And I miss Grendel because he would have let me know if it’s something to worry about or not. But he’s at Preston’s house, and I’m alone.

I keep listening, and the house grows quiet. I’m imagining things. I’m jumpy because of everything that’s going on. I turn back to the story—

And I hear it again. A rattling noise, like the wind blowing a branch against the side of the house. Except there’s no wind, and the only tree that ever grew close to our house had to be cut down before Emily died.

Could it be Diana? Did she come this quickly?

I allow my hopes to rise. Maybe she came to give me good news? Maybe they decided I didn’t have to go to the police at all.

But then why wouldn’t Diana just call?

Or did the cops show up?

I put the story down and go out to the front of the house. I half expect to see Grendel perched on the couch, his snout pressed against the window in order to decide whether he should be alarmed or not. When I look outside, the porch, bathed in the glow of the light by the door, is empty. No one walks by. There aren’t even any cars.

I let out a long-held breath. Maybe someone was here a minute ago. A kid, a salesperson.

Maybe the neighbors slammed their car doors.

I turn to go back to the office and the story when I hear the rattling sound again. And this time it’s coming from the kitchen. The back door?

I head that way, stepping onto the dirty linoleum. My scalp feels cold. The spot where Madeline smacked me with the bottle starts to ache again. A flashback. But everything here looks fine.

The back door is locked and secure. There’s no one on the back stoop, no one in the driveway.

But then I hear a noise coming from the basement. Footsteps up the stairs. Madeline came in that way the first night she was in here. Someone else is doing the same thing now.

But the door from the basement to the kitchen is locked.

I bolted it.

But it hits me how flimsy that door is. How old. How thin.

The footsteps stop. I sense someone on the other side.

The door explodes into the kitchen. Wood flies toward me.

Someone has kicked it open. Shattered it, busted the lock.

Zach Greenfield is in my kitchen, his eyes blazing with anger.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

I retreat, moving toward the back door as fast as I can.