The air was cold, smelling of wet earth and decaying leaves.

I reached her gate and pushed it open.

The iron hinges groaned in the quiet night.

I walked up the gravel path to the side of the house.

My boots sank into the muddy grass.

I reached the wooden back porch.

The steps creaked under my weight.

I inserted the brass key into the lock of the back door.

It turned with a heavy click.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The kitchen was warm and smelled faintly of lavender and old paper.

I stood still, listening for any sound in the house.

Only the hum of the refrigerator broke the silence.

I clicked on my flashlight, keeping the beam pointed at the floor.

The linoleum was spotless.

The copper pots hung in a perfect row above the stove.

I walked toward the hallway.

My heart was beating in my throat.

I needed to find where she kept the chemicals.

I needed to find proof of what she had done to Megan.

I walked past the living room, where the plastic-covered furniture sat like white ghosts in the dark.