Ninety minutes.
It sounded like an eternity.
No one suggested opening the box.
No one suggested moving it.
It remained exactly where it had been left, illuminated by the weak yellow glow of the porch light while rain continued to fall beyond the awning.
Reaper stood in front of the window, his attention shifting between the porch and the darkness beyond Main Street.
He wasn’t watching the box.
He was watching for whoever had left it.
Sheriff Collins lowered his radio after another conversation with one of his deputies.
“Every occupied house has been checked,” he said. “Everyone’s where they’re supposed to be.”
Luca leaned against the bar.
“So either we’re dealing with a ghost…”
He glanced toward Ghost’s radio sitting on the counter.
“…no offense.”
Ghost’s dry voice came throu
