thirty-two
Caleb followedthe sheriff back toward the house, his pulse already kicking up.
Whatever Sutherland had found, it was serious enough to pull him away from the kennels. Serious enough that the man’s expression had gone carefully blank—the look someone wore when bracing to share bad news.
They stepped inside through the back door, and Caleb spotted Naomi.
She stood in the office doorway, her arms crossed, her face tight with something that looked like dread. “In here.”
Caleb’s chest tightened as he moved past her into the office.
The laptop sat open on the desk, the screen glowing with a frozen image from their security camera feed. Naomi had pulled up the footage—grainy, black-and-white, time-stamped in the corner.
Sheriff Sutherland stepped beside him, gesturing toward the screen. “Your sister was showing me the security footage from last night. We found this.”
He clicked the mouse, and the video began to play.
The frame showed the back door, the porch light casting a dim circle of illumination. For a few seconds, nothing moved.
Then the door opened.
He watched as a figure stepped outside.
His heart raced as his worst fears seemed to be confirmed.
Someone in this house had sneaked outside . . . right before a man was murdered.
Even in the shadows of the video, Caleb could see the person who’d left was slender and dressed in a black hooded coat that obscured any features. The hood was pulled low, blocking the face. The figure moved carefully, deliberately, closing the door without a sound.
This person was a woman, he realized. It was clear by the narrow shoulders and graceful movements.
The woman began to walk.
Not toward the kennels. Not toward the driveway.
She walked toward the back of the property.
Toward the woods.
Toward where the dead body had been found.
She knew exactly where she was going.
Caleb’s heart pounded in his ears, a dull roar that drowned out everything else.
The timestamp read 3:07 a.m.
The sheriff’s voice cut through the fog in his mind. “We believe this was around the time of the victim’s death. Give or take thirty minutes.”
Caleb stared at the screen, his jaw tight as his mind raced.
“Can you identify her?” Sutherland asked.
Caleb leaned closer, studying the footage more closely. He watched the figure move across the frame, her gait smooth and unhurried.
But he couldn’t see her face.
The hood concealed too much. The angle was wrong. The lighting too poor.
