he kitchen smelled like bacon. A plate of cooked strips was on the table, covered with paper towels that glistened with grease. Saturday breakfast; eggs, hash browns, toast and bacon was their tradition. Julie stood at the windows, peering across the street. He joined her.
“Morning,” he said, giving her shoulders a squeeze.
Two police cars were parked in front of the Daniels’ house. Another, a sleek grey color with no light bar on top, was angled in the driveway. A detective’s car, he thought. Or the coroner.
“They’re pretty old,” he said. “One of them might have passed.”
“Are you going to check?”
He nodded. “Where’s the kiddo?”
“Sleeping in.”
Cal grabbed his coat from the mud room and exited the house. It was getting colder. The furnace needed an inspection, probably some repairs. Need to get that done before too long, he thought as he left the front yard.