Cusp of Night. Mae Clair

to the window where a streetlamp illuminated the sidewalk below. Maya stepped closer in time to see a car pass by, its taillights swallowed in darkness as it continued along River Road. At this hour of the morning, there was little traffic, the sidewalk and street empty. That stillness was broken suddenly when a man rounded the corner and jogged up the steps to the brownstone three doors away. The streetlamp haloed him briefly, revealing a light blue T-shirt and red hair cropped close to his head. He inserted a key into the front door, then quickly disappeared inside.

      The infamous Len Kovack.

      Or so she believed. She’d learned the brownstone was his but had yet to meet him or even see him. Odd that he hadn’t parked around back and entered from the rear as most residents did. Someone must have dropped him off at the corner of Chicory. Considering it was Saturday night, perhaps the late hour wasn’t so odd.

      Back in her bedroom, Maya switched off the lamp then crawled into bed. Within moments she fell asleep—undisturbed by rapping or the soft creak of an antique rocker.