Returning from his fishing trips, he began to notice details he couldn’t dismiss. A chair pulled slightly out of place. A wet footprint drying on the patio stone. A faint, greasy sheen on the water, as if sunscreen had been washed off into it.
Then came the bottles. One at the hedge. Another sunk at the bottom of the pool, glinting up at him like a silent dare. Arthur fished it out with the net, heart sinking as he set it on the patio. He had never seen anyone.