It was obvious that Lacey Knox was never going to become a master criminal.
Her face immediately flooded with color and she swallowed. “What’s that?” she asked, trying to lie.
“A letter you left on Kristi’s bed,” Dallas told her pleasantly.
“Me? No... I, uh... Why would I do such a thing?” she asked. She was still as red as a beet, and obviously excruciatingly uncomfortable.
“Well, I don’t know for sure, but I think you’re jealous of Kristi. Carl does show her a great deal of attention.”
It seemed that it would have been impossible, but her color heightened.
Dallas pressed on, “Lacey, just tell me the truth. If you tell me, I promise, I won’t tell your parents—or Carl.”
She swallowed hard, looking around the hallway. “He likes me, I know that he likes me, but every time she comes around, he gets distracted. I mean, she has to be doing it on purpose. Everyone is saying that you and Kristi have something going on, and if so, you have to know what I mean!”
“Would you believe me if I told you that, yes, Kristi and I do have something going on? I can assure you that she isn’t interested in Carl.”
“Then she needs to quit being so nice. And so...well, she could dress down a little, you know. I’m sure he thinks that she’s elegant and sophisticated.”
“She wears jeans most of the time.”
“Not that day at the funeral—and at the reception at the brewery, she was all dressed up and really pretty.”
“You didn’t know Lachlan, did you? I didn’t see you at the funeral.”
“I wasn’t at the funeral. I was just shopping at the riverfront. I happened to walk into that brewery for a root beer, and I saw her.”
“I see. Did you turn the light off on her in the ladies’ room?”
“What?” she asked, indignant. “No, of course not. That’s weird.”
“Did you whisper a threat to her there?”
“No. I swear to you, I did not!” she said earnestly.
“Okay, another question. How did you get into Kristi’s room? It was locked.”
She smiled, as though she thought she was pretty clever. “This is really a family establishment, you know, and I have been around the track. Everyone has a key to the front door. Guests come and go as they please, help themselves to coffee and sodas and water—the master key is in a drawer by the refrigerator.”
“How did you know that?”
“I saw...someone put it there.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know...one of them. Maybe Jonah. I just borrowed it for a minute—I put it right back, I swear.”
He didn’t get a chance to go further. His phone rang.
Dallas saw that it was Jackson, and picked up right away.
“Get back over here,” Jackson said without any preamble.
“You’ve found something?”
“We found someone,” Jackson said. “Call Dunhill. Eliza Malone is buried in the basement at the Murphy house.”
“I’m on my way, and calling Dunhill,” Dallas said, turning even as he spoke.
Lacey called him back. “Hey! Hey—you said you won’t tell my parents. Or Carl. You said that you wouldn’t.”
“Right,” he replied, already heading down the stairs.
Dallas arrived at the Murphy house with amazing speed.
He hurried to Kristi first, deeply concerned.
To her amazement, she was able to give him a grim, weak smile—and refrain from falling apart. She wasn’t at all sure how, when, or why, but the anger she had found earlier in the shower had given her strength; now she wanted this case solved. She wanted the truth, and she wanted justice for Eliza Malone’s death.
Joe Dunhill arrived almost immediately after Dallas, and from there, the medical examiner’s office was called, and the basement was soon filled with people as Eliza’s body was extricated from its makeshift grave following Dr. Perry’s preliminary examination of the body.
Dallas, Jackson, Angela and Kristi remained in the basement, standing out of the way while Perry’s workers removed the body.
Dusting off, Dr. Perry looked at them and walked over to Dallas.
“Well, finding bones from years and years ago...that was one thing. You may be working faster than I can handle, and Dunhill wants me to stay with...whatever this is. Now...” He paused, shaking his head. “There’s a strange assortment of factors at work here. In a way, she was halfway mummified, and in a way, destroyed by the elements. I’m going to have to get her on the table to see how she died. Her face...her face is almost gone, but one of my assistants found a pocketbook under the body. The driver’s license says that she is Eliza Malone. This just beats all—I mean, it’s Murphy’s house. But I can’t see old Ian killing this woman.”
“Ian?” Kristi said. “He can’t be a suspect.”
“This is his basement,” Perry pointed out.
Kristi shook her head emphatically. “Ian never killed anyone—I would stake my own life on that. He wasn’t well...he battled cancer for a long time before his death. He was in and out of chemo. I’m telling you, Ian didn’t do this.”
