"Arliss isn't strange. Arliss is lonesome."
"He was standing in front of our house at one-thirty in the morning, Del, pointing at the roof."
Del put down his fork. "Pointing at what?"
"I don't know. I couldn't see. The garage, maybe. The gable."
Del was quiet a moment. He picked up his fork again, and then he put it back down. "Hm," he said, which was not mm. It was a different sound. She'd been married to him long enough to know the difference.
"What?"
"Nothing." He took a bite of Swiss steak, chewed, swallowed. "My kerosene heater's gone," he said.
"Your what?"
"The Kero-Sun. The one I bought for the garage, that winter the furnace went out. It was out in the garage, under the workbench. I went to get it last weekend, figured I'd run it while I did the storm windows. It wasn't there."
"Somebody stole your heater?"
"I figured Arliss borrowed it. He's done it before." Del frowned at his plate. "But he always asks. Usually. Leaves a note."
Janet felt something cold settle in her stomach. She thought of Arliss's gloved hand, pointing at the garage.
"The side door," she said. "The garage side door. Did you ever fix that lock?"
Del didn't answer. That was answer enough.
"Del. I asked you to fix that in July. I asked you in July and I asked you on Labor Day and I asked you when the Kowalskis got their bikes taken."
"I know."
"Anybody could walk right in there."