So this week I’m reading Moving Day, a crime/revenge thriller by Jonathan Stone, in which thieves posing as the crew from a moving company show up at an elderly couple’s home one day ahead of the real movers, and proceed to carefully and meticulously steal all of their stuff.
Needless to say, the thieves get a little more than they bargained for once the husband concocts a scheme to track them down.
Sometimes, in a flash here or there, it appears simple: in a life robbed of justice, he intends to see some done.
And where justice leaves off and revenge begins? He knows that is impossible for him to say. He knows that his past has left him no natural experience with justice, and so he has no reliable perspective from which to understand.
I’m pretty sure I know who is going to play the husband’s role in the movie version.
Meanwhile, speaking of moving out, at the point I’m currently editing, the characters in Father’s Books have finally cleared out of the haunted house. But for some of them it is, unfortunately, too late.
Since he was still dressed, he just splashed some water on his face―he felt too grubby for words, but there was no time for a shower―and went downstairs, out the door, down the driveway to the sidewalk. The cop car was gone from in front of the old man’s house, but the driveway was barricaded, the whole thing taped off.
And if you think barricades and police tape are going to stop anyone from venturing back inside, well, you clearly haven’t read enough ghost stories …