He’d listened carefully when Zach Ormond gave him Emily’s address. He’d repeated it back, setting it in his memory. He’d spoken it into his phone the first chance he got, clearly and precisely, and he’d watched the map spin out across the Raleigh metro area. And he’d gotten hopelessly lost driving the goddamn surface streets to goddamn Aunt Minnie’s goddamn house. He’d stopped at a gas station for directions, then asked some woman who was walking along the sidewalk with a baby stroller that looked like it had a better chassis than his crappy rental car. When he finally pulled up in front of the house, he was fifteen minutes late. Way to make a great first impression. He swore and parked behind a white panel van. Rolling out of his car, he squared his shoulders and checked out the place. It needed a lot of work. The windows were canted in their frames, and all the exterior paint was peeling. He reached for the doorbell and found a bunch of curling wires, tipped with filthy plastic caps that looked like they’d been there for twenty years.
