“I’ll help you,” she said. “Whatever you need me to do. I want the truth.”

  Unfortunately, what he needed her to do and what he wanted her to do were two entirely different things.

  That problem was one he would have to work on. He never allowed personal feelings to interfere with an investigation. He wasn’t going to start now.

  Then again, maybe he already had.

  Chapter Six

  Dogwood Apartments, 2:00 p.m.

  Naomi couldn’t remember the last time she’d talked to her uncle Donnie. He had this habit of popping in and out of their lives, more out than in. When he showed up, he always had lots of adventures to share. He was the spotlight on the rare occasions he bothered to visit. But his mind remained as sharp as a tack and he loved talking about the past—especially his past. But he knew Naomi’s mother better than anyone else. He had even helped out at the farm now and then ages ago.

  She rang the bell and waited, hoping against hope he was home. Knowing her uncle he was out gallivanting around. That was what her mother always said. Donnie loved women. The problem was he couldn’t love just one. Her mom would say he had the same problem with jobs. He never loved even one long enough to call it a career. Instead, he had floated around from one to the next, using his social security check as his main source of income. And the occasional donation from her mom—who’d sworn if he didn’t do better she wouldn’t help him the next time.

  But she always did. Isn’t that what mothers or rather sisters did?

  To Naomi’s surprise the door opened. Donnie wore ragged cutoff denim shorts and a sweatshirt, hood up. He’d kept his summer tan with the help of the ancient tanning bed he had in the second bedroom of this dinky apartment. Her mom had told her about the tanning bed. She’d laughed and said he refused to be pale like her. The O’Connor Scottish roots had given the three of them red hair, blue eyes and creamy pale skin. She smiled. Except that Uncle Donnie had spent so much time in the tanning bed that he looked perpetually sunburned. Redheads never tanned that nice golden brown the way other people did.

  “Naomi!” He grabbed her for a hug, then drew back. “What brings you to my humble abode?”

  He ushered her inside, closed the door and dropped the hood from his tangle of red hair. He obviously hadn’t combed the thick mop today. This was something else they shared, very thick hair. Like a horse’s mane, her mom had always said. Today Donnie’s looked a little more horsey than usual.

  Naomi sat on the sofa. Donnie dropped into a recliner that had apparently been his favorite for most of his adult life judging by the wear to the fabric and the indention in the padding that seemed to cradle him perfectly.

  “Did you hear about Arlene?”

  He scrunched up his face in a frown. “Arlene? No. I’ve been in a cleansing cycle. I’m not my best as you can see. I’m avoiding everyone and everything—except my favorite niece, of course—for two more days.” His frown returned. “So what happened to Arlene? Don’t tell me the old hag finally croaked.”

  Naomi winced. She knew he was kidding but he wouldn’t find it funny when she told him. Donnie had loved sparring with Arlene. Naomi always thought he had a thing for her, but she always ignored him, which made him pretend to dislike her.

  “She’s dead. Murdered.”

  He leaned forward as if he wanted to ensure he was close enough to hear more clearly. “What did you say?”

  “Dead. She’s dead. Strangled and stuffed into her freezer.”

  He collapsed back into his chair. “Who in the world would want to kill Arlene?” He made a face, eyes shimmering with a new brightness. “Except for me on the rare occasion when she didn’t tell Muriel or Nolan I’d called.”

  Her parents, Muriel and Nolan. Her chest ached. “There’s more. The remains of three people were found in the lab freezer.”

  He held up his hands. “Okay, wait a minute. You’re blowing my mind here.” He took a big breath, met her gaze and said, “Come at me again.”

  “Arlene is dead. Murdered. And the remains of at least three other people were found in the freezer at the lab. The FBI as well as the sheriff and the chief of police are investigating the farm. Me.” Her hands went to her chest. “Mom and Dad. Everything. It’s crazy...but, sadly, real.”

