My hand rose on its own to the silver pendant at my throat and held it there for three quiet seconds.

I went into the kitchen, poured a fresh mug of coffee, and stirred in two sugars and some cream.

At twenty past six I took my coffee out to the front porch and sat down on the wooden glider.

The evening was still over Oakridge.

Above the railing, the brass wind chimes hung silent until a soft breeze drifted across the porch and turned the metal tubes in a slow, gentle sway.

A dark sedan turned onto our street off Main Street, its headlights grazing the front bushes as it neared the driveway.