Casey dumped his backpack on a chair and went to get a carton of milk from the fridge, as well as a package of small, chocolate-covered doughnuts from the grocery.
“Happy birthday, Case,” called Mr. Pardella, the tall, skinny man with chin whiskers who tended the store’s old-fashioned mechanical register. Everybody knew everybody in Clarksville.
“Thanks.”
“Teenager, huh?”
“Guess.”
“Here comes trouble!”
Casey laughed and returned to the table. When he got there, a man was standing at the post office counter talking to his mother while he mailed a small package. Casey recognized the man as Mr. Souza, an old white-haired guy who had come to retire in the valley from some East Coast city. Casey did not know much about him, except that he was a “birder,” someone who roamed the area looking for birds, taking pictures of them with a huge-lensed camera.
Once, Mr. Souza had come by their house asking permission to cross their land and go into the woods to look for birds. Since receiving an okay, he had often entered the forest from their place.
Casey was opening the doughnut package when he heard his mother say, “It can’t be a wolf, Kim. Must have been a large dog.”
Casey looked up.