Chapter Thirteen
The coldest truth.
Two hours later, a fine mist filled the late afternoon air, and the sun remained patchy behind gray gloom overhead. It was dreary and overcast, with foreboding clouds painting long shadows that crawled across the ground. Winds pushed and pulled the branches of the nearby trees, making them creak with discontent. I pulled my jacket tighter, and stepped from the car, glancing at my phone. No missed calls from Harlowe. No calls from anyone.
I’d hit a literal dead end with witness number three. Mary Whitaker wouldn’t be offering any new information to me or anyone else. After an hour of searching for her former address, public records confirmed she’d died almost three years prior. A suspected stroke had taken her away gently in her sleep. It wasn’t the wo
