Dennis’s heart was pounding as he went up the sidewalk with his hands stuffed in the pouch of his sweatshirt. He didn’t really have a big plan. He figured she would maybe invite him inside depending on whether or not she had seen the news about him being a killer. She would be surprised to see him. That was for sure.

He almost got the giggles as he thought about the things she might say to him.

You shouldn’t kill people, Dennis. That’s not nice.

How can I give you your surprise if you started the fire with your homework?

She was going to be sorry she hadn’t come to see him.

Dennis rang the doorbell and stuck his hand back in his pouch, his fingers touching the handle of his weapon. His heart was beating fast. His palms were sweaty.

The door opened and a skinny old man scowled down at him. He had to be a hundred, and he was dressed like a golfer.

“Who are you?” the old man demanded.

Dennis swallowed hard.

“I’m Dennis. Is Miss Navarre home?” he asked, trying to crane his neck so he could see inside the house.

“My daughter doesn’t live here anymore,” the old man said. “She finally got married.”

“She was my fifth-grade teacher,” Dennis said. “I just wanted to see her ’cause ... she was the best teacher I ever had. And ... I mow lawns now and she told me that maybe I could mow her lawn.”

“Well, she doesn’t live here. She lives over by the college. This neighborhood wasn’t good enough for her,” he said bitterly. “I’m well rid of her, though. She wasn’t much of a housekeeper.”

Dennis didn’t know what to say about that.

A short, plump lady with black hair piled high on her head came up then from somewhere inside the house.

“What you doing standing there with the door open? You let in all the cold. You catch your death,” she said with a funny accent. She looked like maybe she was Chinese or from an island someplace or something. Dennis wasn’t sure.

“You should be so lucky,” the old man snapped at her.

“You catch your death, I don’t get paid,” the woman said. “Why you think I keep you alive, old man?”

“For the witty repartee.”

The woman zeroed in on Dennis. “What you want, little boy?”

“He wants to visit Anne,” the old man said, waving a hand at Dennis as if to dismiss him. “Write down her address for him.”

Chapter 75

75

“He’s in surgery,” Mendez reported, handing him a cup of coffee.

Vince sat in a chair in the ER waiting area, drained and stunned. He had already replayed the entire scenario over in his head half a dozen times, trying to make sense of the things Zander Zahn had said.