Stone’s truck was missing when I pulled into the horseshoe driveway. My grandparents often stayed home on Wednesday nights; unless Stone wanted to go to the lake to find rocks for his latest hobby. The thought of him walking on the muddy shoreline with a bucket in hand made me chuckle.
I let myself inside thinking Grandma might be home. “Grandma?” I called out, heading towards the kitchen. She wasn’t there. I grabbed a muffin from under the glass dome and continued searching. In a matter of seconds, I discovered that I had the farmhouse to myself. Both of their absences made me more suspicious. Grandma didn’t like riding in Stone’s truck. She said it was too jerky. Which was true. The Nissan truck was from the 1940’s, and often jerked while accelerating. Stone said he would fix it once he
