It didn’t seem possible that Brent had killed Barbara Benton and all those other women.
Of course, having a murdered woman’s cell phone in his pocket was pretty damning, she knew. But what if he was being framed and someone had slipped it into his pocket to make him look guilty?
She remembered that Auntie Mina had warned her once that she always needed to think things through; she couldn’t just rely on her heart. Too many people over too many years had been fooled by those they cared about. How well did she really know Brent?
“It just—it just can’t be,” she said to herself.
But when she woke up from another restless doze at 3:00 a.m., she knew she was wide-awake and there was no point trying to fight it. She got up and went out to the parlor.
Poe ruffled his feathers and cawed in protest when she turned on a light.
“Sorry, boy, can’t sleep,” she told him. “But I’ll get you an apple.”
She chopped an apple into pieces for him and brewed a pot of coffee for herself.
Brent had barely been fourteen at the time of the first murder. She simply couldn’t believe that the boy she’d known could have been a cold-blooded killer.
She gave Poe his apple and left the cage open in case he wanted to come visit, then sat down at her computer and pulled up her latest manuscript. She was at the point where Auntie Pim had invited the gnome into her kitchen and was giving him hot chocolate and sugar cookies—and a lesson in morality.
She tried to write, but she just wasn’t in the right frame of mind to think about magic and sugar cookies and happy children.
Instead, she went online and began researching murders that had been committed by children.
She was upset to discover just how many there had been.
Far too many.
The cases she found went well back in history. Often, older boys attacked younger girls, even toddlers. Some started out with a penchant for tormenting animals. Others were bullied and then turned around and became violent themselves.
As she sat there, Poe suddenly let out a long caw.
That startled Devin. She almost jumped out of her chair.
Poe was clearly distressed. He flapped his wings and cawed loudly again.
“What? I gave you an apple,” she said.
He flew out of his cage, but he didn’t light on her shoulder or on the old secretary where she worked. First he landed on the curtain rod, but after flapping around he finally settled on the back of the sofa.
His behavior was unsettling.
“Auntie Mina?” Devin said.
But the ghost of her aunt was nowhere to be seen.
Suddenly something banged against the rear of the house. She jumped up from the desk, her heart in her throat.
It was nothing, she told herself. Maybe a tree branch had fallen. Maybe there was a coyote prowling around.
Or maybe a man was out there, intent on murder.
But they had Brent in custody.
Except she didn’t believe he was a murderer.
For long moments she stood, terrified and frozen, listening to the thunder of her heart.
She heard nothing more.
Maybe it had all been her imagination. Maybe it wasn’t such a good thing to wake up at 3:00 a.m. and start reading about homicidal children.
She looked at the clock. Now it was almost 4:00 a.m. Soon it would start getting light.
Not soon enough.
“Okay, Poe, maybe there’s a lost dog out there or something. Rambunctious squirrels. A cat in heat. Who knows? I’ll go grab the pepper spray.”
As she walked into her bedroom to get the pepper spray and her cell phone, she heard another noise—out front this time.
She swore softly, her fingers curling around the spray can. She slipped back into the parlor and turned off the light. No point broadcasting her whereabouts. She walked to the door and looked out through the peephole, but she didn’t see a thing.
Backing into the corner between the door and the wall, she called Rocky, glad she’d decided to put him on speed dial earlier.
Despite the time, he picked up almost immediately. “Devin?” he said anxiously.
“Rocky, I think there’s someone outside my house,” she whispered.
“I’m almost there,” he told her.
“What?” He was almost at her house at 4:00 a.m.?
“I just left the station,” he said briefly. “Stay inside and don’t hang up. I can be there before the cops. I’ll keep the line open,” he told her. “All right?”
“All right,” she murmured.
She kept her back to the wall, staring into the darkened house.
There was someone out there.
She heard movement all around the house now. Or was she only imagining the rustling, the furtive noises?
Someone was out there in the night.
Stalking her.
It could be the breeze, she told herself. The rustle of crisp leaves as the wind moved through ancient and gnarled trees.
It could be her mind, betraying her.
Then she heard someone twisting the back door knob and caught her breath.
It was real.