Her Frozen Cry (Detective Amanda Steele)

Tony glanced at Trent. “No, but you can. I don’t want a stranger rummaging in her things.”

“Okay.” She gave Trent a glance as she stood, and he handed her a plastic evidence bag. She didn’t really want to be alone with Tony, possibly in tight quarters.

She followed Tony upstairs thinking the entire time, Let’s get this over with.

He took her into the primary bedroom, which was massive. The king-size bed and other pieces of furniture were dwarfed in the space. To the far right was a living room flooded with light from large windows. The bathroom was on scale with the rest of the house—lots of open floor space. A shower with seven nozzles. A double vanity that seemed to stretch on forever.

“Beautiful home,” she said. The silence between them was awkward and carried a vibration.

He stopped walking and faced her. He was only about six inches from her. His eyes briefly dipped to her mouth, back up to meet her gaze. His breathing was a little haggard. “Our timing has never been right, has it?” He scanned her face, and she stepped back.

She held up the plastic bag between them, annoyed. “No. Including now. Your wife just died.”

His shoulders slumped. “I know… I just want to get my mind off of it, how much it freaking hurts.”

She could understand how sex could make a person feel alive after a great loss, but it seemed so fast for Tony to even be thinking about it. But everyone was different. “Let’s just get the sleeping aid and get back to Detective Stenson.”

He stayed put for a few seconds longer, before going to the vanity and opening a drawer. “Here.” He gave her a bottle labeled Sleep Tight.

“This is the only one in the house?” She put the bottle into the bag.

“One other place I can check.” He disappeared into a walk-in closet and came back with another bottle. “Her overstock,” he said as he extended that bottle to her. “As I said, she usually has a couple.”

She went to take it, but he didn’t let go—at first. “Thanks.”

“What’s going on, Mandy? What happened to Alicia?” He rubbed the back of his neck. His eyes, portals to his grief, glistened with unshed tears.

“Let’s go back downstairs, and we’ll talk more. Okay?” She could have hit herself for adding okay, like she was giving him a choice. She’d do well to remember she was the detective here, and he could have potentially killed his wife. She turned away.

But not fast enough.

He put his hand on her wrist, his palm searing where it met her flesh, and gently prodded her to face him again.

She stiffened. “Don’t touch me.”

He let go of her. “Just tell me what’s going on. I’m going crazy.”

“We’ll discuss it downstairs.” This time, she said it with more authority, and he drew back, angled his head.

“You don’t suspect that I had something to do with whatever happened to Alicia, do you?” His voice fractured on the words. Her heart squeezed.

She licked her lips and took a deep breath. “I’m not doing this here.”

They stood there for a few seconds in silence, staring at each other. She was hauled to the past, whether she wanted to take the trip or not. There was a time she liked his hands on her, his lips on hers, but that was a very long time ago. And they were never meant to be, their timing off—and now was certainly no different. If she peered too deeply into his eyes, she could see the young man that she’d once cared for. But she had to scrape past the layers of pain and sorrow. “You look exhausted.” The words slipped out, their source empathy. Inside, she was waging a war. He was a suspect! But he was also someone she’d been close to.

“I’m not sleeping.”

“That’s understandable. Oh, you haven’t taken any of this, have you?”

“No, but maybe I should have.”

“Trust me, best that you hadn’t.”

“What aren’t you telling me, Mandy?”

Again with the Mandy…“Just come downstairs with me.” She led the way, and they returned to the sitting area, joining Trent.

Both of them sat where they’d been before. She avoided all eye contact with Trent.

“Time’s up. Tell me what’s going on, Detective.” Just from upstairs to here, he’d transitioned, addressing her professionally. But she knew the other—the personal—wasn’t too far behind it.

“Tell me what you know about pentobarbital,” she said.

“Pentobarbital? Isn’t it what vets use to euthanize animals?”

“One of its uses,” she said. “How do you know that?”

“I’m quite sure I heard Beth mention it before.”

“Beth? Your daughter?”

“Uh-huh. Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

Amanda’s heart was picking up speed, and her hands were becoming clammy. What was he holding back? Was Beth a vet or training to become one? Did she have reason to kill Alicia?

“Where are you going with this, Amanda? It has something to do with that, doesn’t it?” Tony pointed at the bag with the Sleep Tight bottles.

“Detective, please. Let’s keep things a little more formal, considering the circumstances. And, yes, it does.”

“And that’s what ended up killing her?” Tony swallowed roughly, and his eyes filled with tears.

She stiffened. “We don’t know for sure yet.” Though it seems pretty damn conclusive to me!

He looked up at the ceiling and flailed his hands. “You’re talking in riddles. I’d like some clear answers.”

“Wouldn’t we all?” she fired back and snapped her mouth shut under his gaze. “Please, just trust me. We’re doing everything we can.” The appeal, the softened tone, even the initial sharp reaction all came because of her past connection with the man across from her. She’d never have spoken to a stranger within an investigation that way. She considered her next words carefully, measuring them in her mind first and trying them on. “Pentobarbital was present in the bottle of Alicia’s Sleep Tight found in the cabin.”

“Dear God.” Tony shook, and he rubbed his arms. “You don’t think I poisoned it, do you?”

“Help us rule you out,” she said as gently as possible.

“You can’t truly believe that I did that… Killed her. You know me.”

“Mr. Bishop,” Trent started, passing a glance at Amanda, “Detective Steele and I follow where the evidence takes us. We don’t make things up or twist things. If you had nothing to do with Alicia’s death, there’s nothing you need to worry about.”

Amanda appreciated how Trent balanced a firm stand with a delicate touch, and his timing was perfect. “He’s right,” she added.

“We were friends, Amanda. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? Don’t you know me?”

Anger burned in her chest. She fought the urge to lash out at him. He and Claudia had faded out of her life—not that she’d stopped them, but she had been the one hurting. She was the one who had lost a husband and a daughter in a single blow. Tony Bishop should have made more effort to be there for her. They had a history. “I did know you,” she pushed out through clenched teeth, “but that was a long time ago. A lot has changed.”

Tony’s face pinched, and he frowned. “Suppose it has.” He kept looking at her, though, like he wanted to say more, possibly explain his past actions, but now wasn’t the time. It was time, however, to get down to business.

“You were to get us a list of bidders,” she said stiffly. “Do you have those names for us?”