The Little Grave (Detective Amanda Steele)

“You need to go home.”

Amanda juked to go around Becky, but her friend moved with her. She was a couple of inches shorter than Amanda’s five-foot-nine, but she was solid and athletic. Amanda stopped, let her arms dangle. “You had to know I’d show up.”

Becky looked over a shoulder, and it had Amanda following the direction of her gaze. The woman outside the motel room was watching them closely, her brows pinched together.

“Maybe,” Becky admitted, “but I’d hoped you wouldn’t. Your being here really isn’t a good idea.”

Amanda tucked a strand of her ginger hair over her left ear and scanned the lot for any department vehicles from PWCPD. “I don’t see any other detectives from Homicide on scene yet.” The words were out before A

manda gave them much thought. Did she really want to get involved with the investigation, assuming Palmer had been murdered? When she’d sped over here, it had been an instinct, just to see the man who had killed her family dead, as if by doing so it would heal a part of her.

“No, but—”

“Then I’m the first homicide detective to arrive. That means I qualify to enter the scene.”

The woman waved her over. Amanda pointed her out to Becky. “I’m guessing that’s Greer?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, your boss seems to think I’m here because I was assigned the case.”

“But you weren’t.”

“Can’t help what other people think. Besides, it’s only a matter of time, and she’s looking impatient.” Amanda butted her head toward Greer. She felt like she was careening down a steep hill without brakes, unable to stop, only able to steer.

“Fine,” Becky huffed out. “But, just so you know, seeing him dead isn’t going to help. You might think it will, but it won’t.”

Tendrils of anger twisted through her, squeezing, gripping, like vines to brick, working to pry the stone loose and destroy the structure. “How could you possibly know? That man took my—” She couldn’t bring herself to finish. There were times she battled with who was truly to blame for the accident. If she hadn’t insisted that Kevin look at some stupid meme on her phone, maybe he’d have had a chance to react in time.

Becky put a hand on her arm. “I know.” With that, she walked back to her cruiser to resume guarding the crime scene.

Amanda clenched her jaw and worked to calm her temper. She flashed a cordial smile as she approached Greer. “Sergeant,” she greeted her. “I’m Detective Steele from Homicide with Prince William County Police Department.” She held up her badge with a shaky hand.

“Sergeant Greer,” she said stiffly, glancing past Amanda to Becky, likely curious about their interaction.

Amanda tucked her badge away and peacocked her stance. She wanted to give the absolute appearance that she belonged there. “Has the medical examiner’s office been called?”

The sergeant’s attention shifted back to her. “Yes, of course, and crime scene investigators from Forensics.”

“Mind if I—” Amanda gestured toward the room. Number ten.

“Not at all.”

Amanda stepped over an upturned running shoe just inside the doorway and stopped.

Chad Palmer was supine on the bed beside two empty handles of whiskey. A rigored hand was wrapped around one of them. His eyes were shut, but there was vomit around his nose and mouth. She turned away at the waft of stench hitting her nose, but otherwise she was unmoved. Numb, indifferent, as if she were watching a scene from outside of herself.

The man she’d villainized appeared vulnerable in death, soft, human… even harmless. A man of thirty-seven, only two years older than she. But she could never forget the evil he’d inflicted.

The black pavement is glistening from the rain, making it look like they’re driving on a blanket of a million sparkling diamonds. Fat drops pitter-patter against the windshield and the wipers squeak on every other pass.

“I spy something that is… black,” Lindsey says amid giggles.

I turn and smile at my baby girl. Her ginger curls fall as ringlets over her shoulders.

“Give me a clue,” Kevin says, keeping his attention on the road. “Is it outside?”

“Yes.” Another gaggle of laughter, the sound of a cherub.