Page 89 of Return Ticket

Perhaps the killer would be turning down into that street soon. Either that, or Teddy Roe had given James the wrong address.

She could not let the wheelbarrow get too far ahead, but she wanted a safe distance, as well.

She looked down at her slippers and took them off, and immediately felt safer now that she could walk silently on bare feet.

Up ahead the wheelbarrow continued its squeak, squeak, and Gabriella hurried after it.

chapterthirty-five

The wheelbarrow wheel fell silent,and Gabriella stopped dead.

Either the killer was taking a rest, or he’d reached his destination.

She waited, unsure how far behind him she was. Her feet were icy, and she wished she could put her slippers back on. She lifted a foot, pressed it against her flannel pants, and then did the same with the other while she considered her options.

The rattle of a lock made her flinch, and then she heard the high screech of rusted hinges.

There was a sudden silence, and she imagined the killer was wincing, listening for any reaction to the noise. After a minute, the screech came again and then the squeak squeak of the wheelbarrow told her he was back on the move.

Gabriella tiptoed forward and almost walked face first into an old wooden door set in a high stone wall. It stood open—the killer had not risked closing it after the high-pitched screech it had made before—and she moved around it and looked into an overgrown garden.

She hesitated, torn.

She still didn’t know where Harborne Close was. It had to be near, but the fog had her turned around, and James could be anywhere.

Should she wander around and look for him, or follow after the killer and at least see what he was up to, first?

The wheelbarrow had gone silent again, and in the sudden quiet, Gabriella heard a low moan.

Her heart felt like it was about to leap out of her chest.

Was the victim still alive?

Unable to do anything else, she stepped through the gate.

The grass was long, and what little of the paved pathway she could make out in the fog had weeds growing through the cracks. She could see where the wheelbarrow wheel had crushed them.

Her feet were almost numb with cold, now, and she took a moment to put her slippers back on.

A light shone from the house, from a ground floor room, and as the fog swirled away, she caught a glimpse of a decrepit mansion. She also saw the killer, just for a moment, his back turned to her, as he moved toward what looked like a tarp-covered frame.

The wheelbarrow stopped again, and then she heard another moan.

A man’s voice swore softly, and adrenalin tingled in her arms.

The victim was definitely alive.

She began to edge to the right, away from the killer, because in the brief glimpse she’d gotten, she realized they’d entered the property through the rear garden.

If James had the correct house, he could be waiting, on watch, in the front. Just yards away.

She needed to get around the side of the house, go through the front garden, and find him.

Right now.

The killer coughed, and as she moved away, she kept looking in his direction. He had left the wheelbarrow and was moving to the tarp-covered shed.

As she reached the corner of the house, she caught a glimpse of him coming back, carrying a shovel.

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