The Little Grave (Detective Amanda Steele)

“Not successfully.” He wrung a hand around the steering wheel and didn’t say anything.

“You shouldn’t have shown me this.” She stiffened, no longer wanting any part of the Palmer investigation. She’d figure out how to handle Rick Jensen and his threats another way. “And there’s no way…” But in her memory there was a flicker of the amber liquid in her father’s glass… His choice of drink was whiskey. Could he have made that slip when killing Palmer?

“He’d have a motive,” Trent said softly.

She couldn’t get herself to speak. Her father did have a motive, and he’d been quick to call to tell her it was over and that she could come back home. Had he killed Palmer to get her to return to her family? As a way of getting closure for Kevin and Lindsey too? Or had the injustice of Palmer’s measly prison sentence preyed on her father? She’d heard the rumors coming up through the department about him and how he’d toed the line. Some said he crossed it, but she’d always shut those people down. But what if they had been right all along? What if her father was the type of man who made his own justice?

“You have to let me talk to him,” she blurted out.

“I can’t… You’re not supposed to—”

“I know, and I’ll take complete responsibility if it all turns to shit, but this is something I need to do.” When she’d promised Jensen she’d find justice for his cousin, she’d never have dreamed that might mean taking down her own father.

“I need to do this,” she stressed. “You can be on standby, and, if need be, there to make the arrest. But let me talk to him. He’s my father.” She met his gaze and eventually he nodded.

“When do you want to—”

“Right now. Let’s clear this up right now.”

“You sure?”

“Nope,” she admitted and faced out the windshield.

A few seconds later the car was moving in the direction of her parents’ house.

Forty-Six

Amanda’s mother was all smiles and hugs when Amanda showed up at the door.

“I hope you have time for a real visit this time,” her mother said. “But it would have been nice if you’d called ahead.”

“Is Dad home?”

“Yeah, he’s—”

Amanda went into the living room and found her father with his feet up, a rocks glass in his hand, watching TV.

“Mandy, what’s going on?” Her mother had trailed into the room behind her.

“Nothing, Mom; why don’t you go put on the kettle?” Amanda tried to calm the surge of emotions rolling through her. She had no intention of having a tea, but it would let her speak to her father alone while her mother was busy in the kitchen.

Her father kicked the leg rest down on his chair and muted the television program he’d been watching. “Twice in one week? Guess you’re back, Mandy Monkey. I love it.”

“Thanks, Dad.” She sat on the couch close to him. “It’s hard for me to ask this…” Emotional torment had physical pain spiking through her abdomen. “When did you start drinking again?” She’d build up to her reason for being there. She just couldn’t bring herself to attack the situation, even though it might be nice to get it over with.

He cleared his throat and glanced away.

“I’m going to guess,” she started. “Not long after the accident?”

He chewed on his bottom lip, his eyes welling up with tears.

A wave of guilt threatened to engulf Amanda. “I know you loved Lindsey so much, and Kevin.”

“It wasn’t then,” he said, his voice husky.

“When?”

“When we realized that we’d lost you too.” Her father hiccupped a sob and it tore right through her.