Sawyer didn’t have a problem. She had concerns about the Ferguson house. Two totally different things.
Like how the Ferguson garden mystery seemed to deepen overnight. The plants looked even greener and more dense, fuller, more intentional. And that old box she and Cheryl found? It had moved. Just enough to feel off.
She didn’t go back to check it out this morning. Not this time.
Because today was about Riggins.
The audition was at a place called J.B. Cars & Furniture. Not a dealership and a furniture store. A furniture store inside a dealership. The kind of place that sold recliners next to used Camrys and called it “versatile.”
Sawyer adjusted Riggins’ bandana in the parking lot while Russo whined in the back seat. He wasn’t auditioning, and he knew it.
“You’ll get your turn,” she muttered, mostly lying.
Inside, chaos. Folding chairs, barking dogs, and a table with a banner reading: “Karen Hale Talent Group – Pet Division”
Kendra spotted them immediately. “Sawyer! Riggins! Russo!” She gave him a pity smile. “Just observing, huh? That’s okay! We love a redhead.”
Sawyer signed them in, trying to stay professional while Russo promptly peed on a fake Ficus they had set up next to the sign-in table.
“It’s fine!” Kendra called out, like this was just a Tuesday. “One pees, one bites a cameraman – it’s the circle of casting!”
Riggins, to his credit, nailed it. He hit is mark and held a “thoughtful” pose long enough for the commercial to fade out. He even gave a slow blink to the casting assistant like he was considering buying the sedan behind her.
Back home, Sawyer tried not to overthink it. Russo collapsed on the tile chewing a stick he brought in from the yard. Riggins strutted around like he already had a full-time acting gig, and Rafa sat perched on his pillow, not relinquishing his throne.
But Sawyer couldn’t relax. Because the garden hadn’t just looked greener. It had looked… dug up.
And that box? She was almost positive it had shifted.
Someone else knew. Someone was watching. And tomorrow, she was going back.
With gloves. And maybe a shovel.
That night, Sawyer texted Cheryl.
Sawyer: You ever seen Maya go near the Ferguson house?
Cheryl: Only with her eyes. She watches it like it owes her money.
Sawyer: You up?
Cheryl: Girl. It’s 9:18. You know I’m in bed.
But five minutes later, Cheryl was at Sawyer’s kitchen table in pajama pants and a hoodie with Snack Mode written across the chest. She sipped decaf and stared at the Ferguson map Sawyer had drawn on the back of a dog training flyer.
“Okay,” Cheryl said, pointing with a spoon. “This is the hydrangea bush where we found the box. This is the back porch with the planters. This is where you saw Maya watching?”
Sawyer nodded.
Cheryl swirled her tea. “You know this would all be easier if we just asked Maya what she knows.”
Sawyer gave her a look. “You go first.”
“Hard pass.”
Outside, a soft bark broke the silence — just one. Russo, standing alert at the back door.
Sawyer crossed to the window and peeked through the blinds. Movement again. Not much. But someone had walked past the edge of the yard — just barely visible under the streetlight glow.
“What is this, The ‘Burbs?” Cheryl asked. “I didn’t sign up for a mystery. I came over for cookies and mild speculation.”
Sawyer stayed by the window, eyes fixed on the fence line. “Tomorrow, I’m going back.”
Cheryl sighed. “You always say that. And then something else happens.”
Sawyer turned. “That’s because something else keeps happening.”
Cheryl grabbed a cookie and stood up. “Fine. I’ll come with you. But I swear, if there’s a dead body in that box—”
“There’s not,” Sawyer said.
“If there’s a live one—”
“There’s not.”
Cheryl pointed the cookie at her. “Then it better be treasure, girl. Because if it’s a squirrel coffin, I’m out.”
Sawyer smiled. Just barely. Then looked back out at the night. Something was coming.
She could feel it.
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