"I'll leave the keys on the front porch," her mother said. Then, without a further word, she hung up.
MADISON STARED DOWN at the bulge beneath the mat on her mother's stoop. Evidently her mother wasn't going to soften and come to the door. Well, Madison wasn't about to let Annette's disapproval change her mind. She'd spent the past twelve years supporting and protecting her parents. Surely she could do a friend a favor.
She just wished that favor didn't entail entering the garage where her father had ended his life. Situated at the very back of the property, the garage opened onto the alley. It was hidden by trees and overgrown with ivy. She hadn't been anywhere near it, or the workshop inside, since her father had shot himself. There hadn't been any reason to go there. Tye had cleaned up the mess, and her mother always parked in the front drive, closer to the house.
Bending, she left the folder of information she'd gathered for her mother on the step and removed the keys from beneath the mat. Then she rounded the house, opened the gate and stared out over the wide expanse of lawn dotted with ivy-covered trees.
This was where she'd grown up knowing a father who loved her....
A father who might have murdered eleven women.
She thought of the photo album Brianna had dragged out from under her bed, and felt her throat begin to burn. She simply couldn't reconcile those memories with what she'd found in the crawl space. She and Ellis might have had occasional differences while she was growing up, but those differences were nothing out of the ordinary. When she was a child, he'd let her follow him around all day and help him in the yard. He'd bought her a big piggy bank and always gave her his change. He'd even spent his "hard-earned money" on a swing set when she begged for the shiny metal kind that came from the store instead of the wooden one he'd planned to build. When she was a teenager, he'd provided her with a car and helped her maintain it. Sometimes he'd surprised her by filling it with gas.
A man like that couldn't be evil. He couldn't be a loving father and a twisted killer--could he? Wouldn't she have seen some evidence before now that her father was capable of such things? Wouldn't she have known?
Maybe the friends and relatives of killers like Ted Bundy felt the same way....
Whether Annette was really at the window or not, her mother's eyes seemed to bore holes in her back as Madison started across the yard. Her heels sank in the wet earth, slowing her progress, but she reached the safety of the overhang before the misty rain turned into pellet-size drops.
Unlocking the padlock, she turned the handle and used her shoulder to open the stiff, creaky door.
As she'd anticipated, it was mostly dark inside--dark and damp and close.
Leaving the padlock hanging, she stepped hesitantly across the threshold of her father's workshop and closed the door to keep out the rain. But what she found wasn't what she'd been expecting.
A wheel of jars containing various nails and screws hung from the ceiling. Her father's old black radio sat on the dusty window ledge, its antennae bent but still extended. A gray filing cabinet stood in the far corner, next to a scarred wooden desk. Which wasn't unusual. But there was also garbage tossed around, mostly sacks and cups from various fast-food restaurants. A dirty old pillow and blanket had been discarded on the floor. There were cigarette butts all over and a plastic lid teeming with ashes. And the whole place reeked of cigarette smoke and--marijuana.
What was going on? From the look of things, someone had recently been living inside the workshop. But how did he get in? Who was he? And what had happened to her father's guns? The rack that normally held his rifles and the shotgun that had ended his life was empty.
Her heart pounding in her ears, Madison opened the door she'd just come through and left it ajar, so she could make a quick exit if necessary. Then she peeked through the door that led to the two-stall garage.
There was no noise or movement. Whoever had been living in the workshop seemed to be gone now.
Slipping into the garage, she flipped the switch to the fluorescent light hanging from the ceiling. It buzzed and flickered, but even before it came on she could see that the window on the far side of the garage, facing away from the house, had been broken and was letting in the wind and rain.
So now she knew how whoever it was had gotten in....
Madison surveyed the place, taking in the empty stall to the right, the blue Ford parked on the left. Not far from the window she saw what appeared to be a filthy pair of jeans lying on the cement floor--and something else. Madison couldn't tell exactly what. She was just moving closer, trying to identify it, when the garage door suddenly rolled up.
Whirling, she found herself staring at Johnny.
"Johnny, you scared me to death," she said, putting her hand to her chest. "What are you doing here?"
He looked her up and down, then glanced beyond her. "Are you alone?"
Madison was breathing heavily, but she managed to nod. "Why?"
"I don't want your mother snooping around out here, hassling me."
Madison arched her brows. "She happens to own the place, remember?"
He shrugged. "My father was the one who paid the mortgage. I figure putting me up for a few weeks is the least he can do. It's tough for a guy like me to find a house these days."
Maybe that would change--if he was willing to work. "How have you been getting by?" she asked.
"One day at a time."
Madison thought of Ellis's guns and was willing to bet Johnny had pawned them. He'd probably taken other things that had belonged to their father, as well. "Did you ever get hold of Tye?"
"He doesn't want anything to do with me," he answered shortly. He crossed to the object she'd been trying to make out a few seconds earlier, and she immediately realized it was a small pipe, obviously for drugs. Of course.
"Why not?" she asked.
"I told you before, he and Sharon aren't getting along."
"You never told me why."
"Beats the hell out of me." He dug through the pockets of the discarded jeans and came up with a lighter. "Hey, you don't have twenty bucks, do ya?"
Madison felt a sinking sensation as she looked at her brother. He was never going to be in control of his life. He wouldn't even try. "No."
"Well, don't say anything about me being here to your mother."
Madison pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to quell her irritation. "Just tell me you're not on the run."
"What, you think I busted out of prison or something?" he said with a laugh. "I got out on good behavior. You can even call and check if you want."