“Because I don’t think they would want you coming to see them. No offense, honey.”
Sawyer pushed herself to her feet and thanked him for his time.
“Aww. Leaving already?” He frowned. “I was just starting to think this might be the beginning of a beautiful friendship between you and me.”
Sawyer walked to the door. As she attempted to turn the lock, she panicked when she heard the legs of the chair scrape against the floor.
Haste makes waste, she thought as she tried the lock again. She could feel his warm breath on her neck. The lock wouldn’t budge.
He leaned into her, his bony chest brushing against her back as he reached over her shoulder and undid the bolt. “There you go, honey pie.”
She opened the door and jumped over the dilapidated steps, landing on the ground with both feet.
“Come back real soon, will you?”
Trying to take even breaths, she kept walking.
“A bit of advice, Sawyer Brooks. You might want to get a real weapon before you come around these parts, because if I wanted a piece of your ass, that itty-bitty thing in your pocket wouldn’t stop me from getting what I want.”
Sawyer didn’t look back. She never should have come to the trailer park alone. She should have waited for Aria to join her and let her sister bring her gun along for the ride.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
It was Monday. Another sunny day. Ten minutes after arriving at the gym where Emily Stiller worked, Sawyer regretted coming. Nancy Lay and Felix were right about Emily. She was no pushover. The young woman with the beautiful red hair and sea-green eyes meant business. Before Sawyer could protest, Emily dragged her upstairs to a massive equipment room where dozens of people were running on treadmills or lifting weights. Every time Sawyer tried to start a conversation about why she was there, Emily cut in, spouting off all the great reasons to exercise and eat right.
“Come on,” Emily said, leading her across the room. “It’s time for a little fun with the kettlebells.”
“Now?” Sawyer asked.
“Yes. Now. Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart. Grasp one kettlebell in each hand, palms facing out, like this.”
Emily demonstrated, resting a kettlebell on each shoulder. “Now bend your knees just a few inches and as you stand back up I want you to press the weights straight up overhead.”
Sawyer went ahead and played along. It wasn’t too bad.
“Bring the weights back to your shoulders,” Emily told her. “Yes, like that. Now bend your knees, that’s right, into a semisquat, and stand back up.”
After fifteen or twenty more of those, Sawyer was eyeing the exits.
“You look like you’re in decent shape. I want to show you some of the equipment next. Maybe we could start out with three days a week and then work up from there.”
“If you could just answer a few questions I have about Stanley Higgins and Jimmy Crocket—”
She eyed Sawyer suspiciously. “Is that why you’re here?”
“Yes. I’m a reporter for the Sacramento Independent, and I just had a couple of questions.”
“Why didn’t you say so?”
“The people at the front desk told me the only way I could talk to you was if I agreed to a consultation.”
Emily anchored her hands on her hips and shook her head. “Come on. Let’s go to my office.”
Relieved, Sawyer did as she said.
Once they were seated in a tiny room with a glass wall, Sawyer reached into her bag and handed Emily the same sheet of paper with the black-and-white photos. “I showed these to Nancy Lay. She talked very highly of you.”
“She’s still alive?”
Sawyer nodded.
Emily’s gaze roamed over the pictures. “Talk about a blast from the past.”
Sawyer quickly filled her in on everything going on. Emily had heard about both Nick’s and Bruce’s recent demises and, like Felix Iverson, she showed no emotion.
Emily’s head shot up. Her green eyes fixated on Sawyer’s. “You don’t think Jimmy or Stanley had anything to do with their deaths, do you?”
Sawyer drew in a breath. “Well, they were both bullied by these guys.”
Emily’s hand covered her mouth. Her eyes widened. “You think I had something to do with their deaths?”
“Of course not,” Sawyer said, which was a lie, since Jimmy, Stanley, and Emily had all been bullied and it made sense that they might want revenge. “I’m just talking to people who knew Nick Calderon and Bruce Ward. I’m doing what journalists do—dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s.”
For a second Sawyer wasn’t sure whether Emily was crying or giggling. It turned out to be the latter. Thankfully it wasn’t the sort of giggling a madwoman might not be able to hold back, but more of a what-the-fuck-is-going-on sort of laugh.
“I have five minutes before I have to take someone else on a tour of this place, so I’ll make this quick and easy for you. Do you have pen and paper in that bag of yours?”
“I’ll use my phone,” Sawyer said.
“The Boys’ Club consisted of five boys,” Emily said. “Nick Calderon, Bruce Ward, Chuck Zimmer, Aston Newell, and Felix Iverson are all monsters who deserve to have their eyes plucked from their sockets. Chuck Zimmer died in a car accident a few years after the children’s home burned to the ground, so three out of five are dead. Not bad.”
Sawyer visibly stiffened at her callous tone.
She heard the sound of voices as people walked by Emily’s office. Then Emily said, “If you had seen what I saw, you would be glad they were dead too. If I had wanted to kick their asses, I could have. But I’m no killer. Neither is Jimmy.”
“What about Stanley Higgins?”
She shrugged. “I never really knew Stanley. He never said much.”
“Do you know what became of Jimmy or Stanley?”
“No idea where Stanley is, but I know that Jimmy lives and works right here in Sacramento at Midtown Design Studio. I run into him every once in a while, but it’s usually, ‘Hey there. How are you doing?’ That sort of thing.”
“He’s not on social media, and I couldn’t find anything about him on the internet.”
“Jimmy is smart that way. He doesn’t like people. Understandable. Who does?”
Sawyer found herself giving a noncommittal nod.
“Oh, look,” Emily said as she waved at the person on the other side of the glass wall waiting outside her door.
Emily came to her feet, and Sawyer couldn’t help but quickly size the woman up—five foot eight, muscular, as in strong enough shape to kick some serious ass.
“If you decide to come in for a real workout, let me know.” Emily patted her own well-defined abs and said, “Looks like you’re getting a little pooch. Your arms look weak too, and your skin is on the pale side. Probably need some vitamin D.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Sawyer was already sore from doing kettlebell squats when she climbed out of the car at her next destination only a few blocks away from the gym. Aston Newell, one of the alleged bullies at the children’s home, worked at an auto shop near the tracks. She’d always appreciated the freight trains that passed by. The railroad tracks were part of the original line from the 1850s. She’d read somewhere that the freight trains running through Midtown carried more freight these days than ever before in US history.