CHAPTER
23
As I bumped and rocked along the deserted mud track leading into Raven Creek, I passed by an incredibly junk-littered yard where two small boys stood throwing rocks into a pool of water in front of a rundown, rambling stone house with all of the windows shuttered. Could this be the same house where Burton Carr’s mother had stayed before she died? There were two rusty pickups and several older model cars parked in the long, gated driveway with the inevitable NO TRESSPASSING sign prominently posted. The two boys were giggling and obviously having a great time when all at once, the front door flew open. A gaunt-looking young blonde woman holding a baby on her hip rushed out shouting tersely for the kids to come. I was taken aback when she glared at me, eyes bright with fearf
