Larry, her fluffy white little sweetheart of a dog, was doing circles at the door, so she found his leash and her jacket hanging in the closet near the front door. As he yapped at her, she slid her arms through the jacket, then snapped the leash to his collar. “I know, I know,” she whispered, scratching his ears. “You need to go out.” Then she unlocked the front door and let him sniff at the frigid shrubbery in front of her unit. “That’s a good boy,” she said, shivering as the cold morning air seemed to burrow into her bones. She only hoped Larry would get at his business in a hurry.

At the door, she looked up to spy a woman hurrying out of the far unit and expected to see Sophia Russo heading for her car. Instead it was another woman, not blond, but dark-haired, though most of her head was covered by the hood of her long coat, only a strand or two of dark hair catching in the wind, sunglasses firmly over the bridge of her nose, a scarf covering the lower half of her face. Head down, she made her way to Sophia’s little car.

Phoebe had seen the woman before, either coming in or going out of the apartment, a friend of Sophia’s, maybe even a relative, not that it was really any of Phoebe’s business.

Except if she was staying over more than a day or so, a week, then, by God, Phoebe would have to think about charging her rent.

“Come on,” she urged the dog, glancing down at him before looking up again and finding the woman staring at her over the snowy top of Sophia’s car. As their gazes locked, Phoebe felt a chill that couldn’t be attributed to the cold weather. No, this was something different.

She watched the woman settle into the car and heard the engine start. The driver turned on the wipers to slap away the snow, and Phoebe backed up, calling softly to Larry and nearly tripping as she stepped back into the room. There was something not right about that woman, about the whole situation with Sophia. Phoebe could feel it in her aching bones.

With Larry spinning in circles and yapping for food, Phoebe shut the door and threw the dead bolt.

Something in unit 8 wasn’t right.

* * *

Rivers and Mendoza reached the interview room.