“Young lady,” Perry said. “I’m the ME, not a detective. But she has been here two years. And Ian was alive two years ago. And, while I have not begun to determine cause of death, she didn’t fall under a woodpile and then bury herself.”
Dallas spoke up. “Ian was an old, sick man. It’s jumping to conclusions to assume that because it’s his house, he committed the murder. He was a friendly man, he had people over, all manner of people visited him here.”
Perry shrugged. “Well, the truth is up to you and Joe Dunhill, huh? We’ll get her checked in tonight, and the autopsy will be first thing in the morning. You’re welcome to be there.”
“I will definitely be there,” Dallas assured him.
Jackson suggested that they go upstairs; crime scene workers were heading in to start their search for any little clue.
Joe Dunhill followed them, and stood in the entry hall with them. “I need to call Jamie Murphy.”
“I called Jamie right away. He’s horrified, of course.”
“He owns the property. He’s going to have to come back home,” Joe said.
“He’s making arrangements,” Kristi assured him. “And,” she added, “Jamie is certainly not guilty of anything—he was in California when Eliza Malone disappeared.”
“I’m not Perry—and I’m not jumping to any conclusions,” Dunhill assured her. He looked at Dallas, and then Jackson and Angela. “Thank you. I didn’t have the resources—or the inside access to manage this,” he said, nodding to Kristi. “Maybe I should have been a better detective, but...” He paused, frowning. “You don’t think Ian jumped off the balcony out of guilt? I’m not saying it’s so, I’m just asking.”
“No,” Kristi said emphatically. “He wouldn’t have done it out of guilt, because he wasn’t guilty. Whoever managed to get Eliza Malone down here also pushed Ian, I’m convinced of it.”
He nodded. “Not to worry—my superiors will give me more support to work it now. They never denied me. They just didn’t have much to go on. Now they do.” He started out, and then came back to tell them, “There’s going to be an officer here tonight. I know you’re going through Ian’s papers with his grandson’s permission, but...we did find a body.”
“Of course,” Dallas told him.
Joe Dunhill went out—but came back in again. “Reporters,” he said with a sigh. “I’m just telling them that we’ve found a body, we don’t know whose yet. It hasn’t been proved... I’m leaving it to those with higher pay scales than mine to deal with a news conference.” He hesitated, looking at them all hopefully. “I’m really awkward with press,” he said.
“We’re not here officially,” Jackson reminded him.
“Yeah, right. Well, hopefully, I’ll say the right thing, and we’ll all get out of here without being dragged down by reporters—and tourists with smartphones.”
“Here’s hoping,” Dallas agreed.
Once again, Joe Dunhill left them. They could hear him fending off the press, and promising that there would be news forthcoming—as soon as they had news to give. The flurry died away as the reporters followed him to his car.
Kristi gasped suddenly. “Dallas, shouldn’t we have given Joe that note you found on my bed—the threat?” she asked.
“I actually managed to solve that particular mystery,” he said.
“Oh?” Angela asked.
He nodded. “The note was put on your bed by Lacey Knox.”
“What?” Kristi said, incredulous. “Why?”
“Carl Brentwood pays you far too much attention—and you really need to dress down, you know.”
Kristi frowned; she was once again covered in dirt and grime, and her jeans were torn at the knees—and not by a designer manufacturer.
Dallas shrugged. “I got her to admit it. I promised I wouldn’t tell her parents or Carl. I didn’t say that I wouldn’t tell you, and where it goes now is up to you.”
“Whatever way you think we should handle it is fine. I don’t want to make her even more miserable. But how did Lacey do it?” Kristi asked. “Not how did she do the note—that was obvious. How did she get into my room? I never forget to lock it.”
“Apparently, keys around here are easy to come by. It’s a nice part of Southern hospitality, and yet, not so good under our circumstances. Lacey went into the kitchen, helped herself to a bottle of water—and the key. She saw someone put it in the drawer the other day.”
Kristi was quiet for a moment. “It’s the same drawer where the key to this house was kept.”
“And very easily taken, as Lacey Knox proved to us all,” Angela pointed out.
“It’s been a long day and night,” Dallas said. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but...” He hesitated, and then added, “Jonah is especially worried about the hole in the ground at Kristi’s place. He found Janet Knox snooping around—hoping to find an artifact. He’s afraid that someone is going to fall in the hole. Cops are patrolling, but they’re not going to note someone staying in the house, sitting out in the courtyard—and slipping over to the hole when there’s a chance.” He shrugged. “Everyone wants a good artifact, I guess.”
