Then, at Devlin’s direction, the new tenant immediately made a $10,000 electronic deposit into one of Devlin’s secret personal accounts. Devlin had the house cleaned, and soon after, the tenant, Lasius Byyle—a reclusive, somewhat mysterious artist and art dealer, who was something of a Renaissance man—moved in.

That had been their arrangement for several years. And Byyle never balked when Devlin raised the rent two years ago to $6,000 a month. It seemed that Byyle had the financial means to support his unconventional, outré life outside the mainstream. It served them both well. Devlin rarely saw Byyle, and enjoyed a significant flow of untaxed cash.

But recent events threatened to expose his illicit activities.

That’s why he needed to see Byyle face-to-face, to eliminate any risks.

No one must ever know all that I’ve got going on here.

Now, as Devlin eased his Mercedes in front of the house, he scanned the smaller buildings. He saw no police units, and took that as a good sign. He also didn’t see Byyle’s vehicle and wondered if he was home, or if he had it parked in the shed. He knocked on the door and waited to the trill and chirping of birds and little else. The area was so still.

Silent.

The nearest neighbor was more than a mile away.

You’re really all alone out here.

A shuffling from inside, the metal clank and snap of locks being unlocked, then the creak of a door cracking open enough to reveal a man in his late 40s, hair mussed, unshaven, cradling a cat.

“Yes,” he said.

“Mr. Byyle, it’s me. Devlin.”

“Devlin?”

“Devlin Foxe, the property manager.”

“Ahh, yes. Mr. Foxe.”

“I need to speak to you. May I come in?”

“Well, the place is in shambles. I’ve been toiling on a new work. I’ll step outside. I could use the air.”

The cat meowed when Byyle closed the door behind them.

“How can I help you, Mr. Foxe?”

“This concerns the search for the missing girl from the motel in Spiritsburg.”

“Oh yes, terrible. I saw it on the news. How catastrophic for her family.”

“Have police come here, to the property, to check?”

“No.”

“They’re everywhere.” Devlin swallowed hard. “They’re making their way in this direction with the searching. It’s only a matter of time before they arrive.”

“I see. Well, it’s only right that they look everywhere for her. I hope they find out what happened to her.” Stroking his cat and nodding, Byyle stared at Devlin. “What do you think happened to her, Mr. Foxe?”

“I don’t know.” He swallowed and looked off.

Byyle continued stroking his cat.

“Forgive me for saying so, but you look a bit stressed, Mr. Foxe. Is there something on your mind, something you wish to tell me?”