Chapter 35

They arrived at the sort of place that would call itself “a modest estate,” as if there were anything modest about having an estate. All the same, the house itself had been fairly unassuming, judging by what was left of it—a two-story family home, not a party mansion. Now it was only a blackened skeleton, wall studs showing like ribs, with rubble heaped around it.

A wine-red minivan was parked a safe distance from the house, and climbing out of it were an old woman, a middle-aged man, and a little girl. Helen and her family, he assumed.

Rafi looked around again, more carefully, as he parked the car and got out. But even on second look, he didn’t see any kind of news team. No cameras, no vans, not even anyone with a clipboard and a mic. Huh.

“Gimme back my phone,” Rafi said, catching the back of Julian’s collar as he tried to leave his seat.

Julian tossed the phone over his shoulder at him, muttering about where Rafi could shove it, and slammed the door behind him.