The Little Grave (Detective Amanda Steele)

“If this man scares you and poses some sort of a threat to you, your family, we can—”

“Please just leave it alone,” Lorraine ground out.

“Will you describe him for us?” She tried to pry just a little more.

Lorraine chewed her bottom lip and shook her head.

“All right; that’s fine.” Amanda might not be able to whittle a physical description of the mystery guy but there was another tact she could try that might eventually get them where they needed to be.

“Could you describe the vehicle? I assume they left in one?” Amanda held her next breath, curious if Lorraine would answer.

Lorraine nodded. “A four-door sedan, powder-blue.”

Not a common color these days. “An older car?”

“Yeah.”

Her next question would certainly be a reach, but she had to ask. “Did you catch the plate number?”

“No.”

“Just one more thing and we’ll be on our way,” Amanda began. “Did you happen to notice if Mr. Palmer had a duffel bag with him at any time?”

Lorraine bit her bottom lip and shook her head. “Not that I remember.”

“Okay, thank—”

A baby’s cry arrested Amanda’s words, injecting anguish through her system. She clutched her abdomen and could hear her doctor’s words replay in her head: “I’m truly sorry to inform you, but due to the injuries you sustained, you won’t be able to have any more children. Please know we did all we could.”

“I should—” Lorraine pointed toward the doorway, the implication being she had to check on the baby.

Amanda gestured for her to go ahead, and Lorraine jumped up and left the room.

Ben stood, as did Amanda and Trent. She pulled her card and handed it to Ben. “Please let your wife know that we appreciated her cooperation today and to please call should she think of anything else that she wants to share with us. My cell number’s on there.”

Ben grunted something incoherent and tossed the card onto the coffee table. “I’ll show you out.”

And he did just that. The second both Amanda and Trent cleared the front door, it was closed heavily behind them. They loaded into the department car, Trent claiming the driver’s seat again. Amanda was more than fine with that. He was actually a good driver and hadn’t made her reach for the dash yet.

She did up her belt, her mind a million miles away. She hadn’t anticipated hearing the baby cry and it had picked an emotional scab. She’d never told anyone that the accident had also stolen her unborn baby. She hadn’t even known she was pregnant. Now, she’d never know whether her baby was going to be a boy or another girl. She’d never hear their laugh or tend to their cries; she’d never hear him or her call her “M

ommy” or be able to watch them grow up.

“Amanda?” Trent’s voice pulled her from her thoughts.

She looked over at him.

“You all right?”

“I’m fine.” She stiffened and refocused on the case. “I want to know who this guy is with a powder-blue sedan that has Lorraine Nash terrified into silence.”

“It has to be someone with street creds,” Trent replied. “I’m guessing our next stop is David Morgan’s?”

“Uh-huh,” she said coolly. “We talked about our stops before leaving Central.”

Trent put his gaze out the windshield. “Yeah, sorry.” He set the car in the direction of Morgan’s residence.

She faced out the passenger window, not in any mood to talk. Really, why the hell did she care about Palmer at all? Damn the investigation. But as she was ready to shut her involvement down, she thought of the little coffin, the little grave, her sweetheart Lindsey’s little face. Her daughter might not be here anymore but, if she were, Amanda would want to set an example, be a role model, show Lindsey that keeping one’s word in easy situations was not as strong a testament to character as it was when adhered to during the tough times.