This wasn’t the burbs; this was the sticks. And the trees were dense on all sides. Giant oaks and massive pines. What we were driving through was an old growth forest. And the reason? Because the Pellinghams owned this land for generations. The house, too, we were soon to discover, was old. Not like Granny’s, of course. Or the senator’s, more than likely. But it did scream of wealth.
We pulled off the road about a quarter of a mile past the place. No sense in giving them any warning that we were there. Though we hadn’t a clue who the them was. In silence we crept. Well, when we weren’t cracking twigs or crunching leaves beneath our sneakers, or squealing with each sound we heard from off to the side. So, to rephrase, in near silence we crept.
We spotted the pick-up truck first, parked in