“And it is nearly midnight,” Angela said. “Tomorrow, the news that Eliza Malone has been found will be out—and who knows what that might precipitate, once it’s confirmed that she was murdered.”
“Someone is going to know what happened already—the someone who buried Eliza in the basement here. There will be something on the news tonight. They won’t say that it was Eliza Malone that was found, but the killer will know for sure,” Jackson stated. “It could act as a catalyst for more action.”
“Let’s get back to McLane House,” Dallas told Kristi. He headed toward the door and turned back for her. She started toward him, and then paused, looking around.
“It’s gone,” she said quietly.
“Gone?” he asked, but then he knew what she meant before she spoke.
“The darkness—it’s gone. Eliza wasn’t dark, but she caused the darkness—she wanted us to find her. She wants justice.”
On arriving at the house, Dallas went straight through to the courtyard. Jonah was sleeping in one of the patio chairs.
He walked back to the hole in the rear of the yard; there was no one around. When he returned to the courtyard, Jonah was snoring.
Kristi was waiting for him by the back door. A patrol car went by on the neighboring street, flashing its lights into the yard. Jonah woke up with a start, choking a bit on a snore.
“Hey, hey! Oh, it’s you, Dallas,” he said.
“Yeah. Hey, buddy. Sorry,” Dallas said. “You been out here—all this time?”
“Went in for some supper. I just don’t want dingbats like that Mrs. Knox out here, messing around. The cops are doing a good job—they’ve been waking me up every twenty minutes or so.”
Dallas glanced to the back door; Kristi was still watching through the window. “I’ll tell you what, Jonah, just let me get Kristi settled upstairs, and then I’ll come back down and I’ll sit watch—I promise. You can get some sleep. Has anyone else come out—that you know about?”
“Keep drifting off, but the cops are good,” Jonah mumbled.
He was clearly very tired.
“I’ll be back,” Dallas promised.
“Just like the Terminator. Hey, where did you go? You’ve been gone a long, long time—I mean, before now.”
“We found another body,” Dallas said.
“What?” Jonah frowned, waking up some. “No, they’re here—they’re all here. I know it.”
“We believe we found Eliza Malone,” he said.
That drew another astounded “What?”
“In Ian Murphy’s basement,” Dallas said. “We had to get the cops out, the ME, you know—and crime scene technicians... I mean, it wasn’t a one-hundred-plus-year-old body. I reckon it’s been there just about two years. Since she disappeared.”
“In Ian’s basement?” Jonah said, disbelieving. “Ian wouldn’t have hurt a—Okay, it’s the South, the man swatted flies. But he was...he was all about life. Until he died.”
“I believe you. I didn’t know Ian, but from what I’ve heard, he was a good man.”
“A fine man.”
“I believe that someone made use of the house—easy enough with a sick man being in and out of his home. Or say, at night, a person could have slipped in and out, knowing that Ian was upstairs, sleeping under medication, and unlikely to hear anything,” Dallas said.
Jonah hadn’t really heard Dallas’s words. He looked ahead, frowning. “Not Ian. It could not have been Ian, not Ian.”
Dallas left him sitting there, deep in his own thoughts.
Looking back to the door, he saw Kristi was still watching; she looked as if she wanted to run out and hug Jonah, but she backed away as Dallas neared the door, letting him enter.
“Is he all right?”
“He’s watching the yard. I’ll go back down and make him come in.”
“Get him now—”
“Not until you’re upstairs and in the room and I’ve figured out the way to make sure no one enters while I’m away.”
She smiled. “I’m not afraid of Lacey Knox. Honestly, I think that I could take her.”
He grinned. “I’m sure you’re fierce in a hair-pulling fight.”
“Never engaged in them, but...outside, usually, Monty and Justin would be watching the yard, and we’d know if something was going on.”
“That was before we found Trinity’s remains. Monty won’t leave her, and Justin seems to be determined that he has to watch out for Monty.”
“Watch out for him—what’s a ghost going to do? He was really distraught, and if he was living, I’d be incredibly concerned myself, but...he’s dead.”
“Who knows the human heart?” Dallas asked her softly. “Anyway...let’s get upstairs. We’ve both had a long day, and you uncovered a crime scene,” he reminded her. “How did you find her?”
