The Little Grave (Detective Amanda Steele)

“Steele, you say?” The older man peered into her eyes. “The former police chief’s daughter?”

Maybe she was wrong to assume he wouldn’t know her. Just as long as he didn’t know her past connection with Palmer. “I am.”

“Your father was a good chief. Best one the department’s ever had in my opinion.”

“Thanks.”

Hearing this man’s admiration for her father burrowed deep. He had retired not long after her accident, and though she was still talking with her family then, she’d never had the courage or emotional fortitude to ask her dad why he’d left his post. She figured she was aware of the answer—loss of motivation due to grief—and just couldn’t bring herself to extend platitudes and words of comfort when she was hurting so badly herself. She probably should have stayed in the car and let Trent handle this call, but it was too late to turn back now.

“We need to ask about a former tenant, if you have a minute,” she said, her words coming back to her ears as if she was presenting his talking to them as an option.

“For a Steele, I always have the time.” He slurped some coffee and moved back, giving them room to enter the home. He took them to the kitchen table and sat at the one end. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Amanda and Trent each took a chair, across from each other and bookending Jerrod.

Jerrod hugged his cup. “So, I’m going to guess the tenant’s Chad Palmer. Am I right?”

He had to know her history. After all, he seemed up on her father’s life. “Yeah, how did you—”

“Last person I rented it to before moving in myself five years ago. He went to prison and left owing three months in back rent. Don’t suppose you know where I can reach him?”

How did a person in possession of twenty-five grand owe back rent? The only answer she could think of was it hadn’t been Palmer’s to touch.

“We’re actually here because Mr. Palmer was found dead this morning,” she pushed out.

“Oh.” Jerrod looked up toward the ceiling and took another slurp of coffee. “The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

She recoiled at the mention of the Lord. And mysterious ways? If there was a greater being, they were distant and aloof, uncaring and doing nothing to rectify the suffering of humankind.

“We’re here because we’re trying to piece together a bit of Mr. Palmer’s life before prison. Maybe you know of someone he was close with. A girlfriend perhaps?”

Jerrod mumbled something indiscernible. “He lived with some blond tart. She wore far too much makeup if you ask me.”

Including Ruby Red lipstick?

Jerrod went on. “They’d get into some doozies of arguments. He’d be drinking and fly off the handle. Not that I ever think he struck the girl—that I know of. I would have wrung his dang neck for that, but I think they threw stuff at each other.”

“And how do you know all this?” Trent asked.

“I was living in the house next to this one at the time,” Jerrod said. “The lady in the neighboring unit would come get me and I would come hustling over straightaway. I wasn’t having them damaging my property.”

“Understandable, but probably not too wise.” Domestic disturbances were often the most dangerous—and unpredictable—calls a cop responded to.

“Ah, maybe not, but nothing went awry, and I never did find any damage.”

“That’s good at least,” she said. “And the people who rented the neighboring unit?”

“Long gone now. Moved on.”

She nodded. “What happened to Mr. Palmer’s girlfriend after he went to jail?” It twisted her gut to demote his action to simply that when her heart continued to cry out for justice.

“I gave her the boot. Right away. I’m not anyone’s banker. I’d reached my limit. Tried going after her in small claims court but got nowhere.” Jerrod was getting red in the face. “And can you believe that she tried to strong-arm me into letting her stay because she claimed she was pregnant?”

Amanda gulped. It seemed so incredibly unfair to think Palmer may have had a child out there while her beautiful daughter was six feet under, and her other child would never know life outside of the womb. “With Mr. Palmer’s kid?” she forced out.

“I don’t know. Who knows? She probably didn’t.”

“Do you remember her name?” Amanda asked.