Tara stepped out of the car. She could feel her gun tucked under her shirt and she cautiously kept her hand near it as she walked across the lawn.

When close enough, the woman’s smile grew wider.

“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Her voice shook with age as she spoke. “Perfect for my garden,” she added as she turned back to her flowers and watered them once again.

“Yes, it is,” Tara replied. “Are you the owner of this bed and breakfast?”

The woman suddenly stopped watering and turned back around toward Tara.

“Yes,” she replied with question in her tone.

“I was just admiring your sign out by the entrance,” Tara began. The woman’s head tilted to one side, her eyes locked on Tara, studying her. “That setting sun, did you carve that yourself?”

The woman’s smile suddenly vanished. “No,” she said as she shook her head. “My son made that sign, many years ago.” Her voice trailed off as if the mention caused her to remember a happier time.

Tara thought for a split second. “I’m a photographer and I was just driving past. I was hoping I could take some pictures of your beautiful property.”

She let the lie roll out and she smiled to herself. It was the exact lie that she needed.

“Oh! Why yes! That would be lovely,” the woman said as she placed the watering can down and brushed the dirt from her hands onto her dress.

Her eyes moved toward a barn behind the bed and breakfast that Tara hadn’t noticed before.

“You will need to speak to my son though. He doesn’t usually like strangers walking around our property.” She paused for a moment as she stared blankly in the distance. “But who knows. He might surprise us both,” she added, and then she turned back to her flowers. “Oh, it would be wonderful to have pictures of my garden.”

“Where can I find your son?”

The woman looked up again, her eyes moving in the direction of the barn once again. “He should be just over there,” she replied as she pointed her long bony finger.

She then turned back to her flowers, until she seemingly became lost in them completely, and Tara turned to the barn.

Chapter Thirty One

Just like the bed and breakfast, the barn showed the test of time. It was faded yellow, beaten raw from the sun year after year, with a roof that was missing shingles. It stood behind the main building and as Tara approached, she could feel eyes on her—it was the old woman, standing off in the distance behind her—and it sent a shiver down Tara’s spine. She was watching her intently. Tara was sure of it. And as she turned her head ever so slightly, checking in the corner of her eye, she could see her there, still standing by the garden, still watering, but her gaze was in front of her—on Tara—with that odd, hollow smile on her face again.