“I saw her...or, rather, something of her. I was heading out to see if Jackson had found anything, and I stopped by the entry. She was so sad, and she seemed to be pointing down. Dallas, you believe me, don’t you? There’s no way that Ian was responsible for what happened to her.”
“I believe you,” Dallas assured her. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
She nodded, and they started for the stairway, but Dallas paused.
There was someone in the front parlor, looking out into the dark street beyond the window. Dallas held up a hand, indicating that Kristi should stay back.
The man standing in the parlor had his hands on his hips; he was just looking out into the darkness of the night. He was silhouetted from the pale glow of the streetlights. Dallas recognized him from his stance.
“Mr. Meyer,” Dallas said, walking toward him.
Murray spun around as if he’d been deep in his thoughts—and startled out of them.
“Mr. Wicker,” Murray acknowledged. “I guess we’re both night owls. Something happened near here, across the square.” He hiked his shoulders and let them fall. “There’s a breaking news story about a body being found across Johnson Square. They’re speculating that it’s the woman who went missing years ago.”
“Yes,” Dallas said. “That’s been keeping you up?”
Murray nodded. “I was up working—it’s three hours earlier in LA, you know. A lot is done at night, after-hours, friends just talking to friends. Kind of like New York lunches. Anyway, I... You had something to do with it right?” he asked Dallas. “You were here to investigate for the kid who knocked himself dead on the curb, but...you seem to know the cops around here well.”
“It was at the Murphy house,” Dallas said. “Kristi was good friends with Ian Murphy and his son had given us permission to use his library.”
Murray Meyer nodded, looking out at the yard. “I remember when she disappeared. I was here.” He shook his head. “I have family in this city, Mr. Wicker. Not family that makes one proud, but family nonetheless. My cousin was in trouble—his wife died. Fell off a balcony. He swears they were both drinking and when they argued, they were pushing each other around, and he swore that while he didn’t push her, it was his fault. They shouldn’t have been drinking and arguing. He went away for manslaughter, but he’s out now, trying to put some kind of life back together.”
“He’s paid his dues, I guess,” Dallas said.
“Yeah, I sent Claire off with Carl the other day and went to see him. I’m trying to get him some work. I suppose I believe him. I have to, I guess. He is my family, and I never knew him to do another mean or cruel thing in his life. This just all...made me think about the past. I’ve been lucky—my life is good. And I remember that I was thinking—back when I was here for the trial, trying to help set some things in order—that the woman would show up, that maybe people had been wrong, maybe there was some bad business and she’d run away to Paris or something. Wishful thinking, I guess. And, then, of course, when Genie was picking up some things, she was saying that Mr. Murphy went over his balcony, and that made me think that life was ironic, and... Whatever, it’s late, and I didn’t mean to drone on about the past and things that haunt me.”
“It’s all right. They say that every man has skeletons in his closet.”
“And some have them in their backyard,” Murray said, shaking his head. “Guess it’s a good thing Kristi found an ancestor, and a sad thing that another woman was evidently killed because of someone else’s...agenda.”
“Or the skeletons in their closet,” Dallas added quietly.
“All the news about her said that she was an exceptional woman. Well, I suppose it’s good to know the truth, or, to at least know... Someone needs to be caught and punished for what happened. Unless the old man did it—and he’s far beyond our retribution now.”
Kristi stepped up behind Dallas and said, “The old man did not do it!”
“Miss Stewart, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.”
“Well,” Dallas said, setting his hands on Kristi’s shoulders, “I do believe we’ll find out in the days to come. I think we’ll go up. Good night, Mr. Meyer.”
“Would you like some tea or anything?” Kristi asked Murray.
“No, no, I’m fine, thank you. I was just awake, and Carl is still out with Claire—he discovered that if he went out late enough, he didn’t cause any commotion. They won’t be much longer. I’ll just wait up a bit. If that’s all right?”
“Of course,” Kristi said. “Turn on a light, if you like.”
“I rather like the darkness tonight,” he said.
Dallas directed Kristi toward the stairs and she hurried up ahead of him. When they reached her room, he strode to the window that overlooked the courtyard. Jonah was still there—sleeping on guard.
“I have to go back down,” he said.
“I can go with you,” she offered.
He shook his head. “No, you need some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be hard, and you’re the one who has seen Eliza. You need sleep. I just need to figure out how to be there and watch over you at the same time. In the morning, I can get Angela or Jackson back over here. But tonight, I find that I’m agreeing with Jonah. And he’s not much of a guard dog while he sleeps.”
