Tim stopped, looking utterly bewildered, his truck keys dangling from his hand. “What are you talking about? My dad isn’t even here.” “Don’t play games with me!” Arthur snapped, his voice high and strained. “There is a distinct odor of decay pulling straight into my yard! I know he did something terrible before he fled!” Tim blinked, looking from Arthur’s frantic, sweat-stained face down to the property line where a small patch of grass near Arthur’s fence was completely black and dead.
A look of sudden, weary realization washed over his face. He let out a long, heavy sigh. “Oh, no,” Tim muttered, rubbing his temples. “Look, my dad moved into an assisted living facility two weeks ago. I’ve been packing up his house at night. Follow me. I’ll open the damn garage so you can see what a mess he actually left behind.”