The room went silent, save for the ticking of the grandfather clock and the drumming of the rain.

Warren Bellamy slumped back into his chair, his spectacles slipping down his nose.

He looked at the laptop screen, then at the map, and finally at Marcus.

His phone on the table suddenly buzzed, the screen lighting up with an incoming call from the county sheriff’s department.

The phone buzzed again, vibrating against the polished mahogany of the library table.

The caller ID displayed the name of Sheriff Miller.

No one reached for the device.

Warren Bellamy stared at the glowing screen as if it were a primed explosive.

“Answer it, Warren,” I said, my hand resting on the heavy brass key in my pocket.

The metal felt cold against my palm.

Warren’s hand trembled as he reached out, but Marcus stepped forward and snatched the phone off the table.

He pressed the side button to silence the ringer, plunging the room back into the sound of the rain beating against the leaded windows.

“We are not answering that,” Marcus said, his voice flat.