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“Yeah, she screamed, and … we couldn’t run.” The last word came out choked. “That God damn door was locked, and we didn’t want to jump over the wall and run through The Wild.”

I felt her fear. It had to be terrifying. I reached to touch her arm, but she pulled it back. “Don’t.”

I nodded.

“We freaked for maybe only a couple of minutes, but it felt like forever. The woman came out and got us and took us upstairs. She got us cleaned up. Washed our clothes. Fed us. She calmed us down before she took us home.”

“Where did Silas, Johnny, and Wilmot go?”

Thalia shrugged. “I never did know. I never saw any of them again. I swore my ass off that I would never tell anything. I didn’t ever want to talk about it again. I’m a mom now, you don’t get to blame me for anything.” She glared at Calloway.

“I’m not, Thalia. I just need the truth.”

“And that’s what I’ve told you. Here’s another truth, I’m going to punch Minnie in the face when I see her again.”

“That would be assault.”

“Yeah, we’ll see. Bitch wasn’t even there but made us live it all again for her friggin’ podcast. She promised she wouldn’t tell, so she broke the promise first.”

“I’m sorry, Thalia,” I said.

She looked at me. “Yeah, whatever. I heard about those skeletons, and I thought there was no way they could be real, but then I thought that if they were, I bet Wilmot Dylan was involved.”

“Why did you think that?” Calloway asked before I could.

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t know, but I just did. And I don’t like it. You better keep us all safe, Sheriff.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Mom!” a voice called from inside.

“I gotta get in there.”

Calloway extended a business card to Thalia. She looked at it like she was going to throw it away, but at least she could rummage around her garbage can for it if something important came to her.

Without a goodbye, she disappeared inside and closed the door.

Calloway and I shared a look. More layers, maybe answers, but who knew if they were helpful.

“Next?” I asked.

Calloway nodded and we made our way to the Tahoe.

Okay. Enough. He was supposed to be done by now. It wasn’t supposed to take this long, but … well, the best laid plans and all.

He unfurled the felt pack and inspected the knives. Shiny steel sparkled in the light, the edges so sharp they even looked sharp. He kept them that way always.

His work had been labor intensive. The kill had been the easy part. It was everything that had come before and after that that had been difficult. He’d had to track everyone down, figure out a plan that would put him in the middle of all of them—hiding in plain sight.

Cleaning the bones, then digging up the other ones. It was all so much work.

His main target of course had been Hazel Dylan. And he still hadn’t killed her. He could have, but he’d been too curious to get to know her, hoped for more answers before he finished all he needed to do. Got rid of her once and for all. Forever.

He didn’t think anyone had figured out that he was here for her. Even she didn’t know that her bones would be his masterpiece.

No one had suspected him. There was time. So far, so good.

He needed to get to Hazel, at the right time and in the perfect place, of course. It would happen, soon enough. But now he liked her. He didn’t want to like her, but he did. He respected her. He wanted to watch her work. His mouth watered at the mere thought of watching her brain as she inspected bones, deduced what might have happened to the person who they used to belong to.