Stolen Daughters by Carolyn Arnold (top novels TXT) 📗

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.”

“Excuse me—are you detectives?” A thirty-something man came toward them. He had been one of the three people working inside the rubble.

“Detective Amanda Steele,” she said and gestured to her partner. “And Detective Trent Stenson.”

“I am Leo. I work with Dr. Strickland. He is the anthropologist.” He paused to indicate a man who was hunched down. “He asked that I give you an update.” Leo talked like a programmed robot and seemed to have an aversion to contractions. “It will take some time to reconstruct the victims from what we have to work with. So far, he has found the remains of two distinct individuals. Both female, teenagers.”

“Is there any way to tell if they were dead before the fire?” Amanda asked.

The tiniest of smiles formed and disappeared. “It all depends on what the bones tell Dr. Strickland.”

Amanda nodded, supposing she could appreciate that. “Thank you for the update.”

Leo dipped his head and returned to his boss. Mia had walked off, leaving Amanda alone with Trent.

“I think we should assume our killer strangled them before setting the fire.” She at least hoped for that mercy to being incapacitated and left to burn alive. “We need to find out what took place between the time they’d headed into the backyard and the fire.” She put her gaze on the burned structure, her mind compiling everything from the previous cases with what was before her. The killer had failed to destroy Lynch’s body, making finding her identity easier. Had he intended to make that impossible with these two girls? Was he trying to disguise the fact his victims were involved in sex trafficking—if they had been? Justin Cooper had described the girls as wearing tight and revealing clothing. That could fit. But why had their killer targeted them? It was beyond time to find out, but she didn’t know where to start. What she did know was she had to be on time for dinner with her family, and she had a few things she wanted to take care of first.

Forty

Amanda managed to cross some to-dos off her list before heading over to her parents’. She got Mia’s business card and confirmed with Malone that the real estate agent had a solid alibi. Malone was still acting curt, but she let it go. She was going to need as much emotional fortitude as she could gather just to be with her family. As nice as it was to be reunited with them, it still churned some unpleasant feelings—mostly of guilt for leaving their lives for the majority of the past six years.

She also reached Aiden Adkins at home, and it turned out he managed 816 Clear Mountain Circle. The only third-party people who crossed over between that house and 532 Bill Drive were the real estate agent, who they already knew about, and the estimator, who was on vacation. So they were back to square one.

Despite all that, Amanda managed to have a shower and to put on a change of clothes. She’d caked on makeup to hide the growing bags under her eyes and arrived on her parents’ front step at six on the mark.

She rapped on the door and let herself in—and took a deep breath. Roast beef and onions… So much better than smoke, fire damage, and charred remains.

Her mother sandwiched Amanda’s face with her hands and pulled her in for a hug. “Sweetheart, I’m so happy you made it!”

“Just here for dinner, Mom.” Amanda backed out of the embrace.

“I know, I know… Come on, take off your shoes and stay a while.”

Amanda shucked her shoes next to a bunch of others that belonged to her siblings, their mates, and their children. She’d identified a few of their vehicles in the driveway and along the street. When she parked behind her brother Kyle’s pickup, she’d hesitated and considered just driving away. Ever since she’d been involved with arresting their mother, she was quite sure that Kyle blamed her. He hadn’t said so much in words, but he was cool toward her and they used to be so close.

Voices were coming from the family room at the back of the house. It was past the kitchen and dining room.

“How did you make out after I left?” Amanda asked her mom, referring to the lawyer visit she had run out on a few days ago.

Her mother waved a hand. “I don’t want to talk about that tonight, Mandy.” She turned and went toward the kitchen. Amanda followed.

Her sisters Kristen and Emily were performing a type of choreographed dance as they worked around each other to take pans out of the oven, clear pots from the stove, and dish food into bowls.

Smiles, hellos, and waves were passed around.

Her twelve-year-old niece, Ava—Kristen’s daughter—and Demi, her brother’s daughter, were setting the table. They were good partners and had the rhythm down, but they should—this was a show on repeat every Sunday night. Nothing like a murder charge to bring a family together…

Ava set down the utensils and hugged her aunt. She was just a couple of years younger than Demi, an age when it was acceptable to still show affection.

“Hey, sweetie, how are you?” Amanda asked her.

“Doin’ all right. Looking forward to summer break.”

“That’s still a long way out, but stay strong.” Amanda smiled and latched eyes with Kyle. He was sitting in a comfy rocking chair that faced the dining room. She brightened her expression for him, but he looked away. That cut. And it had her taking a few seconds to compose herself.

“Hey, Aunt Amanda.”