Then he jumped as he heard the quiet sound of a window sliding open. Looking up, his heart speeding up, he saw a face staring down at him.
"Who is it?" the man shouted from inside.
"Deputy Owen Lovell," Owen replied. "I'm looking for Jeremiah Danver."
This man wasn't Jeremiah, that he could tell instantly. He looked at least three decades older, with flyaway, graying hair, and Owen thought it could be his father. This was confirmed a moment later when the man snapped out, "Jeremiah’s not here. I'm his father, and we have no liking for the police. Get off my front porch!"
"Do you know where he is?" Owen pressured.
With a note of triumph in his voice, the man replied, "He's gone away for the week. He's at the agricultural fair in Minneapolis. He's been there since Wednesday, and he'll only be back Sunday night. I'm looking after the place for him."
Owen noted this information with concern. If Jeremiah was away, and had been for so long, then he could not have committed any of these three crimes. His attendance at the fair ruled him out as a suspect completely. Of course, there was a chance the father was covering for him.
"Can you confirm that?"
"I can. Go and ask anyone there. My son is a stallholder. He's been selling his new design of feed holders and water troughs there, Jem’s Livestock Essentials, and he's been getting some good orders. So, now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."
Jem’s Livestock Essentials. With that information, Owen guessed he could look it up for himself. And, on the way back to the car, he did just that.
He confirmed that Jeremiah was at the fair with his new design of feeding and watering equipment. Owen was satisfied with this alibi.
That meant all the pressure was now on May. He called her, feeling anxious, wanting to know where she'd gotten, and if he could come through and help.
His heart rate shot up as May answered on the first ring, her voice as stressed as he'd ever heard it.
"Owen, I need help. Urgently!"
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
May sped toward the place where Lucas Zane lived, the man who'd been rejected by Molly, taken out of school, and had now seemingly moved into his parents' house. She felt racked with anxiety in a way she hadn't been for a long time. Even though there was a police guard now outside Molly's house, May still feared that she wouldn't be safe.
And she feared, too, that this case would drag on and that Sheriff Jack would have to confront the terrible reality of what was happening before there were clear answers on who the killer was.
This case was so personal!
Right now, with two strong suspects, it could be herself or Owen who would come face to face with this killer.
May had a gun, and she was in no mood for unnecessary heroics. If this killer was going to threaten her in any way, she was going to hold him at gunpoint. Despite this firm resolution, she couldn't help shivering with apprehension as she neared the house.
She was a seasoned detective, a deputy with years of fighting serious crime under her belt. There was no reason at all for her to feel that this house looked spooky and foreboding.
But she couldn't help herself. It did. This home was seriously dark and decrepit looking.
The house seemed nestled into the woods that backed onto it. The walls were made from dark, knotted boards, with a steeply sloped roof and an overgrown yard. The windows were dark—not because of a lack of light in the house, May saw, but because they were so deeply shaded by the low, overhanging trees. It gave the entire home a threatening feel.
Was it a reflection of the mindset of the person, or family, who lived here?
Wondering that, May switched off her car engine, taking a deep breath. She got out, looking again at those small, front windows that seemed like dark, unfriendly eyes. Was someone watching from behind them? Waiting for her?
She checked her weapon and entered the front gate. As May walked up to the house, she thought she heard a strange noise, a metallic scraping sound. It put her in mind of someone sharpening a knife, and she stopped, her heart speeding up, listening carefully.
She didn't hear the noise again and thought it must have come from somewhere beyond the house, in the woods. Someone was using a chainsaw or metal tool, and she'd just misinterpreted the more distant noise.
Even so, as she knocked on the door, May's heart was in her mouth.
There was no answer. She stepped back, looking at the house. It was too dark to see in, nothing was moving. May knocked again.
"Police!" she called. "I'm here to ask some questions!"
