“Does he like muffins?” Noah’s cherub face looked up at her.

“I hope so.”

“I like muffins.” Noah’s eyes grew wide. “Does he like dinosaurs?”

She looked down at the drawing Noah had made earlier. “I think he’ll like yours,” she said as she slipped the drawing into the basket.

Noah smiled proudly and looked up at the tall trees towering over them. “Does he live in the woods?”

“Sort of.”

Lane had been lucky to find Miguel’s home. Harley’s directions were vague and the house had no discernible features that could be seen from the road. Not even a mailbox marked the property. If someone wasn’t looking for the small inlet between mile markers 17 and 18, they’d miss it. Even she had passed it a couple of times. The copse of trees hid Miguel’s home and any sign that life existed behind nature’s wall.

The house’s secluded location made her wonder how Miguel made it into town since she’d never seen him drive. Of course, they were only two miles or so outside of Walton, so it was possible he walked. And he was in good shape.

Noah slipped his hand into hers. Together they walked along the small manmade path of crushed leaves and snapped twigs. Birds, locusts, and the chattering of squirrels were the only noises penetrating the silence.

The memory of finding Sydney sent another chill running along her shoulders. She hadn’t been this deep into the trees since that day. How far were they from where she found the body? Lane peeked down at her son. Maybe bringing Noah was a bad idea.

A few yards in, a large barn came into view. Then she saw a house. The rusted tin roof and lopsided patio covered in pine needles gave the impression no one lived there. Concern for Miguel pushed her forward. Or maybe it was because Noah was with her. She rolled her eyes at the irony. So much of her strength came from the almost five-year-old little boy walking next to her. It wasn’t a fair burden.

“Mommy,” Noah whispered as he maneuvered himself behind her leg and tightened his grip over her hand, “your friend’s house is scary.”

“It’s just old, buddy.” Lane forced herself to shrug off her own absurd fear. She stepped onto a rickety step and knocked on the door. A spiderweb swayed overhead.

“Is he here?” Noah’s small voice squeaked.

“I don’t know.” The basket of fresh muffins wouldn’t fare very well if she left it on the porch. Maybe he wasn’t home. “Maybe he’s sleeping.”

“He’s not sleeping.” Noah wrinkled his nose and squinted. “The sun is out.”

“I know, but sometimes people sleep during the day because they work at night.”

“You work at night, huh, Momma?”

“Mm-hmm.” Lane knocked again. There was a thump. She craned her neck to get closer to the door.