As the three of them cross the front lawn, a familiar yap rings out, its metallic tone bouncing off the brick of their building. Alisha’s instinct is to look back, look up, toward Margo’s apartment. But her lights are extinguished. There’s no one on the balcony.
“Shush, Jerry. No barking! It’s late!”
There’s Margo, at the very edge of the property, where grass gives over to trees and brambles and goodness knows what else. Alisha jogs to her—awkwardly, in flip-flops.
“If this is a stick-up, no point trying,” Margo says matter-of-factly. “I don’t have any money on me.”
Alisha’s heart sinks. Does she look like a mugger? “No, Margo, it’s me. Alisha. And this is Calder and that’s Lee. They live across from Them Upstairs.”
Margo doesn’t seem as relieved as she ought to be. Althoug
