"Hey. Does that bike look familiar to you?" Sam asked Dean as they pulled up to another victim's daughter's house.

"Should it?"

"It looks familiar for some reason."

"You're weird, dude. Come on." They got out, and ran up to the front porch where Dean rang the doorbell with a little more force than necessary. Sam was still staring at the bicycle.

"That's bugging me now."

"And you're bugging me, so shut up." The door opened.

"Can I help you?" a girl, a lot like the one they spoke to earlier, asked.

"Agents Smith and Wesson," Dean said, showing her his badge. Sam held up his, too. She looked hesitant, but still let them in.

"Thank you," Sam said with a polite smile.

"We'd like to ask you a couple questions about your mom."

"My stepmom, you mean. I'm Alison, by the way. Come sit down." She led them to a white living room. A man, the victim's husband, sat on a loveseat, and the girl motioned for them to sit on the couch across from him. "Dad, these men are FBI agents. They want to talk to us about Elizabeth." He nodded, and she sat next to him.

"Um, did she seem off at all leading up to… the incident?" Sam asked.

"Not really," the husband said.

"There was one thing. She got really freaked out at the store the other day. She said she thought she saw my mom." A familiar tune, faint but still there, filled the living room. "Sorry. My friend loves the piano."

"Did your friend know Elizabeth?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Can I go talk to her?"

"Sure. Upstairs, first door on the right."

"Thank you." Sam got up, and headed upstairs.

Sam was surprised to find the same girl from earlier sitting on the piano bench. He couldn't see her face, but she was sitting the same way she had in the chair earlier today. Her right leg was tucked under her left, and her head was resting against her left knee. Sam went over, and took a seat next to her. She stopped, and looked over.

"Hey," Sam said. "You're really good."

"Um, thanks." She seemed uncomfortable.

"Is something wrong?"

"I don't know." He cocked his head. "I looked you up on the internet."

"Find anything interesting?"

"Yeah. You're not really FBI." It was Sam's turn to be uncomfortable. "Your brother is suspected of murder and about a million other charges including grave desecration and impersonating federal agents. The last two apply to you, too. Oh, and your brother is supposed to be dead."

"Um, yeah." He shifted his weight. "That's all true."

"I figured as much." She played a couple more keys on the piano. "Don't worry. Your secrets are safe with me."

"Thanks." She gave him a little smile.