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Soon enough, we pull onto the street we’re looking for and head for the last cabin on the end before parking and getting out.
The distant call of birds fills the air and a rustle of wildlife enlivens from the underbrush to our left. Otherwise, it’s a serene backdrop for the grim task at hand.
The cabin looks as if it’s seen better days, the brown paint is peeling, the green-trimmed windows are dusty, and there’s an overgrowth of weeds in the flowerbeds. A brick pathway leads to a small porch and we trot straight to the door as Jack gives three brisk knocks that sound as if bombs are detonating.
“Would you mind?” I reprimand. “She just lost her daughter.”
We were apprised that the sheriff’s department broke the news to her yesterday via a phone call.
A phone call.
I rolled my eyes at that one when I found out. I’ll have to talk to Rob about reaching out to his compadres in this neck of the woods. They could do better than that.
Jack’s brows pinch in the middle as he frowns my way. He looks lethally handsome in a dark suit and a dark blue tie that offsets his eyes. But that scowl I just evoked in him is my favorite feature, mostly because I know I put it there.
“Are you saying you don’t approve of the way I knock?”
“I’d approve if we were trying to summon a battalion of terrorists out of a dungeon. This is some poor woman’s home. She’s probably cowering in the closet by now.”
He grunts, “And you know this because that’s what you would be doing?”
“I’d be grabbing my gun and shooting you between the eyes,” I assure him. “I’m more of a shoot first, ask questions later kind of gal.”
His cheek flinches. “I won’t tell Hale you said that.”
The door opens and the scent of stale cigarettes hits us in the face.
It’s a habit I usually shake my head at, but this woman has earned a cigarette or two—or an entire carton for that matter.
“Can I help you?” Her face is marred by the screen door until she opens that, too, and we find her tucked in a pink terry robe. Her short crimson locks are spiked up in the back as if she hadn’t bothered to comb them in days. Her face is pale and there are deep welled lines around her mouth that indent when she speaks.
“Linda Gannon?” I ask and she nods while inspecting us, wide-eyed. “I’m Special Agent Baxter, and this is Special Agent Stone. We’d like to ask you a few questions about your daughter.”
“Sure, come in,” she says, expanding her arm to welcome us in and two cats bolt from the lumpy tan sofa just as a chihuahua mix runs into the room barking up a storm.
“Quiet, Honey,” she snaps and motions for us to take a seat.
Jack and I land on the sofa while she curls up on a maroon lounger that dances and spins once she lands in it. Honey, the chihuahua, hops before us and continues with her barking spree.
The place is small with dark wood floors and a tiny TV sits nestled in an entertainment unit that looks as if it could fall apart if you look at it crooked. There’s a dining room table to the left and a kitchen that looks as if it was newly remodeled with white cabinets and gleaming stainless appliances. A ray of hope in a dungeon of doom.
“Just got the news yesterday,” she sniffs at a picture in a silver frame that’s sitting next to her before picking it up and passing it our way. “That’s the little witch who ruined our lives.”
8
Special Agent Fallon Baxter
“That’s Emily,” Linda Gannon says with a hard sigh. “My daughter who will forever be frozen in time.” She shakes her head at the picture of the girl she just called a witch. “I’m a little angry at her at the moment.” She shudders. “Heck, I don’t blame her for what happened. I can’t. But a part of me does and I don’t seem to have any control over it.”
The young woman in the frame is smiling. It’s just a close-up of her face, but there’s a softness about her, and not just in her dimples or the way she’s looking up at the camera.
Jack nods as he examines it. “Can you tell us about her?”
“How much time you got?” Linda huffs out a laugh and the fresh scent of cigarettes emanates from her breath. “Emily was always the altruistic one. My husband said that was my fault.” She tries a smile but fails on impact. “He’s my ex actually. We had it all, nuclear family, big house in the hills, country club, you name it. Not long after Emily took off, my husband did the same. My other kids found somewhere else to live, and I wasn’t about to pad around that oversized haunted house all by myself. Too many memories. So I bought this place, or my husband bought it for me. It used to belong to my housekeeper if you can believe it. She was asking nothing for it and I didn’t want to waste a dollar on anything I didn’t need so here I am.” She shrugs. “If Emily did try to come home, I’m not sure she would have known where to look. And boy, do I have stories about Emily.”
Jack and I exchange a glance. It looks as if Linda needs to take the long road, and I’m all for it. The more information, the better.
“How long has Emily been missing?” I ask.
