Matt gestured toward a white Toyota Highlander parked next to a little blue Subaru that was registered to Farah.
“I see that.” Bree snapped a photo, making sure to capture the license plate.
Gravel and ice crystals crunched under their feet as they walked to the front door and knocked. No one answered. A muffled thud sounded behind the house. Bree and Matt walked around the cabin to the rear yard.
“That sounded like it came from the barn.” Bree started across the clearing. The double doors weren’t completely closed. She peered through the gap, with Matt looking over her shoulder. The inside of the barn had been renovated into a home gym. Dividers had been removed to make the interior one large open space. An interlocking rubber puzzle-piece mat covered the floor. Dumbbells, a balance ball, and resistance bands filled one corner. Another corner was utilized for storage of sporting equipment. A kayak hung on the wall, and what appeared to be camping equipment occupied ventilated metal shelves. A mountain bike hung on a rack.
But the rest of the space had been converted into a homemade climbing wall. Plastic handholds dotted the two-story walls. Under what had once been the hayloft, more handholds had been affixed to the ceiling. A woman clung like a spider about ten feet above the floor. Bree recognized Farah from her driver’s license photo. She wore a snug long-sleeve shirt, black tights, and pointy-looking climbing shoes. Her hair was bound in a ponytail.
A space heater in the middle of the room was inadequate for the size of the space and did little to chase out the chill. Still, sweat dripped from Farah’s forehead. She reached for a grip, pushed off the wall with her legs, and swung her second hand to a new hold like a competitor on American Ninja Warrior.
Bree knocked loudly on the door. Farah looked over, releasing one hand and dangling upside down from the remaining hand and two toe grips. Bree flinched, expecting her to fall on her head. Farah slowly released her toes and unfurled her body to hang straight down. The movement was controlled and deliberate. Bree could manage a yoga headstand, but Farah’s core strength was impressive. Farah landed lightly on the mat. She brushed her hands on her thighs, leaving white streaks on the black fabric. Her nails were short, but Bree was surprised to see bright red polish. Rock climbing and nail polish didn’t seem to go together.
Superficially, she resembled Avery and Monica—tallish and thin, with long dark hair—but Farah was less polished, more outdoorsy and rugged than the other women.
“Can I help you?” she asked in a you must have the wrong address tone.
“Farah Rock?” After she nodded, Bree introduced herself and Matt. “We’d like to ask you a few questions about Spencer LaForge.”
Farah’s eyes narrowed to an annoyed squint. “What did the creep do?”
No love lost there.
“He died,” Bree said in a blunt voice.
Farah blinked. Shock erased her irritation. “What?”
“May we come in?” Matt asked.
Farah recovered and headed toward them. “Let’s go up to the house. I’ll get cold if I’m not moving.” She turned off the space heater, changed her climbing shoes for rubber duck boots, and grabbed a jacket on the way out. They trooped across the clearing and entered the cabin through the back door into a mudroom. Farah sat on a boot bench and slipped off her duck boots. Standing, she removed her jacket and stepped into fuzzy slippers.
The combination kitchen and living space was the size of an average hotel room. Through a doorway, Bree could see a small bedroom. The inside of the cabin reflected its rustic exterior. The floor and walls were rough-hewn wood.
Inside, Farah added logs to a woodstove in the corner, then closed the door. Orange flames glowed in the small window, casting soft light on her face. Her features were strong, maybe Italian or Greek, and her olive complexion was free of makeup. She turned and stared at them, puzzled. “How—？” Realization changed her eyes. Her head tipped forward, and she squeezed her eyes shut for a few seconds. When she opened them, her expression was resigned. “It was him on the news last night. The murdered guy.”
Bree nodded. “Yes.”
“Well, shit.” Farah backed up to an overstuffed chair and dropped into it. One arm curled around her waist. The other hand covered her mouth. Her eyes darted from side to side as if her mind were working.
Bree sat on a leather ottoman facing her. “When was the last time you saw Spencer?”
“Um. I don’t know exactly. Let me check my calendar.” Farah’s hand dropped, and she shifted back in the chair to reach for a cell phone on an end table. She scrolled, then stopped. “I last saw him two weeks ago. He broke up with me in a text two days afterward.”
Bree pulled out her notepad and jotted down the dates. “Did that make you mad?”
“Yes!” Farah snapped, then huffed. “Of course it did. It was a lousy thing to do, but in hindsight, all the signs were there that he was fucking around. I just wasn’t paying attention.”
“What do you mean?” Matt perched on the arm of a sturdy chair a few feet away.
“He was too smooth,” Farah began. “He agreed with everything I said. If I told him I loved the color blue, he was like, ‘Me too.’ My favorite movies were also his favorites. It was as if he would say anything to make me like him, to connect with me. Of course, I didn’t see any of this until afterward, but hindsight and all that, right?” She paused, her face creasing with resentment. “After the breakup text, I checked up on him. His profile was a lie. He didn’t found his own digital-marketing firm. He didn’t run his own business. He worked at the fucking Electronics Depot.”
Bree tilted her head. “How did you find out?”
“I saw him there.” Farah folded her arms.
“That’s random,” Bree said. “Do you go there often?”
“No.” Farah folded her arms across her waist, one hand shooting to her mouth again.
Bree waited, letting the quiet grow like a silent crescendo.
Farah squirmed, but she held out.
“So you followed him,” Bree said.
Farah looked away. “Yeah. I was sure he’d met someone else. I wanted to see who she was.”
“Did you?” Matt asked.
Farah bit off a piece of her thumbnail. “Yes.” She let out a huge puff of air. “Look, I was mad for about a day. I followed him. He went to the store. I thought he was going to buy something, but he didn’t come out. I put on a hat and sunglasses and went inside. Can you imagine my surprise when I saw him wearing the blue vest and everything? So much for owning his own business.” Her voice went bitter. “What a fucking liar.”
“Did you confront him?” Matt asked.
Farah’s head jerked in one abrupt nod. “But then I left.”
Bree waited until her gaze lifted, then forced eye contact. “The manager didn’t make you leave?”
Anger flared in Farah’s eyes, and her jaw sawed back and forth. Instead of answering, she asked her own question. “How do you know?”
“The store has an incident report and surveillance video.” Bree didn’t blink.
Farah looked away. “I admit, it wasn’t my proudest moment. I shouldn’t have gone to his workplace. But he broke up with me in a fucking text.” She spit the final words out through gritted teeth. She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I was mad.”