I pointed to a series of dips and ridges that now only somewhat resembled a mouth and hands. I shifted the flashlight again. The pattern completely disappeared. Had it really been just a trick of the light?

“You know, my wife’s like that,” Lloyd said. “She can look at the clouds and see just about anything. She can even make sense out of all those Greek constellations. She’d probably look in there and see two or three bodies.” He chuckled.

I clicked off the flashlight and set my feet back on the ancient basement floor. I slumped one shoulder against the cistern.

No body. That was good. I didn’t have to find alternate lodging. I could go forward with the project without delay. I wouldn’t have to contend with crime stories when I went to sell the house. One less thing to clutter my mind.

I watched Brad scribble a report in his notebook. Even the police officer wasn’t concerned about a body.

I passed the flashlight back to Lloyd. “I think there’s something wrong with this thing. Time for a new bulb.” I turned to the paramedic. “Sorry to trouble you. I’m fine. Really.”

Before leaving, the woman gave me a rundown of symptoms that would prompt a visit to the emergency room. “And it wouldn’t hurt to see your doctor. You don’t want to mess with head injuries.”

I didn’t bother to correct her. I turned to Brad.

“Officer Walters.” I crossed my arms.

“Miss Amble.” Brad gave a terse nod.

I loosened my guard. I might not like the man’s invasion into my privacy, but that didn’t mean I had to treat him like mold on my tub.

“Tish,” I said. “Go ahead and call me Tish. We’re neighbors, aren’t we?”

“Tish.” He said my name slowly, as if trying it out for the first time. He nodded his approval.

I cleared my throat. “Thanks for looking in.”

“Anytime you need me.” He tipped his cap and left.

“Well.” I relaxed my arms and turned to Lloyd. “I guess that about covers it for the basement today. Work on getting that permit so we can get rid of that cistern once and for all.”

“Come on, boys.” Lloyd bolted upstairs, cohorts close on his heels.

“See you tomorrow!” I called after them.

I stood alone in the basement. I’d grown accustomed to its dank odor in the past hour, but with all distraction gone, my nose once again detected the smell. And it was colder now that I wasn’t moving around. I rubbed my arms and turned in a slow circle. The plans I’d discussed with the builders flipped through my mind. Mechanical room, clean storage, open area, get rid of the cistern . . .

I stared at the crescent of rock. I hadn’t given it a moment’s notice on my first tour of the place several months ago. I hadn’t even looked inside. It was just a detail to handle.

But now it radiated energy.

A big pile of rocks. That’s all it was, hiding in the black shadows behind the steps. A big, empty pile of rocks.

Look, Tish, look inside me, it called.

I had already looked. And while my imagination had been in overdrive at first, there hadn’t been anything to see the second time. There was no body in my cistern. No ghosts in my house.

Just me. Alone. And it wasn’t likely to change anytime soon, so I might as well adjust.

I dared myself to hold my ground, resisting the urge to run, denying the fear that pulled at me with tangible fingers. The clammy silence crashed in my ears.

Behind me, the furnace kicked on.

I screamed and scrambled upstairs.

I slammed the door to the basement and fumbled with the bolt. I wasn’t taking my chances. Body or not, this was one door that would stay locked.

6

I couldn’t bring myself to do anything the rest of the morning except lie on my cot and stare at the ceiling. I traced the lines in the plaster with my eyes. One section had cracked in the shape of my old cat Peanut Butter, who’d shown up at my house when I was a kid. A shadow gave the image a scrawny tail. A jagged ridge made two pointy ears.

Maybe I had received a few too many knocks on the noggin in my life. When you start seeing bodies in the cistern and family pets frolicking overhead, you have to question if you’re really all there.

Was I all there? Not likely. I was scattered far and wide. Pieces of me littered the state. I’d left a big part of myself up north, a decent-sized chunk in Walled Lake, and a generous portion in Pontiac. Everywhere I’d gone, I’d carelessly left a bit of my essence, a fragment of the human named Tish Amble.

With any luck, I’d exit Rawlings with what was left of me still intact.

I shifted my gaze to a sagging section near the windows. A spiderweb of lines radiated from a missing chunk of plaster. It wouldn’t be long before the vibrations from the train spread the stress. Soon the weight would be unbearable and the whole ceiling would come crashing down. And to think, a hundred years ago the thing had been an unblemished surface.

