ONE
The place was set back in the woods, remote. No one would have heard her screams, if there had been any. That felt like such a macabre thing to think, but it ran through Detective Amanda Steele’s mind all the same.
Wednesday afternoon, and she was standing in a rustic cabin in Gainesville, a rural part of Prince William County. Her partner on the job, Trent Stenson, was next to her. The medical examiner, Hans Rideout, and his assistant, Liam Bakker, were tending to the deceased while two crime scene investigators bustled around collecting potential evidence.
The decedent was a thirtysomething woman and someone that Amanda recognized on sight. Alicia Gordon. She was one of the most successful entrepreneurs in the county—and possibly in the state of Virginia—for founding New Belle, a successful and lucrative cosmetic company.
The victim was in a seated position on the couch, an ancient number with its plaid cushions and bare pine frame. A wool blanket only partially across her lap. The rest of it had draped to the floor.
Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted like she’d just fallen asleep, but the scene revealed more. A wineglass was shattered on the floor, and red wine had pooled on the pine boards and crept into the cracks.
Across the room was a wood-burning stove, the fire long run out. The cabin held a slight chill and smelled of death and something sweet. A perfume, perhaps?
Amanda noticed a folder on the side table with some papers sticking out of it haphazardly. She confirmed it had been photographed by the CSIs and picked up the folder with gloved hands.
New Belle financial reports. At a swift glance, all appeared in good order. The company fiscally profitable.
Also a few colored printouts—ads for a perfume called Abandon. Apparently, New Belle was expanding their product line.
She handed the folder and paperwork to CSI Isabelle Donnelly to bag as evidence. “Thanks,” Amanda told her. She turned to Rideout and asked, “Cause of death?”
“This one’s a bit of a mystery, I’m afraid.”
“Surely, someone her age doesn’t just drop dead,” Trent inserted. “Suicide?”
“It’s far too soon to say. I won’t even comment on COD until I have her back at the morgue.” Rideout pressed his lips. “Sorry, I can’t give you more.”
Amanda understood that in cases of suspicious death it was necessary for Homicide to be present on scene. Everything needed to be treated as if a murder had taken place. Once the scene was released, there’d be no turning back the clock to collect evidence. “Time of death?”
“Rigor is telling me anytime between nine last night and midnight. As always, I’ll conduct more tests at the morgue to determine that with more accuracy.”
The time would explain the pajamas, the blanket, and the burned-out fire. While the daytime weather in the area was warmer than some states in March, nightly temperatures still dipped to about freezing.
Amanda signaled for Trent to follow her, leaving Rideout and Liam to their work. She went first into the bedroom.
“Something you’re looking for?” Trent asked.
“I’d like to know if Alicia had company.” She paced around the small room.
A single-size bed, a small dresser, and a simple nightstand with no drawers. On top was a deer antler lamp and a bottle of liquid sleeping aid.
“Just one suitcase,” Trent said and had her turning. He’d opened the closet door.
Amanda pulled out one of the dresser drawers. Alicia had laid out her clothing in neat, folded piles. Nothing indicated a romantic getaway or liaison. They’d get more information from the woman who had found Alicia though—the owner of the cabin. A Pamela Zimmerman. She’d be able to tell them how long Alicia had booked the place and possibly her purpose for coming there.
“Detectives.” CSI Donnelly stood in the doorway, holding a frame in her hands. “You might want to take a look at this.” She handed it to Amanda, and Trent came up next to her.
A family portrait. A young man about twenty and a boy about ten years old. Alicia was positioned next to a man relatively close to her age, possibly older—likely her husband or significant other.
Amanda’s gaze froze on his face. This couldn’t be. She blinked, scrutinized the image closer, and confirmed her initial suspicion. He had aged and now had a full head of silver hair, but she knew him. Tony Bishop. Her legs became a little weak. This investigation just got personal.
Trent was staring at her profile, his head angled. He seemed to have developed this ability to sense her shifts in mood and read her mind. She wasn’t quite sure she was comfortable with it.
She subtly shook her head, not about to get into it right now. “Where, ah, did you find this?” She could barely get herself to speak and nudged her head to the photo.
“It was under the blanket, found when Rideout removed it.”
Amanda shifted her gaze back to the photo. How the lives of these people were about to take one hellish turn. She should have known it was too much to wish that this week go by without needing to notify next of kin that a loved one had died. And this time, it had to be someone she knew…
“I’ll take that back if you want,” Donnelly said, offering Amanda a gentle smile as she reached for the frame.
“Thanks.” Amanda handed it over, and Donnelly put it into an evidence bag and proceeded to write the particulars on it—where it had been found, etcetera. “You didn’t happen to find her phone, did you?”
“We did. Under the edge of the couch.”
“Did you try accessing it?”