But it allowed me a small measure of relief. Maybe this was the same person who had been in our backyard. And so maybe it wasn’t connected to Jennifer’s death at all, and Amanda and Henry had been safe. At least from the killer.

Or maybe the person who had killed Jennifer had come to our house . . . and just happened to pass through another yard a few blocks away.

I knew the more I thought about it, the crazier I would drive myself. So I closed the laptop lid and turned to Jennifer’s phone, hoping for answers there.

Before I picked it up, my own phone buzzed.

Blake?

I was indulging in a juvenile wish. It wouldn’t be him. I assumed it was another notification from social media, someone else with something to say about the photo I posted.

I thought of ignoring it, but like Pavlov’s dog, I jumped when it buzzed.

When I saw the notification, I jumped again.

Almost out of my skin.

Jennifer Bates has sent you a friend request.

My breath quickened, like a summer storm rising. The hand that held the phone quivered like a seismograph.

“No. No, no, no . . . not possible.”

That was when I heard the back door rattling.

Just like Amanda described it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“No, no, no.”

I told myself I must have been hearing things.

My office sat too far from the back door for me to really know if someone was trying to get in.

Maybe it was the wind. Or a neighbor dragging his garbage cans down the driveway.

But who would have been doing that so close to midnight?

And it wasn’t windy enough to make that much noise.

But the noise coupled with the new friend request brought me back to my mind-set inside Jennifer’s bedroom.

Was someone hunting me?

I rolled away from the desk and used my fingers to pry open the blinds. But the angle prevented me from seeing the back door. I picked up my phone, ready to call the police.

They said they’d be around. So where the hell are they?

Instead I went out of the office and down the hall, stepping quietly over the creaking wood floors, hoping Amanda was well asleep and wouldn’t hear me. Every light remained on on the first floor of the house. What kind of burglar would choose that moment to try to come in the back door? How did I know it was really a burglar?

Could it be Jennifer’s murderer, intending to do me harm? First send the friend request again, and then show up and finish me off. Why? Because I’d seen her body.

Because I was a loose end . . .