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"Do you have an address for Terrance?" Finn asked.
Kilbraid nodded, typed something into the computer and then noted down the address. Handing it over, he said, "I always thought he was a good person."
"They always are until they aren't," Finn said. "We'll be in touch."
Finn turned and looked to the rain outside, still lashing down. He leaned over and grabbed a copy of Drywall Monthly.
"You don't mind if I snag a copy, do you?" he asked.
"No, be my guest," Kilbraid said, clearly wanting the detectives off his premises.
"Thank you," Finn said, opening the door. He then shouted over the rain. "It's a great read... And makes a great umbrella."
Finn put the magazine over his head and stood in the rain. "Amelia?"
Amelia shook her head and stepped out in the rain. They both ran to the car, the sky quickly turning to night. But there would be time before the end of the day for one more journey. A journey to confront Terrance Feldman face to face.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Finn tried his best to make out the darkened land as he drove slowly to avoid ending up in a ditch. The unfocused beam of the car's headlights barely pierced through the curtain of rain that fell from the black sky like cloth. Finn twisted the steering wheel and drove into the caravan site at just below walking pace. The number "30" was visible on the door of a white trailer, not Terrance Feldman's, but close.
"This is cozy," Finn remarked, his tone dry as he peered through the rain to spot caravan number 22. "You know, horror-movie cozy. The type of cozy that makes you throw your popcorn into the air."
Amelia, despite the situation, couldn't suppress a small smile at his comment.
"I used to love going for holidays in caravans," Amelia said. "Sometimes when I was young, it was all we could afford. My Dad used to love playing board games. When we were bored because it was raining, he'd always make it fun with silly voices and even games he made up."
"Do you see your dad much?" Finn asked.
"Look, over there," Amelia said, changing the subject.
Finn stopped the car and killed the headlights.
The caravan was nestled in a far corner of the decrepit site. Its paint peeled and windows were broken, but it still had a certain charm. The rain poured down, drenching everything in sight. Each thick droplet that hit the ground sent ripples across the pebbled path as they sprinted towards the shelter.
"I have a bad feeling about this place," Finn said. "Stay frosty."
"Frosty?" Amelia asked.
"Yeah, you know, alert," Finn said.
"I know what it means," Amelia laughed. "But I just thought it was something soldiers said in the movies."
"Well, you know, I do have those Hollywood good looks," Finn said, opening the door to the rain and stepping out.
"Yeah, like Frankenstein's monster," Amelia said.
"Ouch," Finn replied, leaning back into the car. "Well then, this monster needs back up. Shall we dance?"
Amelia got out, and they walked towards the trailer. With each step they took, the crunch of the gravel echoed like rolling thunder through the gloominess.
Reaching the caravan, they tried their best to stay warm. Despite being able to hear the rain splashing at the windowpane, Finn could see nothing but blackness outside. A chill ran up his spine, feeling as if something was out there, lurking in the shadows and watching them from afar.
Finn rapped on the door of number 22. "Terrance Feldman?" he called out.
The door swung open, and a man with a rugged beard appeared, backlit by the warm light from inside. The scent of something cooking wafted out, momentarily mingling with the icy air of the rainy night. He had an unsettling glare in his eye and a scar that ran down his face like a jagged river. Finn's gut instinct told me something was off, so he quickly readied himself for anything.
"Who wants to know?" the man asked gruffly.
