Thread of Fear Read Free

set.
    Her icy fingers tightened on the handles of her brown leather case. She’d left her coat in the Taurus, along with her luggage, which now contained a neatly folded pantsuit. She’d changed into jeans, white Keds, and the navy Mickey Mouse sweatshirt she’d bought in Anaheim years ago. Her prim French braid was long gone, and her hair now hung loose around her shoulders.
    The door squeaked open, and a thin brunette woman stood on the threshold. Matching streaks of blond framedher angular face, and she held a cigarette behind her. She looked like a barely adult version of Shelby. Fiona was startled by her young age and the fact that she’d answered the door herself. Most people in these situations had protective relatives standing guard.
    “Afternoon, Mrs. Sherwood. This is the forensic artist I told you about, Fiona Glass.” Sullivan stepped aside to make room for Fiona beside him.
    The woman nodded a greeting, her gaze wary but not unfriendly. “Y’all come on in,” she said, opening the door wider.
    Fiona entered the small breakfast room. It smelled of Pine-Sol, as if someone had just finished mopping. The blinds were sealed shut, and the only light shone down from a fixture above the kitchen sink. So often, it seemed, these houses were dimly lit, as if the people within had an aversion to bright lights. Fiona had observed this phenomenon enough times to think there must be some psychological explanation for it, but she wasn’t a psychologist and had no idea what it might be.
    A vacuum hummed to life in another part of the house. Shelby’s mother leaned back against the Formica counter. She wore low-rise jeans and a long-sleeved black T-shirt. Beige woolen socks covered her feet.
    “Y’all want anything?” she asked, nodding at the endless row of bundt cakes and casseroles sitting on the counter. “It’s just me and my mom and Colter. No way we can eat all this.”
    “I’m fine, thanks,” Sullivan said. “How is he today?”
    The woman took a long, pensive drag on her cigarette, then reached over to tap ash into the sink. “Pretty much thesame. He asked for Froot Loops this morning, but that’s been about it. He’s playing in Shelby’s room now. I told him you were coming.”
    “If it’s all right with you,” Fiona said gently, “I’d like to talk to him one-on-one. It seems to work better that way.”
    The young woman pitched her cigarette butt into the sink and gazed at Fiona for a long moment. She started to say something, then stopped herself and looked at the floor. She crossed her arms and cleared her throat before looking up at Fiona with glistening blue eyes. Again, Fiona was struck by her resemblance to Shelby.
    “We can certainly leave the door open if you’d be more comfortable, Mrs. Sherwood. But I’d like to minimize distractions.”
    “Just call me Annie,” the woman said, swiping at her cheeks. “And whatever you need to do is fine.” She pushed off from the counter and padded out of the kitchen.
    As they walked through the house, Sullivan paused briefly to show Fiona the living area just off the front door. It contained a royal blue sectional sofa, an oak wood coffee table, and a matching entertainment center. A large television inside the cabinet was tuned to CNN, but the sound was muted.
    “Colter was seated there,” Sullivan said, pointing to a denim beanbag chair beside the table.
    “And the lighting conditions?” Fiona asked.
    “The blinds were open,” Annie said from the doorway. “And the overhead light was on.” She flipped the wall switch to demonstrate, and the room brightened considerably.
    Fiona looked from the beanbag chair to the front door.Sullivan was right. The boy almost certainly saw something.
    Annie led them to the bedroom wing of the house, which was even darker than the rest and smelled like stale cigarette smoke. “My mom’s been cleaning nonstop,” she said as they neared the vacuum noise that drifted from one of the back rooms.