“Fine. Getting old.” I laugh with him. He doesn’t sound old. “Looks like we’ll be working together on this Annalise Robb case.”

“Sheriff Skinner turning the hard work over to you guys?”

“Yeah. Since it looks like our focus is turning to several people of interest in Graybridge, he reached out, asked for our help.”

“Has Sheriff Skinner told you guys anything new?”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “The initial lab report on the blood found in the Bradley basement has come back. It’s been identified as Ms. Robb’s.”

I blow out a breath, sink back in my chair. “So she was killed in the Bradley basement?”

“Looks that way.”

“Then we have a lot to talk about, Agent Thorne.”

“We do,” he says.

Is he implying more than police work? I take a deep breath, drop my feet to the floor. “Alrighty then, Joe. Let’s get to it.” After arranging the particulars, I hang up. Chase is standing in my doorway.

“What did you hear?” I ask, hoping that the blush on my cheeks has dissipated.

“Not much? Who’s Agent Thorne?”

“FBI. They’ll be here Monday.”

* * *

I hear voices in the hall and loud footsteps. Someone’s in a hurry. Mrs. Bradley and her sister burst into my office, Chase in their wake.

“We need some help here,” Corrine Alworth says, slamming an envelope on my desk.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“It was in my sister’s mail yesterday.”

Mrs. Bradley has dropped into the chair across from me, pulled up her legs, and practically rolled herself into a ball like a scared kid might. Her dog pants at her side, lolling tongue, perky ears. Emotion radiates from all three of them,

I inspect the return address. Hmmm. Sing Sing. Read through the letter. “This was sent to Dr. Bradley?”

Mrs. Alworth nods. She’s standing behind her sister, a hand on her shoulder.

I drop the letter on the desk. “Just another subject for his book, right?” I ask tentatively, but something’s up.

Mrs. Bradley chokes out a sob and covers her eyes with her hands. Something is very strange here.

Mrs. Alworth draws a deep angry breath. “Keith Russell is in prison for assaulting my sister when she was just a child.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” I get it. That sucks that the doctor would be interested in talking to him then.

“Detective.” Mrs. Alworth is leaning over my desk, teeth bared. “My sister is Melinda Wright.”

Okay, that name rings a bell. Think, Rita. I know this case. It comes back. Bits and pieces. It was a very long time ago. But it was a national sensation. Two little girls abducted and held in the cellar of an old farmhouse for three days. It was an ugly story.