“I don’t think Mrs. Booker heard the whole story. I think Dolores spared her a lot. The Double Eagles were cruel sons of bitches. They liked to take trophies from their victims.”

Serenity looks at the old woman watching us from the rickety porch. “Too bad Dolores offed herself.”

The coldness in Tee’s voice puts me off, but I sense that she meant no harm by it. Brutal frankness is just her way. I wave at the Cat Lady, then turn the key and start the engine.

“What is it?” Serenity asks. “Why aren’t we leaving?”

Cleotha Booker is still standing on her porch, watching us like she plans to spend the rest of the day standing there.

“Penn?” Tee prompts.

“Give me a second,” I say irritably. “I’ve interviewed a lot of witnesses in my time. After a while . . . you develop an instinct about people.”

“And? What are you saying?”

“Why is she still standing up there?”

“Because she’s a lonely old lady. And we made her think about some horrible shit.”

I shake my head, still focused on the old woman’s hollow eyes. “She’s afraid.”

“Of course she is.”

“Not of the Klan, though. Or the Double Eagles. She’s afraid of us.”

“What do you mean? Why would she be afraid of us?”

“Because she’s hiding something.” A surge of certainty blasts through me, and I switch off the engine. “Let’s go find out what.”

The second I start back up the gravel drive, the Cat Lady’s composure collapses in on itself. The mask of the doddering old woman falls away, and fear and calculation flash from her eyes in equal measure. By the time we reach the porch steps, her whole body is quivering.

“Don’t come back up here,” she begs. “Please.”

“Why not?” Serenity asks from beside me.

Mrs. Booker sighs wearily, almost in surrender. “I knew you’d come back. Dr. Cage was no fool. Still, I fooled him like the rest. But maybe the son’s just a little sharper than his father.”

“What are you talking about?” Serenity asks. “What did you do?”

“Dolores isn’t dead,” I say, keeping my eyes on the Cat Lady. “She never killed herself. They told everyone that to protect her. So the Eagles would never go after her, the way they did Viola. Right?”

Serenity is staring at the Cat Lady in disbelief.

“Right?” I press.

“It was the only way to be sure,” the old woman says. “God forgive me, but I’d do the same thing again.”

“Where is she?” I ask. “Still in Detroit?”

“I’ll never tell you. Never.”

But I know she will. I have a secret weapon to make people talk. Her name is Serenity Butler.

Chapter 18