CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Ilse and Sawyer both hit the curb hurriedly, the sound of the car doors slamming behind them. They marched towards the house on the very edge of a cul-de-sac, and Ilse noticed the large fence circling the backyard. She also noticed the thick drapes in the windows. A sign on the mailbox read, No trespassing & No solicitors.
"Looks like Mr. Isaac is a private fellow," Ilse murmured as she strolled alongside Sawyer. The skies above the suburbs outside Seattle were still dark. The rain had abated, but the clouds were thickening. The afternoon carried the promise of another downpour. It was as if the weather itself were protesting the deaths of the women, sealing the skies in grief.
Her skin buzzed. Her footsteps quickened as she approached the front door of the heavily sh
