Don't Make a Sound (Sawyer Brooks #1)(44)

Walking toward the house, she heard the van door open and close behind her. Next thing she knew, a young woman with determination in her eyes was shoving a microphone in Sawyer’s face.

“Did you know Isabella Estrada? Are you a friend of the family?”

“No and no,” Sawyer said as she walked onward, never slowing.

The front door flew open before Sawyer could knock.

“Get off our property! I’m calling the police!” The man was big and broad and frightening. It took Sawyer a half second to realize he was talking to the woman standing next to her.

“Shit.” She backed off and hurried back to the van.

His gaze settled on Sawyer. “Who are you?”

Be up front was Sean Palmer’s mantra. She wondered how often he followed his own advice. “I’m Sawyer Brooks. My parents are Joyce and Dennis Brooks.” Not a lie.

His big shoulders relaxed. “Listen,” he said, “I don’t mean to be rude, but my sister and brother-in-law are in a whole lot of pain right now. Unless you can tell us who might have killed my niece, I can’t help you.”

“I was hoping—”

“Let her in,” came a male voice from inside the house. The man standing in front of Sawyer filled the doorway, making it impossible to see past him. He finally stepped aside. She recognized him at once. “Caden,” she said, “I’m so sorry about your sister.”

He nodded, said, “Let’s go to the back.”

She followed him through the house, caught sight of people in the living room. A dark-haired woman was talking in a calm, soothing voice to a middle-aged couple sitting on the couch. The woman on the couch was crying while the man next to her tried to comfort her.

Caden paused when they got to the kitchen, then waved her toward the side door leading to the backyard. She followed him outside, down three wooden steps, and across a rocky path, where he finally stopped at a pair of aluminum chairs with red padding faded by the sun.

“Sorry, but it’s a little chaotic inside right now.”

“Thanks for talking to me at all. How are you holding up?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “It’s pretty shocking. But I needed a break from all the craziness. Are you living in River Rock?” he asked.

“No. I left after graduating. I live in Sacramento, but I came back for my gramma’s funeral.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She nodded. “I’m sorry for your loss too.” She paused. “How about you? Do you live in River Rock?”

“No. I went to college in Oregon and ended up in Portland. I work in advertising.” He smiled. “I’m engaged.”

Sawyer could see that he was doing all he could to stay strong. “Congratulations on the engagement.”

“Thanks.”

An awkward moment passed before Sawyer asked, “Who was the woman inside, talking to your parents?”

“A grief counselor. My mom is on the brink of having a nervous breakdown, so Dad found someone to help them both through this ordeal. I came as fast as I could. I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but Dad asked me to come, so I did.”

“Were you and Isabella close?”

“Not really. Thirteen years apart was a big gap. When I called home, we would talk. We spoke last week, in fact. She was stoked because she’d passed her driver’s test and could finally drive without Mom and Dad in her face. Her words, not mine.”

“So she had a car?”

He looked baffled. “Is this an interview?”

“I’m a journalist,” she admitted. “I don’t want Isabella to be another unsolved mystery in this town, so I thought I would find out as much as I could about what happened.”

He shifted in his chair and then looked over his shoulder. “I shouldn’t talk to you. Dad would be upset if he knew there was a reporter in the house, and that’s the last thing he needs right now.”

“Nothing you tell me is going to be in print today or tomorrow. Nobody has to know we talked. I want to help, Caden. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never forgotten Peggy Myers and Avery James, the girls killed here when we were younger.”

He said nothing, but he was listening.

“Do you remember Rebecca Johnson?”

He nodded.

“They never found her. I think about her almost every day.”

He propped his elbows on his knees, his gaze directed downward.

“Peggy, Avery, and Rebecca had family members who cared about them: mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, uncles. People forget that sometimes. If I do my job right, Isabella will not be forgotten. Nobody’s life should be defined by murder.”

Caden lifted his head. “Okay,” he said. “What do you want to know?”

Over the next twenty minutes, he told her Isabella had been a happy kid, a people pleaser. He got teary-eyed when he talked about when he was living at home and how Isabella didn’t like it if he was sad or had a bad day. She would bring him a sandwich she’d made herself, which was never appetizing. And oftentimes she would make funny faces for as long as it took to make him smile.

He also provided Sawyer with the particulars: Isabella drove a blue Honda Civic, she played the piano, she thought boys were silly, and she and her best friend, Amanda Harrington, were obsessed with Taylor Swift. Isabella also liked to run, which Caden told her was what she was doing when she was killed.