slowly removed his hand from the door.
“I’m sorry.”
Harold’s eyes shined.
“I don’t want to hear those dogs every night.”
“Because they remind you of her?”
“Because I know what happens.”
“What happens?”
“You love something. Then it leaves.”
Ben stared at him.
Harold shut the door quietly.
Ben walked downstairs.
His anger was still there.
But now it had nowhere simple to go.
Across the street, Mercer was unloading scrap wood from an old storage shed.
Ben stopped.
“What are you doing?”
“You need a shelter.”
“You’re helping?”
“Don’t make it emotional.”
Ben smiled.
Then his phone rang.
His assistant manager, Lisa.
“Ben?”
Her voice was shaking.
“What’s wrong?”
“I just got an alert from the security system.”
“What alert?”
“The restaurant’s front door opened.”
Ben looked across the street.
Mercer froze.
May you like
Ben whispered, “Nobody should be inside.”
Then glass shattered from inside Carter’s Kitchen.
