Page 71 of Sinister Secrets

I wonder how the people here felt when they found out. If Alicia DeWitt had been the kind to take part in potlucks and community yard sales, or if she’d kept to herself. If, after the news broke, her neighbors whispered that they’d never suspected or that they’d always known.

Knocking again, I remember how long it took for the woman to answer the last time I was here. “Ms. Dunn,” I call, still pounding. “Nancy, I need you to answer the door.”

Out of patience, I cup my hands against the window. Though the lights in the living room are off, there’s a faint glow coming from farther inside the house. Would she have left the light on if she wasn’t home? Is she in there hiding, hoping that I’ll eventually go away?

Another possibility takes hold, one that raises goosebumps along my arms and sends a shudder down my spine. What if she’s in there but can’t answer? What if this is where Lucy had run off to so urgently earlier tonight?

Moving back to the door, I beat on it with renewed vigor, my voice cracking as I call again, “Ms. Dunn, are you in there? Open up.”

Still nothing. My molars grind together, my pulse tapping a frantic beat against the skin at the base of my throat. Pulling out my phone, I bring up Director Lopez’s cell phone number. It’s too early to panic. The woman could be out somewhere right now. Still, I keep my left thumb hovering over the dial button as I pull my sidearm from its holster and step toward the corner of the house.

I inspect each window I pass, checking them for broken glass, signs of tampering, a glimpse of their owner in distress. The kitchen is dark, no sign of a body. The same for the office. The next pane of glass reveals the bedroom, the light I’d seen earlier streaming in from the closet, my gut tightening at what it reveals.

The drawers on the dresser beside the window are open and half empty. Clothes and paperwork are strewn about. A tangle of bare clothes hangers litters the floor.

If I had to wager a guess, it looks like Nancy Dunn is gone—and that she left in a hurry. Was it my earlier visit that spooked her, or something else? Did I let Gordon’s killer get away?

CHAPTER 41

After calling Nancy Dunn’s vanishing act and my suspicions in to Director Lopez, and enduring a rather uncomfortable lecture about obeying orders, there’s nothing left for me to do but return home. I’m not supposed to be working the case. I need to keep my distance. Plausible deniability for my new boss and all that.

My bones ache with a weariness I feel in my soul as I let myself in and trudge to the bedroom, not even bothering to undress, simply taking my boots off before crawling under the covers. I feel like I could hibernate for the next year, but sleep doesn’t come.

Every time I close my eyes, I see the anger that burned in Nancy’s gaze earlier—the kind of anger that might compel you to torch someone’s house in the middle of the night. It plays in a slideshow with another, even more disturbing image, the familiar face of a long-lost friend. One whom I’d never even suspected of wrongdoing until I’d seen a picture of her with the murderer who’d tried to add me to her victim list.

Which is worse? Having someone you suspected prove you were right, or the betrayal of misplaced trust?

The answer has me tossing and turning until finally I untangle myself from the sheets twisted around my body and get out of bed. Finding my laptop, I turn it on. Open a search browser and enter Lucy’s name. I need to know more about my old friend.

With the advent of social media, it’s become easier than ever to peek through the window into someone else’s life. People post everything online now, from their complaints to their successes to pictures of their food. But as I stare at the screen before me, I realize that what I’m about to see won’t be what she had for dinner or updates about Jeffery’s potty training.

Because the results Lucy’s name have turned up aren’t the links to her Facebook and Instagram profiles, like I’d expected, but something I imagine she would never choose to share. My heart climbs up the walls of my chest as I click the first result. The page that loads knocks my breath away.

I shouldn’t be able to see this. It shouldn’t have been possible. But while the name of a young white child might have been kept out of the papers, apparently no one felt compelled to enforce the same rights for a young Seminole child.

My throat tightens as I read the article, the highlights popping out from the page. Arson. Animal Sanctuary. Everglades. Doing the math, it all starts to add up. The fire I thought I had started. The one I’d been so careful to prevent. The one I’d watched Butch extinguish, a grim look etched on his weathered face.

The one he never spoke to me about because it was Lucy he’d seen running away as the flames spread, licking their way toward the barn. He’d never known that I was using the burn barrel that morning. I close the laptop, not wanting it to be true.

No wonder her family moved away so suddenly—they didn’t have a choice. Though Butch had declined to press charges, the DA at the time decided to enact a restraining order to keep Lucy away from the Sanctuary.

It doesn’t make any sense. Lucy had been like a sister to me. She loved the animals every bit as much as I did. She never would have done something that might hurt them.

Had they gotten it wrong? Blamed her for something I had done? If so, who wouldn’t want to seek vengeance for that?

I don’t know how to process this. I need some air. Heading back to the bedroom, I put my boots on, tuck my phone into my pocket, and tie up my hair.

A chill ripples through me as I step outside. The insects play a noisy chorus, cheering me on as I walk through the dark. Entering the barn, I stop and take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the familiar scent of warm animal bodies, sweet grain, and hay. The scent of safety. Of home.

I look into the first stall, where Daisy sleeps on her feet, one hoof cocked so only the tip rests on the ground. In the next stall, her foal, Charlie, lies on her side, her spindly legs stretched out. The weaning process hadn’t been easy. The little filly had alternated between terror and rage until she’d learned to be independent.

How will Jeffery act if Lucy gets taken away from him? The thought pushes tears into my eyes. Sliding to the ground, I wrap my arms around my knees, hugging them to my chest. I wasn’t much older than him when my mother had been taken away from me. The last thing I want is to be the one to do that to someone else.

There’s a thud and a thump. The tap of tiny hooves dancing over to me. The bump of Stephano’s head against my elbow, pushing it out of his way. Obliging, I release my hold on myself and cross my legs. Wait for him to get settled in my lap before cuddling him against me. He stares up into my eyes, feeling my sadness but not understanding the cause of it.

For the first time, I find myself regretting my decision to sign on with the Miami field office. Though I’d been ready to retire, had been looking forward to it, something about returning to the job I’d once loved so much has just felt right. A strange kind of relief that I hadn’t known I’d been needing.

But now I can’t help feeling like it was a mistake. Maybe I should recuse myself from this case. Make it someone else’s problem. Only, what if I walk away, and someone else gets hurt?