Chapter FifteenWallace Hicks pushed back from his keyboard. Nothing. Nada. Niente. His legs were stiff, his butt was sore, his neck hurt, and he still had the Frigate’s daily sales to record. Two hours of combing through stills had yielded a detailed account of cars passing up and down Route 6A, tourists walking in and out of the shops across the street, dog-walkers disrespecting the geraniums around Louise French’s realty office, and birds squawking and flapping at each other in the mulberry tree.
Only three shots he judged to be worth keeping. The first one showed a fire engine turning into Leo’s driveway—an unusually artistic composition for a webcam, the long ladders angled just right to balance Louise’s porch railing, the big tires echoing the round jewelry displays in the window nex
