Free The Sinner by Amanda Stevens Page A

close the gate. She breezed through the opening and strode down the alley. I thought I was home free, but before she got to the street, she whirled back around. I couldn’t tell if she was trying to peer between the gate pickets or if she was looking for something inside the courtyard. For a split second, her gaze was so focused and intense I worried that she had spotted me.
    I felt the crawl of something unpleasant at the back of my neck and the scutter of insect feet across my scalp. I imagined an infestation of Darius Goodwine’s corpse beetles in my hair and it was all I could do to remain still. I wanted nothing more than to run screaming into the sunlight, but I stood frozen, my gaze fixed on Annalee Nash.
    She lifted a hand, fingering the curls at her nape, and the spidery sensation crept down my collar. I could feel those scurrying feet all up and down my spine now and inside the legs of my jeans. I told myself it wasn’t real. The bugs were merely a manifestation conjured by my own fear. But real or imagined, I couldn’t stay still for much longer. I had to get out of there. I had to...
    Annalee’s fingers slid up into her hair and I could have sworn I saw her shudder before she turned and headed back to the street. I waited until she disappeared around the corner before leaving my hiding place. I shook out my hair and batted my clothing, but already the sensation had faded. There were no beetles, no scurrying feet, nothing but deepening dread that perhaps I had stumbled into something far beyond even my capabilities.
    By the time I came out on the street, Annalee was gone. Which was just as well. I’d already taken too many risks. It was time to regain my perspective.
    For all I knew, the meeting between Annalee and Stark had been perfectly innocent, but I couldn’t forget the fear in his eyes when she’d caught his arm. Or the way her lips had curled as she strode through the gate. I hoped I was reading too much into her demeanor. What I now knew about Annalee’s past had undoubtedly colored my perception, just as it had with the Willoughby house.
    But the image of that sly smile lingered all afternoon as I cleaned headstones in Seven Gates Cemetery.

Eight
    I didn’t return to the Willoughby place until well after sunset. I justified the late hour by telling myself I needed to play catch-up for all the time I’d lost since discovering those mortsafes, but in truth, I’d been avoiding the house for as long as I could. Which was silly. It was still the same house.
    Pulling into the driveway, I rolled down my window, letting the cooling air chase away the lingering cloud of the day’s events. Tantalizing scents drifted in—four-o’clocks, ginger lily and the darker, dreamier perfume of the angel trumpets.
    For the longest time, I sat staring at the house. My stay there had been as peaceful and harmonious as I could have ever hoped, but a sinister pall had been cast. I’d noticed it earlier when I stopped by to change, but I hadn’t wanted to dwell on it then. Now as evening approached and the dark hours stretched before me, I couldn’t help but recall Kendrick’s disturbing story.
    He’d wanted me to know about the gruesome history of the house and the shed, but why? Did he think George’s and Mary’s deaths were somehow connected to those caged graves? Did he suspect that Annalee was somehow involved in the young woman’s murder?
    A childhood trauma leading to a permanent psychosis might well be within the realm of possibility, but I wasn’t prepared to jump to that conclusion, even after witnessing her encounter with Martin Stark. Yet as I sat there gazing at the quaint facade, the image came back to me of a ten-year-old girl huddled on the porch covered in blood. When I peered into the darkened front windows, I pictured her cowering under the covers as her father dragged her mother’s body down the hallway.
    What did