  She struggled to hold back the tears. Even after twenty-four hours and having discussed the situation repeatedly, it still felt shocking. Surreal. Like a nightmare that refused to end after she awakened.

  “That’s just ridiculous. My sister took an oath to help people. She wouldn’t have hurt a fly, much less a person. And she loved everyone.” He waved his arms magnanimously. “God knows Nolan couldn’t possibly have hurt anyone. He was too kind for his own good. Trust me, I know. I took advantage of him way too many times when Muriel turned me down.”

  Naomi opted not to respond to the latter remark. “Do you remember when Arlene first came to Winchester? Where she lived before? Anything about her past before her life here?”

  “I just remember coming back from a trip to Cancun with one of my old college buddies and there she was. She never liked me and I never liked her.” He made a face. “God rest her soul.”

  “Why didn’t you like each other?” Naomi knew the answer, but she might as well hear his side of things. She doubted it would make a difference.

  “I had a thing for older women, and I guess I came on a little too strong and she never forgave me.” He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m human and Arlene was a looker in her day.”

  “Just how strong are we talking?” This part she hadn’t heard. Knowing her uncle, he made a pass or two.

  “Let’s just say I kissed her, and she didn’t want to be kissed.”

  “So, you assaulted her,” Naomi offered, horrified. Why was it that some men could never understand that no meant no even if it was just a simple kiss?

  “It wasn’t like that, Naomi. It was just a sloppy, drunken kiss on New Year’s Eve. She overreacted. Anyway, Muriel held it against me for, like, forever. I think Arlene was pleased she’d put that wedge between Muriel and me. She had a mean streak like that.”

  Interesting. Naomi had never heard anyone mention Arlene having a mean streak. She’d have to ask Sean and Joe if they’d ever noticed Arlene being anything other than bossy. This was the one negative the two always said about the older woman. Moving on, she asked her uncle, “You really have no idea where she lived before?”

  He shook his head. “Sorry. Muriel always said I drank so much the first fifty years of my life that I killed a lot of brain cells. I guess they were mostly memory cells.”

  Just Naomi’s luck. “Was there anyone else Arlene was close to? I mean, I know she basically knew everyone in town, but she was always kind of a loner as far as I could tell.” Almost standoffish, if Naomi was completely honest. A very private person.

  “She didn’t let anyone close. If she had any friends, you would never have known it.” His eyebrows shot upward. “But there was one guy she seemed to have a thing with for a while.” He rolled his eyes. “I don’t know why when she turned me down flat.”

  “Who?” Naomi had never known Arlene to have a boyfriend. She figured the older woman was widowed and never got past the loss or just chose not to have a partner in order to remain independent.

  “You remember that old hermit, something Cotton is his name. He lives over in Shake Rag. Last I heard he’s still alive. A real strange one, though.”

  “Strange how?” If she was going to show up at someone’s door in the middle of nowhere, she needed to understand what kind of strange she would be facing. Just eccentric or a killer?

  “He was some sort of space engineer with NASA. Big top-secret stuff. He, like, kept his briefcase handcuffed to him, the rumor was. Wore dark glasses all the time. A real peculiar guy.”

  As strange as it was, he sounded exactly like Arlene. She had always been secretive and sort of odd. But she’d been kind and loyal. Naomi’s parents had relied on her. More than once she remembered her mom calling Arlene a genius. Maybe some measure of odd came with being a genius.

  This was likely the best she was going to get from Donnie. It wasn’t much, beyond his personal recollections, but she intended to follow through. “You have more specific directions to this Mr. Cotton’s home?”

  “I don’t, but if you ask anyone in the area, they’re bound to know him.”

  “Please call me if you think of anything else, Uncle Donnie. I need to find the truth about Arlene—otherwise, Mom and Dad are going to end up looking like the ones who did something wrong.” Agent Duncan had helped her to see that she was the only one who could or would be their voices in this.

