Stolen Daughters (Detective Amanda Steele)

“When will we know if Lynch was drugged?”

“Good question.” She pulled out her phone and called Rideout. She met with his voicemail and left a message.

She resumed walking, soaking in how beautiful the day was. It was warm, but not blazing hot, and the sun was shining brightly with barely a cloud in sight. Yet no one was out walking, working in their yards, or sitting on their front steps or porches. The only people out of their homes seemed to be clustered across from the scene at 816.

She noted many vehicles in driveways, some on the street. A white van, marked with a decal on the door, pulled awa

y. The Pansy Shoppe. They were out of Triangle, a small town about four minutes from Dumfries. She’d ordered her wedding flowers from them, and sometimes picked up arrangements for Kevin’s and Lindsey’s graves there.

The observation portrayed such a contrast. Death, murder, and mayhem steps away. Yet people went on with their lives, even beautifying them with fresh bouquets.

“Let’s turn back and see if there’s anything more the fire marshal can tell us. Maybe the anthropologist has arrived and—” Her phone rang, and she answered without consulting caller ID.

“Mandy, you’re still coming for dinner, right? I know you’re a busy girl. Don’t know if you’re caught up with investigating those murders that have hit the paper, but your family wants to see you.” Her mother finally stopped to catch her breath.

The family Sunday dinners started when her mother was released on bail. In her mom’s words, “I want to make the most of my time left as a free woman.” There was no way Amanda wanted to let her down—she’d already done that enough for a lifetime and then some—but she had a serial killer to stop. “Yeah, they’re my cases, Mom.”

“Oh.” The disappointment, the dejection… One of the teeniest words in the English language, and her mother had managed to wield it as a knife. “You do need to eat. Can’t you just drop in for a quick bite? I promise I won’t tie you down.” Her mother’s voice was grim, but her turn of phrase was macabre considering she’d restrained the man she murdered. Her mother cleared her throat and said, “Poor choice of words. But I won’t be here forever, you know.”

Amanda glanced at Trent, considered her mother’s words and balanced it with the workload and urgency of this case. Her mother was right about Amanda needing to eat, though argument could be made that she often went hours without food when on a case. Her mother also had a point that the family dinners would soon come to an end. “What time will dinner be on the table?”

“Wonderful. That means you’re coming? Say six? You can make it then?”

Amanda pulled back her phone and read the time. 2:20 PM. “I’ll do my best.” There was a brief silence, which Amanda filled. “I love you, Mom.”

“Oh you’ve made me so happy. Love you, Mandy Monkey.”

Amanda ended the call.

“Mandy Monkey?” Trent said and started laughing.

She glared at him. “What the—”

“I, uh, overheard.” He was snickering, probably doing all he could not to have a good old belly laugh.

No one was to call her Mandy Monkey outside of her family. She didn’t even like them calling her that, but she tolerated it because of who they were. Trent might be her professional partner, even a friend, but for him to use her nickname was crossing a line. “Don’t you ever call me that.”

“I’m so… sorry.” He bit back more laughter, and tears beaded in his eyes.

She shook her head. “Do what you must. Get it out of your system before we go back to the scene.”

He instantly became silent, his spark gone like she’d put a hose on him. And thank goodness, because they needed to keep perspective if they were going to win this one.

* * *

There was a new vehicle at 816 when Amanda and Trent returned.

“The anthropologist has arrived, as you probably figured out,” Mia announced.

If the van hadn’t been a clue, Amanda could see three people working in the interior of the structure, which served as a stage for a sold-out macabre production, given the growing audience across the street. She turned to Trent and said, “Take pictures, please.”

“Sure.”

“I already took a lot at different points today,” Mia said, almost sounding offended.

“I’m sure you did.” Amanda smiled pleasantly. Next subject… “Are we any further along in knowing what was used to cause the fire?”

“Situations like this can take a while, but I’m considering bringing in some dogs trained to detect different accelerants.”