The sound jolted him. He frowned, rubbing the ache in his knees as he stood. Visitors were rare these days, and even rarer after dark—especially with a snow warning in full effect. Raymond shuffled downstairs and opened the front door to find little Emma Hargrove standing on his porch, bundled in an oversized red coat, her cheeks flushed and eyes wide.
“Emma?” he asked, surprised. “What on earth are you doing out in this weather?” “I saw something,” she said quickly, glancing over her shoulder. “From my bedroom window. In your backyard. Something moving under the snow.