“I don’t like this,” Aguilar said.
Thomas nodded.
“Nightshade County Sheriff’s Department,” he called before banging his knuckles on the door for a third time. “Anybody home?”
The wind whistled around the eaves, a mournful sound.
“What should we do?”
“Maybe she’s out back,” Thomas said, though he doubted it. He wanted an excuse to search the backyard and peek inside the garage. “Keep your eyes open.”
Thomas and Aguilar circled the house. He used blackout curtains in his bedroom so the sun didn’t wake him after he worked overnight shifts, and the same style of curtain concealed every window on Cathy Webb’s house. There was something blocking the cellar windows.
“See that?” Aguilar pointed at the basement window.
“Looks like foam insulation. Ms. Webb is pretty secretive for a single woman living in the boonies.”
A warped picnic table stood behind the residence. Sitting on its benches would leave the unsuspecting victim with dozens of splinters piercing his backside. No garden, no shed. It was the garage that commanded Thomas’s attention.
“Watch my back,” he said. “I’m checking for a van.”
Aguilar eyed the windows as Thomas moved toward the garage. The garage door didn’t have windows. He tugged the handle but found it locked. Next, he searched for a murder weapon. Dr. Stone had been convinced the killer murdered their Jane Doe with a pick ax. As he rounded the building, the back door opened on the decrepit two-story.
“What are you doing back there?”
Thomas and Aguilar raised their eyes. A large shouldered woman filled the doorway. Thomas couldn’t see her hands or determine if she held a gun. She stood in the shadows, beady eyes burning holes through Thomas. His heart pounded as he remembered the gangland shooting in Los Angeles, the attack that nearly killed him. The bullet had missed his spine by a hair.
“You Cathy Webb?”
“I’m Webb. Why are you on my property?”
“Sheriff Shephard, Nightshade County Sheriff’s Department. This is my partner, Deputy Aguilar. We knocked first.”
“Get away from my garage. There’s nothing back there for you.”
“We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“What about?”
“Your cousin, Alec Samson.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. There was something wrong with her blocky, angular face. Despite the afternoon heat, she wore a bulky sweatshirt, rugged blue jeans, work boots, and a knit cap over her head. He swore he’d met her before, though he couldn’t imagine when.
“Alec doesn’t live here anymore.”
Thomas shared a glance with Aguilar as they approached the back stoop. The woman edged deeper into the shadow, ready to slam the door in their faces.
“I’d like to speak with you about Alec, all the same.”
Webb moved her eyes from Thomas to Aguilar. He still couldn’t see her hands. The air grew tense, the sensation one experienced before lightning struck. Thomas breathed again when Webb strode out of the house. Her callused hands weren’t strangers to yard work. She didn’t hold a gun.
“What’s Alec gone and done now? Is he in some kind of trouble?”
Thomas and Aguilar approached the woman. Her eyes darted to the garage, a giveaway there was something she didn’t want them to see.
“We want to speak with Alec.”
She scoffed.
“Good luck with that. I haven’t seen my cousin in years.”
“Our records state this is Alec Samson’s last known address,” Aguilar said.
“That’s right. Alec moved in with me after high school. Had to get away from his parents. The living situation wasn’t good for him. His family packed up and left last year. Moved to Michigan, I believe.”
“How long did Alec live with you?”
She furrowed her brow.
“A few years. Alec left three or four years ago.”
“Where is he now?” asked Thomas, peering over the woman’s shoulder at the curtained windows.
“Last I heard, he was working on one of those oil rigs off the Alaskan coast. Doubt he kept that job for long. Alec never could keep a job.”
“You haven’t spoken to him since?”
“Not a peep. But if you find my deadbeat cousin, tell him he owes me four-hundred dollars. Alec has a way of disappearing whenever he owes someone money. Knew I shouldn’t have trusted him.”
The woman scratched her scalp, wisps of short, black hair spilling from beneath the cap.
“When did you move into your house?” asked Aguilar.
“Six years ago. A year after Dawn died. I grew up in Syracuse.”
“What made you choose this area?”
Cathy Webb scowled.
“With all that was happening, I was the only family Alec had.” Her eyes glistened. “After Dawn committed suicide…the poor girl…Alec was lost. Someone needed to care for the boy.”
“Dawn’s suicide must have come as a tremendous shock to everyone,” said Thomas, softening his eyes. “Did Dawn leave a suicide note?”
“Didn’t need to. Those girls at Wolf Lake High drove her to it. Vultures, both of them.”
“Which girls, Ms. Webb?”
“Paige Sutton and Justine Adkins. They terrorized our Dawn for years, and the school did nothing to stop it. They murdered Dawn and should pay for their crimes.”
“Are you familiar with the Wolf Lake High alumni forum?”
A vein pulsed inside Webb’s neck.
“Why do you ask?”
“Ms. Webb, we saw your messages on the forum.” Webb shuffled her feet. “You’re quite upset with Paige and Justine.”
“So? Wouldn’t you be, if Paige and Justine drove your cousin to suicide?”
“But you grew up in Syracuse,” Aguilar said, setting a hand on her hip. “Your profile name is Webb-WLHS, as in Wolf Lake High School.”
Webb shrugged.
“Nothing illegal about snooping around a forum. Those girls never show their faces on the forum, anyhow. They’re guilty.”
“What can you tell us about Skye Feron, Ms. Webb?” asked Thomas. “She disappeared six years ago, around the same time you moved in.”
“If you’re implying I had anything to do with Skye’s disappearance, you’re wrong.”
“I noticed you didn’t include Skye’s name when you implicated Paige and Justine.”
The woman’s eyes bounced between the house and the garage.
“Alec didn’t mention Skye,