He turned to her and began looking around the room.
“Do you have any rope?”
“Up here?”
“I guess not,” he said, looking around the room, frustrated.
“I have scarves,” she said. “Some really long scarves. Would that work?”
“They might do,” he said.
Kristi brought him several scarves in an assortment of colors and he began to tie them together.
“I’m really not afraid of Lacey,” Kristi told him.
“No, and I don’t think you need to be. But Lacey found the key. And that means others were able to find the key, and now we don’t know how many copies of a master key might be floating around somewhere.”
“Great,” Kristi murmured.
He rigged a rope from her scarves, and showed her how to attach it from her doorknob to the dresser, creating something of a bolt. It could be broken, of course—but not without pulling a drawer out of the nearby antique dresser and creating a commotion much like an alarm.
“You understand?” he asked her anxiously.
She smiled. “I got it. I don’t know how I’ll sleep with you down there, but I’ll try. And I definitely need a shower again, but I’ll wait until morning when you are back!” She paused for a minute. “I could read,” she said. “Somehow, reading what I love and what fascinates me always lets me fall asleep when I’m tired. You still have that book we took from Ian’s house?”
“Always on me,” he told her. “Our skeleton key thief has been in my room, too.”
Reaching into his jacket, he handed her the book.
He smiled and left her. Downstairs, he looked into the front parlor; Murray Meyer was still staring out at the night, waiting.
The man’s cousin had been convicted of manslaughter when his wife had gone over a balcony. Just like Ian Murphy.
“You’re sure you are all right?” Dallas asked him.
He hadn’t heard Dallas come downstairs, and started at the words, and then smiled, giving himself a little shake as Dallas apologized for startling him again.
“Now I’m just waiting for my prime client to return. Ah, and there they are!” he said, pointing out the front window.
Dallas walked over by him and saw a black sedan pulling up to the house. Carl Brentwood got out—followed out not by his manager, but Lacey. They were laughing, heads close, as they came up to the house. Before either could use a key for entry, Murray opened the door for them.
“Hey, you—waited up?” Carl asked Murray, perplexed.
“Where’s Claire?” Murray asked.
“Still dancing the night away somewhere,” Carl said. “Hey, I couldn’t make her come back. She’s all grown up.”
“And you ran into Miss Knox. How nice,” Murray said.
It didn’t sound as if he thought it was nice at all.
Lacey looked at him, and then at Dallas. “I’m going upstairs!” she said. Hurrying by Dallas, she said softly, “Please.”
Lacey had slipped out after her parents had gone to bed. She was, however, eighteen—and it seemed that she and Carl did like one another.
Not Dallas’s business.
“Guess I’m going up,” Carl said. “Murray, sorry, I didn’t know you were waiting up for me. Oh, Mr. Wicker, hey—the gossip was about finding an old body here, but it seems they also found a woman who disappeared years ago? People are talking about it all over town. I guess—oh. You were somehow involved, huh?”
“Somehow.”
Carl nodded, and then looked at Murray again. “Thanks, Murray. I’m good.”
“I’ll see that Claire gets in safely,” Murray said.
“Okay,” Carl told him. “Well, good night.” He headed to the back parlor, and up the stairs.
“I would imagine she’ll be back soon. And, of course, she’s definitely an adult,” Murray told Dallas. “Honestly, I’m just restless.”
“I’m actually going to be out in the courtyard, if you need me,” Dallas said.
“Thank you,” Murray said, smiling. “I might head up soon—hey, I really am all right. Thanks for being concerned—or worried. I swear, I’m not having an episode of any kind, and I’m not going to go nuts and break up the furniture.”
Dallas laughed softly. “Sorry—just holler if you need anything.”
He headed out to the courtyard and woke up Jonah, telling him to go sleep in his bed.
Jonah agreed.
Dallas sat down to keep vigil over the hole in the yard, the now vacant dig where Trinity McLane had so recently lain.
At first, Kristi sat in the chair where she had so often rested while she’d talked to Jedidiah.
Where she had first seen Monty McLane.
She stared at the strange rigging Dallas had created for her door. No one was entering without creating a hell of a lot of noise—that was for sure—unless she let them in.
She should have just gone down with Dallas; she was never going to sleep.
