The shirt was gone the next day. Arthur told himself perhaps whoever had left it behind had simply come back for it. Maybe it had belonged to a passing teenager, or someone cutting through the yard, embarrassed enough to take it quietly in the night.
He wanted to believe there was still some harmless explanation. But a few days later, as he glanced out his kitchen window, he saw the man next door standing in the driveway, stretching with a yawn. He was wearing the shirt.