She shook her head vigorously. “Now, what reason I got to make up some shit like that? That shit was all over the news. All you gotta do is go to the library or something. They document shit like that.”
Storyteller was right on my heels as I headed towards the door.
“Wait,” she called from behind me, stopping me in my tracks. She walked up to, and stuck her head through the opening in the door, glancing up and down her block. The sound of kids yelling grew loud and lowered with every passing second as the woman stood in the doorway, keeping me inside her living room. She glanced back at me and rolled her eyes. “I don’t need nobody seeing you coming out of here.”
She waved me forward when the coast was clear. I strolled past her taking quick steps, not bothering to render a goodbye greeting.
After I left the storyteller’s house, I headed to where the duplex used to be, and like the storyteller had informed, an empty lot sat there.
When I found the nearest library, their archived microfiche documents confirmed the story but didn’t confirm Lacey Daniels’ name. Since the girl was underage at the time, there were no pictures of her in the papers either. I couldn’t find any pictures of the family she’d killed or their proper names.
My instincts were telling me that the link between the friends, Beverly and Laura, who ran the organizations that were collecting funds from Megan’s book sales, was too much of a coincidence for it not to be tied back to my Megan, who I was assuming was Lacey Daniels.
I wasn’t done yet. I needed to confirm my suspicions and find clues as to where Megan was currently located and if she was, in fact, the teen who’d killed her entire foster family.