She looked wistfully at the bathroom door. She really needed a shower. Then again, as the thought consumed her, she had visions of the Janet Leigh shower scene from Psycho.
Hm, maybe not.
She looked outside, down to the courtyard. Dallas had taken up a position in the courtyard, at the table closest to the recently dug hole.
He was reading something on his phone, obviously awake and aware. He looked up, as if aware she might be at the window.
Kristi smiled and waved.
She sat again, and then, the feel of the dust and dirt from the woodpile suddenly seemed to be too much.
This killer wasn’t going to come after her in her own room, in her own house. The killer was clever and hidden, making people disappear—or die on a curb or go over a balcony.
She was going to have to squash any visions of Psycho and bite the bullet; her door was locked, and she had a makeshift extra lock. She was safe.
Leaving the bathroom door open and drawing the curtain only halfway, she hurried in. Soap, shampoo, all applied quickly and with purpose—and with one eye watching out of the curtain toward the bathroom door at all times.
Her shower proved to be completely uneventful.
Clean and much happier, Kristi emerged. She didn’t slip into a nightgown, but changed into a knit top and a clean pair of jeans. For a moment, she panicked, looking around the room. The book!
She ran back into the bathroom and found it underneath the pile of her dirty clothing; she hadn’t meant to leave it out of her sight for a minute.
Book in hand, she headed back to the big chair, sat and flipped it open, wondering if any of the incredible volumes in Ian’s library had ever been reprinted.
The copyright on this book was 1899—thirty-four years after the end of the war. It had been written by Emory Huntly of the 15th Corp. He had been lucky; he had survived the war and gone on to have five children, and, as of the writing of the book, seven grandchildren.
He had titled his book, Valor and Lesser Evils, a Soldier’s Journey through War.
Starting at the beginning, Kristi quickly knew why Dallas had liked this book in particular; Huntly managed to give facts and figures, but there was a human element to the book that made it entirely readable. It was also prefaced by the fact that every man who had fought might well have a different vision of what they saw, and what they did.
He’d been from Massachusetts, a farm boy who had followed Lincoln’s call to arms with a passion at first.
He’d never been to the South.
As the war escalated into 1862 and then 1863, he saw far too much. Fierce battles in Virginia—he wrote an especially poignant page on the battle at Shiloh.
He wrote a lot about people, battle camps, nurses, orderlies and those who had helped. He watched Union doctors who were true to their oath—determined to save a life, be it an ally or enemy life. He saw cruelty as well—practiced on both sides.
He saw field after field of dead men, their bodies and scattered parts food for the crows, their blood seeping into the soil, helping to irrigate the hate that would live on when the last gun was fired.
Kristi read, fascinated, and realizing more and more that she would have really liked the man, and, as she had always been taught, good men came in all kinds.
The words began to blur before her. She was just getting to Emory Huntly’s role in Sherman’s March to the Sea.
Sleep claimed her.
It wasn’t easy staying up through the night, but Dallas intended to do so. He concentrated on going over files, over everything he had learned through Angela’s research and his own interactions with people.
He found a large file the Krewe had compiled concerning Murray Meyer. His reputation as a Hollywood agent was sterling. He was a man who fought for his clients and looked after his employees. During an interview, he said that it was important to get the best deal, and to be reasonable at the same time; celebrity was easy come, and easy go.
Finishing with Murray, Dallas flipped to the information they had on Granger.
The man had started his political campaign, and there was a good deal of information available about his beliefs and platform. Lots of pictures of him at community events.
Dallas had focused on these two men because of the seeming links to the case. Both had been in Savannah several times in the last years—including when Eliza Malone had been murdered.
But what would it have to do with McLane House?
He realized that he needed to speak with Kristi, Jonah, Genie and Sydney again. Kristi hadn’t even been living at the house two years ago, and Sydney had apparently just started back then, but Jonah and Genie had been with Jedidiah a long time. Maybe, just maybe, something had happened at the house back then, or they’d had a guest who had perhaps registered under a different name.
Wouldn’t they have been recognized?
As he wondered about what might have gone on, he suddenly heard movement.
The sun wasn’t quite up; it would be another half an hour or so before Genie and Sydney were due to arrive.
Dallas stood and moved closer to the house. He watched as someone came around the side of the house by the kitchen entrance, moving furtively, heading toward the back, the monuments—and the large dirt pit where Trinity McLane’s body had so recently rested.