She’d left McKenzie with the witch. He’d be able to ferret out whatever it was that Ariadne was holding back.

Truth be told, Ariadne made her desperately uncomfortable. Mind reader or no, she was entirely too perceptive. Taylor had noticed her eyeing the bouquet of white roses Memphis had sent, wondered if she’d had the audacity to read the card while Taylor had been conferring with her team in the corridor. Probably. Frauds, the lot of them, these people who claimed to use the supernatural as their guide. She most certainly didn’t believe the woman was a witch, but she did believe she was involved. And since it wasn’t unusual for suspects to inject themselves into cases, Ariadne certainly fell under suspicion.

What was the deal with that creepy Barent man? Claiming he was a vampire, that Taylor had killed him over and over. Marcus had submitted the paperwork to get the warrant, they were playing the waiting game now. She was surrounded by kooks.

And by one clever killer, who had them chasing their tails, looking into the dark shadows for answers.

It gave Taylor chills to pull back into the Kings’ driveway, but she needed to talk to Letha before she went further. There were multiple cars in the driveway, well-wishers and neighbors bringing covered dishes and morbid curiosity. Taylor had always felt vaguely uncomfortable with the southern tradition of the wake—too many people seemed to live for tragedies, were surrounded by death and sickness. They were the first in line to comfort strangers, to offer help when victims’ families were more interested in battening down the hatches and healing themselves. This scene was being repeated all over Nashville this afternoon.

She knocked on the door, surprised when Letha herself answered. Her face had been scrubbed and her hair was clean, the black polish gone from her nails. Her eyes were clear.

“Letha, Lieutenant Jackson. We met yesterday. I’m so sorry about your brother. Can I come in?”

Letha glanced over her shoulder. “Do you mind if we talk out here? It’s really crowded inside.”

“Certainly.”

The girl came out and closed the door behind her softly, as if she didn’t want to alert anyone of her actions. Taylor stepped to the porch railing, leaned against it.

“So. I was at the school this morning, and your name came up. You hang out with the Goth kids?”

Letha bent and picked up a broken limb that had fallen on the stoop. “I don’t hang with them, not really. I was just…experimenting.”

“Who do you hang out with?”

“I’m a floater. I don’t belong to any of the cliques.”

“Theo Howell told us that you found Jerry yesterday, and called him and his sister to come over to help. You must be friends with them if they were your first recourse.”

“Theo and Jerry are friends. Were friends. I didn’t know who else to call.”

“What about the police?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t want to get Jerry in trouble.”

Taylor tried not to groan aloud. The logic of teenagers.

“You should have called 911 as soon as you found him. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. So you aren’t part of the popular crowd?”

“I told you. I don’t hang out with anyone in particular.” She tossed the branch out into the lawn. Taylor could see the lines of anger in the girl’s shoulders.

“What do you know about drugs at school?”

Her eyes darted away, and she mumbled, “Nothing.”

“Vi-Fri? You’re sure you don’t know anything about it?”

Now she was truly discomfited. “How do you know about that?” she asked.

Taylor nudged a fallen leaf with the toe of her boot. “Theo told me. Was Jerry doing drugs?”

She nodded meekly.

“Were you?”

“Maybe a little X, here or there, but nothing major. Just on weekends. Like Jerry. He gave me some of his, if he was in a good mood. Please don’t tell my parents. They’ll be really mad at me.”

“Only if you tell me who Jerry bought the drugs from.”

The girl hung her head. “His name is Thorn. He’s a freshman.”

“What’s his real name?”

“I don’t know. It’s something foreign. I don’t remember. Can I go back in now? My mom’s going to notice I’m gone.”

“Juri Edvin?”

She looked startled—she knew the name. “Maybe. I really don’t know.”

“What does Thorn look like?”

“I don’t know. Short, like me. Kinda heavyset. He’s really part of the Goth crowd.”

Taylor watched the girl. She was biting a thumbnail, obviously upset. Was she lying? Or just not telling the whole truth? Taylor didn’t think so, but it never hurt to ask.

“Letha, your brother and Brandon Scott had a fight last week. Do you have any idea what that might be about?”

“No,” she said, quick and sharp. She clamped her lips together, leaving Taylor to think the real answer was yes.

“Letha. Was it the drugs? Were they fighting about Juri Edvin? Thorn?”

“I really don’t know,” she said.

“Is there anything else you can think of that might help me catch your brother’s killer?”

She shook her head, mute.

“I figured as much.” She gave the girl her card. “If you think of anything, please let me know.” She turned to go.

“Ma’am?”

She faced the girl again. “Yes?”

“Is it true, about Brandon? That he was…mutilated?”

“Where did you hear that?”

“Umm…I saw the video online. Was that real?”

Taylor wrestled with her answer. Brandon had been a very good-looking boy. She watched the girl sweat it; she was genuinely concerned. There was the link.

“It may have been. Letha, do you know Brandon?”

The girl’s eyes flooded with tears, all her stoic walls crumbling. “We used to date. We broke up a while ago though. He was…seeing someone else. Jerry was so mad at him, so mad for hurting me. That’s what it was about, I’m sure. They’d been arguing a lot lately.” She sounded much too bitter to be fourteen.

“I’m sorry,” Taylor said.

Letha just nodded, then slipped silently through the front door into the house, closing it firmly behind her.

Strikeout. The girl didn’t know anything more. Taylor could tell that she’d been telling at least most of the truth. Time to call in the big guns.