Stolen Daughters by Carolyn Arnold (top novels TXT) 📗

Amanda nodded.

“The van was parked over there,” Janet said.

Amanda had seen the sign when they’d pulled up—the lot was attached to Gamble Insurance, quite a name given their business. But if they had surveillance cameras, their recorded footage might be useful to the investigation. They’d go over there after finishing with Janet. Now, an insurance company would likely be barren at night, let alone on the weekend, but Amanda asked, “Were any other vehicles parked there at the time?”

“Just that jalopy in the corner.” Janet got up and walked to the window. Amanda joined her but noticed that Trent had removed the teabags from the pot and set them on a saucer, before following.

There was a rusted sedan with at least one deflated tire—the car sat on an angle, like it was depressed. It was at the edge of the lot, newer models all around it. Monday morning: everyone was at work now.

“Think it belongs to one of the owners,” Janet started. “It’s been there forever. Wish they’d move the bloody thing, though. It’s such an eyesore.”

“But there were no other vehicles or people around that you saw Saturday night?” Amanda just wanted to be sure.

“No. I would tell you.” She flashed a pleasant smile.

Amanda returned her gaze out the window and across the street. There were streetlights around the edge of the lot. “Were you able to get a good look at the three of them?”

“Fairly, I suppose. As you see, there are lights, but only one works. The other is constantly flickering. Like it needs a swift kick.”

Amanda laughed. Janet had spunk; she’d give her that.

“Where was the van parked?” Amanda swept the curtains back more to afford a wider view.

“A couple of spots away from the useless light, but he parked so the van was lengthwise to my house.”

Staying in the darker area made sense, but why park lengthwise? For that matter, it had been brazen to bring the girls there and load them into his van where anyone could see. Had he been relying on the girls to be more cooperative and not give the impression of being coerced? Amanda wanted to know more about this van. “What—”

“Oh! The tea!” Janet exclaimed, arms flailing the air, as she hurried back to the dining table. “Sorry, but the bags need to come—” Her words stopped there as her gaze hit the plate where Trent had deposited the teabags. He was standing next to her, smiling. “You did this?” she asked him.

Trent nodded.

“Such a nice boy,” Janet said, and he blushed.

Janet proceeded to pour the tea and distribute the cups. Everyone made up their tea the way they liked it and sat where they had been before the little trip to the window.

“Ms. Mills, as I was about to ask,” Amanda began, “what can you tell us about the van? Its color, age, make and model?”

“It was a GMC Savana. Looked pretty new.” Janet blew on her tea and took a sip. “It was white, but it had lettering on the front door. One of them magnet signs, I think.”

Amanda sat straighter. She’d seen a white van with lettering recently, and it had been a couple of blocks away from the second fire. “What did it say?”

Janet chewed her bottom lip. “Sorry, but that I couldn’t make out. It was black lettering, if that helps. Oh, and it was rather—” She swirled her left index finger in the air.

“A scrolly font?” Trent wagered a guess.

Janet smiled. “Yes, that’s it.”

The lettering used for the Pansy Shoppe would be considered a scrolly font. That was the business name on the van that Amanda had seen pulling away, and Janet’s description, though vague, could fit. Had they finally received a solid lead on their killer? But why would he essentially advertise where to find him? And did the decals have anything to do with the reason he’d parked lengthwise? If so, it was like he wanted people to take notice.

“There were no windows on the side facing me, or on the back of the van,” Janet added. “I noticed that when he had the door open, and later after he drove away.”

“That’s often the case with commercial vans.” Amanda was still chewing over how this made sense. “Please run us through exactly what you saw.”

“Sure. Ah, the three of them went to the van. One of the girls stopped and pointed at the lettering, and he swept up her arm and sort of corralled her and the other one to the rear door. He opened one side, and the girls seemed hesitant to go inside.”

“Did they appear scared? Like they were pulling back or trying to get away?” Trent asked.

“They resisted by what I could tell, but they weren’t steady on their feet. The man tried to keep them upright. One of the girls fell down, and he helped her to her feet and put her into the van. Then he lifted the other one inside too.”

Amanda wasn’t sure that exactly translated to forced, but it had obviously been enough of a spectacle to get the older woman’s attention. “Then what happened?”

“He got into the driver’s seat, and they drove off.”

“Which way did they go?”

Janet pointed left this time—the opposite direction than she had earlier.

Amanda nodded. “Was he driving fast or slow or…?”

“Just at a normal speed.”

If this was their killer and the two victims from the second fire, he was certainly calm and collected, like nothing unnerved him. Amanda wouldn’t be getting any sleep until he was behind bars, and she was already running on fumes. She and Trent had to take a look at the Pansy Shoppe—especially now that it had come up twice. “Can you tell us what the man looked like?”

“He was wearing a dark sweater with black jeans, and he had brown hair.”

They needed more than a man in black. “Did you see his face?’

“Not enough to make out any of his features. But I assume