Never seen him in action before, though.
Not that the woman now visible in the door opening is undressing or anything, but she’s not hiding anymore. She shoots a furtive glance at Kenneth’s house and makes a face.
“Something’s off with him. He only moved here a couple of months ago, and from day one I felt like there are eyes watching me from his windows. I’m scared to walk outside.”
Um. “Eyes?”
“I thought I saw a kid once in one of the windows,” she goes on. “And another time I heard a child scream, but that can’t be. I’ve never seen any kids with him.”
Dylan tenses beside me. “Are you sure you heard the scream?”
“I have very good hearing,” the woman says, a little haughtily. “Used to be a music teacher. It was during the night, in summer, and I always leave my window open. It faces his house, you see. I know what I heard, but Ruth from across the street told me I was lying when I told her. That deaf old bat wouldn’t hear on orchestra playing on her lawn, let alone anything from across the street.”
Icy fingers are wrapping around my spine. “And the face you saw in the window? Where were you?”
“You doubting my eyesight now?” She squints at me, and I force myself to lift my chin and wait for her reply. “I saw that kid when I went out to take the trash early one morning. His mouth was open like he was shouting something, and he was waving his hand. I waved back. Then he vanished, and I never saw anyone in the house again. But it gives me the heebie-jeebies, it does.” She lowers her voice. “I think it’s haunted.”
Oh God.
“Thank you, Ms.…?” Dylan says, his jaw tight.
“Debsy. Monique Debsy.” She is shutting the door again. “I hope you get your money back, though I doubt it.”
“Ms. Debsy!” I wrench myself from Dylan’s side, put my hand against the door. “What car does Kenneth Shaw have?”
She squints at me, as if trying to decide whether I am real or a ghost like the ones inhabiting the house next door. “A white sedan. All scratched on one side. Why?”
And she closes the door before I can even think of a reply.
Because, holy crap! We’re at the right place, all the clues pointing that way.
So what do we do now?
***
“Did you guys find out anything?” I ask later as we all gather around the three cars we came in.
“Nobody was in,” Audrey says.
“We talked to a couple further down the street,” Zane says. “They don’t know who lives here.”
“I talked to a young guy,” Tyler says, “who says he’s seen a man going in and out of the house but doesn’t know him.” He narrows his eyes at us. “Why, did you talk to anyone?”
Dylan proceeds to tell them what we found out, and a hush falls over us. Zane staggers a step back, his back hitting the car, and Dakota takes his hand.
“It’s real,” he whispers. “He’s here. He’s fucking here.”
Dakota turns and wraps her arms around him.
Swallowing around the lump in my throat is hard. “We have to go to the police. We found the guy, found his house. Now we need someone to arrest him.”
“Sounds good, but we have no proof of anything,” Dylan mutters, kicking at the curb, hands in his pockets, his short blond hair catching the light. “They won’t look into it without proof.”
“We have to try.” I glance from Zane’s pale face to Dylan’s worried eyes. “Surely there must be something to be done. If that man really hurt Zane…”
“I’m gonna fucking rip him apart for this,” Asher says quietly. “He’ll be back, sooner or later, and goddammit, I will be waiting for him.”
Zane winces.