First Family (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 4)

“I thought of that too, but you would have had to know that my mom was going to be going out, that she’d be in the garage at that time.”

“Not necessarily. They might have entered through the garage side door and were planning to go into the house when your mom came out and saved them the trouble.”

“That’s still risky, Sean. My dad was home. He’s a former cop and keeps a gun in the house too. Like Donna said, it’s a small community. Folks would know that.”

Sean sat back, lost in thought. Their food came and they ate mostly in silence.

“Can I ask you a favor?” she said as they were leaving.

“One can always ask,” he said, smiling.

Her next words drove the smile away.

“When I was a little girl, we lived about two hours south of here

in a little rural slice of Tennessee. I want to go back there. I need to go back there right now.”

CHAPTER 42

THEY PULLED OFF the main road and the SUV’s tires bit down hard on the crushed gravel. Sean was driving and had followed Michelle’s precise directions.

“When was the last time you were here?” he said.

She was staring straight ahead. A curve of moon provided the only illumination other than the truck’s headlights. “When I was a kid.”

He looked surprised. “If that’s the case, how did you remember how to get here? Did you look it up?”

“No. I… I just knew. I don’t know how.”

He looked over at her, a frown creasing his face. A curious mixture of emotions swept across her features. He could see heightened expectations. And he could also see fear. The latter was not something he normally associated with the lady.

They pulled down a dark street, revealing a neighborhood that had been brand-new about sixty years ago. The houses were falling in, the front porches far off plumb, and the yards a tangled mass of weeds and diseased trees and bushes.

“Seen better days,” she said.

“Looks that way,” he replied quietly. “Which one is it?”

She pointed up ahead. “That one. The old farmhouse, only one like it on this street. The rest of the neighborhood was carved from that property.”

Sean pulled the SUV to a stop in front. “Doesn’t look like anyone lives here now,” he said.

She made no move to get out.

“What now?” he finally asked her.

“I don’t know.”

“You want to get out, go up for a look? We came all this way.”

She hesitated. “I guess so.”

They walked up the worn path. The house was set well off the street. There was an old tire attached to a rotting coil of rope that was tied to the one remaining limb of a dying oak. An old wheelless truck sitting on cinderblocks was parked in the side yard. The screen door was lying on the sagging front porch.

As they passed one spot, Michelle stopped and stared at the remains of some bushes. They’d been cut down to the point where only bare sticks were left. There was an entire line of them.

“It was a hedge,” Michelle said. “Forgot what kind. We woke up one morning and it was gone. My dad had planted it for one of their anniversaries. After they got whacked down, it never grew back. I think whoever did it poured some plant killer or something on it.”

“Ever find out who did it?”