CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Mackenzie parked her car on the side of the street in front of a single-story white house. It was well maintained and had an immaculate yard, proof of Windham’s history of taking care of lawns. A single pickup truck sat in his small concrete driveway, black splotches showing the ghosts of past oil changes.
She got out of her car and walked up to the cracked concrete steps. The stairs, like the rest of the house, were clearly old but well cared for. The porch gave slightly beneath her as he approached the door and knocked.
“Yeah!” came a voice from inside. It was a male and it sounded fairly cheerful. “One second!”
Mackenzie listened to someone approaching from the other side of the door and when it was answered, it was not the sort of man she had been expecting. Car