  Naomi couldn’t help feeling guilty about making Arlene seem like the bad guy in this unholy mess. But what else was she supposed to think and do? The lab was Arlene’s domain.

  Donnie gave her a hug and promised to call if anything came to mind. Which was code for she likely wouldn’t hear from him again unless she knocked on his door or he ran into financial trouble.

  The drive to the community of Shake Rag didn’t take long. She took Highway 64 from Winchester to Huntland and made a couple extra turns, and there she was in the middle of nowhere. Maybe she should have asked Agent Duncan to go with her. No, she needed to do this on her own. His job was to solve the case—hers was to clear her family name. The first house where she stopped, the owner had no idea who she was looking for, but house number two proved her uncle hadn’t been completely wrong. The owner had given her directions to the “nutty as a fruitcake old hermit’s house.” Folks could be judgmental. Especially about things they didn’t understand.

  She followed the directions and ended up at a ramshackle old cabin tucked deep into the woods next to a creek. The place looked deserted. At least three of the four vehicles had weeds and small trees growing up through their decaying frames.

  She held her breath all the way to the door, hoping there wasn’t an aggressive dog running loose. The first step up to the porch had her drawing in a lungful of air. So far so good. A couple more steps and then half a dozen feet across the porch. The wood creaked with her every move. She grimaced, mentally crossing her fingers that she didn’t fall through the old floorboards.

  A rap on the door, then another. The place looked and sounded deserted. The occasional burst of breeze whispering through the trees and the distant trickle of the creek were the only sounds. As if to prove her wrong, a bird cawed from amid nearby tree branches. She started. Ordered herself to calm.

  “What do you want?”

  The harsh voice made her jump again.

  It originated right in front of her on the other side of the still closed door.

  Okay. Deep breath. Just do this. “Mr. Cotton?”

  “I said, what do you want?” roared through the rickety wood door.

  “I’m here about Arlene Beck.”

  The door opened a crack. One pale silvery eye peeked out at her. “What about her?”

  “May I come in, Mr. Cotton?” She really didn’t want to tell him the news on his porch. Plus she really wanted to get as much info from him as possible. Inside, she might have more luck. Out here it would be too easy for him to tell her to go and not respond once she answered the question asked.

  The door opened wider. “Well, come on, then.”

  She stepped inside and when the door closed behind her the room was nearly dark. Her pulse reacted to a rush of adrenaline searing through her veins. Before she lost her nerve completely, a light flickered on. Fluorescent bulb, she decided. The lamp sat on a table next to a chair.

  “Who are you?” he demanded.

  “I’m Naomi Honea from Honea Farm.”

  “What’s going on with Arlene?” His voice sounded rusty as if he rarely used it.

  Rather than tell him, she asked, “You don’t watch the news?”

  The story had reached last evening’s regional news. The Honea Farm sign over the front gate had flashed on the screen just before the headline: Murder in a Small Town. She worried that the headlines were only going to get worse and more targeted. The more sensationalized the news, the more viewers who tuned in.

  God, she hated this sort of publicity.

  “I don’t watch the news,” he said. “You can’t trust anything they say. It’s propaganda.”

  Deep breath. Just say it. “Sometime after she left work at the farm on Monday, Arlene was murdered.”

  On the drive here she had come up with a story to explain her questions. If Mr. Cotton was as strange as Donnie had suggested, he might have conspiracy issues, as well. For once she thought her uncle had been right. A quick glance around the room revealed boxes and boxes of what appeared to be files. They were stacked from floor to ceiling. The one part of the wall she could see was like a bulletin board with yellowed newspaper clippings pinned all over it. Most of the headlines appeared to be political in nature.

  Very strange.

  Maybe he was writing a book, she told herself. Some of the writers she had known in Hollywood created story or inspiration boards.

  The man abruptly burst into sobs. The unexpected reaction rattled her. Should she say something? Do something?