I had been whole once too. It was before Peanut Butter had shown up on the back porch. Before my mother had driven the pickup headlong into Mead Quarry. Before Grandma had gotten sick. Long before I had done the unthinkable.

That would make me about seven years old the last time I had my life together.

Seven. I’d been in second grade. My best friend Anne had fought by my side when Mikey Palmer pelted us with snowballs on the way to school. At least Anne had decent aim.

I smiled at the memory. I turned on my side and stared out the picture window at the maple speckled with a few persistent leaves. Anne’s cable TV had been a big plus too. Where else could I have enjoyed hours of Star Trek reruns and Movie of the Week television premiers? Even so, cable had been my first introduction to fear. Seven was too young to be watching Injun Joe pursuing Tom Sawyer in the caves. Anne had walked me home across the alley that night. I’d been terrified that Crazy Joe was lurking in the garage waiting to leap out at me with that long, curving knife.

A sunbeam bounced off a passing car and caught me in the eye. I blinked back a tear. Seven short years of bliss. Then, it was as if God had let loose a whirlwind in my life.

My stomach sent out a resounding gurgle. Grateful for an excuse to avoid the tour of days past, I jumped up and pulled on my jacket. Grocery shopping couldn’t be put off another minute, or I’d never live to see another day.

I brushed my hair and a few minutes later turned out the drive onto Main Street and slowed at the tracks. Deucey took the rails like a ship on rolling seas. The car behind me tooted with impatience. I looked in the rearview mirror. Sun glinted off the windshield of a red midsize. I’d have to remember the vehicle for future reference. Its owner was completely rude.

At the next block, I stopped at the traffic signal. The clock tower on the adjacent corner read 1:15. It was surrounded with corn stalks to mark the season. I marveled at the quaint details that drew tourists to Rawlings by the droves.

Beside me, a store window caught my attention. Home sweet home, the sign above the door said. Antiques and accessories were arranged behind the plate glass with irresistible charm. A brightly colored quilt draped the chair beside a spinning wheel. A drop-leaf table was set for tea.

I hummed a sigh. Too bad I always rented furniture. This was one home I’d love to decorate with Victorian era knickknacks and uncomfortable straight-back upholstery. But it would never fly at the open house. I had to portray a feeling of casual, carefree living. Victorian was definitely too stuffy.

The bad-mannered driver beeped again, and I realized I’d daydreamed well into the green light. I pushed on the gas and cruised toward my destination. A few lights later, I turned into the parking lot of Goodman’s Grocery.

I put Deucey in park and stepped onto the asphalt. To my annoyance, the red car pulled into a spot in the opposite row. Just my luck. I’d have to face my tormenter.

David, my oh-so-handsome neighbor, got out.

I was torn between the beauty of his face and the ugly of his attitude. Still, I waved when he looked my way.

“Tish!” He seemed overly pleased to see me. No doubt embarrassed to realize I’d been the slowster in the car ahead.

He walked toward Deucey. I clutched the open door like a shield between us.

“Did you see me waving?” he asked. “I tried getting your attention, but you were too wrapped up in the scenery.”

I remembered the sun’s glare on the windshield of his car. If he had been waving at me, I wouldn’t have seen it.

“When that didn’t work, I blew the horn.” He skirted the door and went to the trunk. “You’ve got a cord hanging out the boot, and I wasn’t sure it was rainproof.”

I closed my door and followed him. A black strip of fabric dangled out Deucey’s back end.

“It’s a good thing I wasn’t going to Flint today,” I said. “Would you have followed me all the way?”

“Whatever it took.”

I looked to see if there was a tease somewhere in those depths. But it seemed he was serious. I let down my guard. I couldn’t hold a grudge against a guy who’d go to such lengths to watch out for me.

I stuck in the key and opened the trunk. Inside were the remains of my nomadic life. I’d brought the necessities into the house the night before—personal care items, essential clothes, and sleep gear. But the rest would hole up in the car until needed.

A tapestry suitcase, containing the testimony of my existence, took up the back half of the cavernous trunk. Bills, old checkbooks, tax returns, and the clown I’d sewn for a junior high project were wedged in so tight, I’d broken the zipper trying to close it.