CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Riley felt dizzy with apprehension. Was her mother’s killer on the other side of that door?
“Who is it?” the voice called again.
Riley wavered.
How should she introduce herself?
Should she say right away that she was an FBI agent?
Finally she called out, “I just want to talk to you.”
“Like the sign says, ‘employees only.’”
Not knowing what else to say, Riley simply replied, “Please.”
A silence followed.
“Come on in,” the man finally said.
Riley opened the door onto a large, damp space filled with equipment and storage of one kind or another—lawn machinery, garden tools, piles of boxes on pallets. She didn’t see anybody at first.
“In here,” the voice said.
Riley turned and saw an open door that led into a small room. She went to the doorway.
The man was sit