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Cotton. This is a terrible tragedy. Do you know if she had any family? I just want to be sure anyone who should know what’s happened is contacted.”

  His sobs stopped as abruptly as they’d started. He wiped his eyes with the sleeves of his khaki shirt. She noticed then that he wore khaki trousers, as well. Khaki socks. Like a uniform of beige.

  “She had no family.” He reached into his pocket, retrieved a handkerchief and blew his nose. “The farm and the people there were her family. She loved that farm.”

  Emotion burned Naomi’s eyes. “She was family to us, yes,” Naomi agreed. “She was like an aunt.” Arlene had always been there. She had been a tremendous support since Naomi’s dad died. Moving forward would be difficult without her.

  “Do you know where she lived before she moved to Winchester? I’m so worried there might be someone we don’t know about. A distant relative or close friend.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, his silvery eyes seeming to narrow as if he were assessing her motive for asking about the possibility of next of kin.

  “What do you know about me?”

  Oh, no! He was a conspiracy theorist and already paranoid that she was here spying on him. If there was a way out of this cabin besides the front door that she would have to get past him to reach, it wasn’t visible beyond all the boxes. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cotton, I only know that you knew Arlene. I wanted to make sure you heard about what happened.”

  He nodded. “Good. Knowing anything about me is dangerous. More dangerous than you could possibly comprehend.”

  She suddenly wondered if she had misjudged the innocuousness of this man. Paranoia might not be his only issue. He could indeed be dangerous. “Is there anything you can tell me about Arlene and where she came from?”

  He chuckled, an out of practice and oddly out of place sound. “They’re on to what she was up to, I take it, and they’ve sent you here. That didn’t take long.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He stared at her, evaluating her motives, she imagined. Was she lying? After something only he possessed? Paranoia did that to a person.

  “If you don’t know now,” he countered, “you’ll know soon enough.”

  The man was very good at answering without actually telling her anything.

  “I’m afraid I have no idea, Mr. Cotton.”

  “They’ll keep looking until they know all the answers, trust me. It’s what they do.”

  Well, that was as clear as mud. “Do you know of anyone else in town who might have known her or had a connection to her?”

  “I can tell you that Arlene learned everything she knew from the master.”

  Now she was really confused. “I’m sorry, who is the master?”

  He stared at her for a long, uncomfortable moment. “You should know the answer to that one. Everyone who ever studied history, however briefly, should know.”

  But she didn’t. Before she could say as much, he lifted his hunched shoulders and let them fall in a careless shrug. “You could have a look around that house of hers. Perhaps you’ll find what you’re looking for there.”

  “I’ve already been to her house on Pleasant Ridge. I didn’t find anything useful.” At least nothing had been found as far as she’d been told. Now she was getting paranoid.

  He shook his head. “Not that house. The one on High Street.” He grinned, showing his stained teeth. “The one no one knew about.”

  “Arlene had another house?” She was absolutely certain this was a mistake. At some point in all these years she would have heard about that.

  “She did.” He gave her a knowing look. “It was a secret, but I knew. She didn’t know I knew, but I did. I’m smarter than she wanted to believe.”

  Naomi’s heart rate kicked into a faster rhythm. “Do you know the house number?”

  He frowned. “I never noticed the number.”

  Naomi rephrased her question. “How will I know which house?”

  “Oh, that’s easy.” He nodded adamantly. “Look for the cats. She loved cats.”

  Cats? How on earth could Naomi have known the lady all those years and not have been aware that she loved cats?

  High Street, 5:30 p.m.

  SHE DROVE SLOWLY along the street, craning her neck to visually search each yard and porch for cats. Cats. Who knew? Naomi wondered if her mom had known Arlene liked cats. Or that she had some sort of odd relationship with an even odder hermit living at Shake Rag?

  Maybe Naomi just never paid attention. From the time she hit puberty she had been focused on one thing—getting off the farm. She only had eyes for the stars on the west coast. There were probably lots of things she had missed.