Page 21 of Last Seen Alive
“Anything I can do to help?”
“Are you okay to keep Zoe for longer?”
“Sure, no problem.” Curiosity was nestled in her sister’s voice, but Amanda wasn’t about to satisfy it.
“Thanks. Could I talk to her for a minute?”
“One second.” Her sister’s rings clicked against the mike in her phone, and then came a slightly muffled, “Zoe!”
A few moments later, “Mandy?” It was Zoe, little beam of light.
“Hey, sweetie. How are you? Are you having fun?”
“Yeeaaah.” She dragged it out like it was a no-brainer. She was with Ava, Kristen’s teenage daughter, and one of Zoe’s favorite people on the planet.
“I may be a little later getting to you. Is that going to be all right?” If this girl told her no, Amanda would leave that minute.
“We’re playing Barbies.”
So that’s a yes, she’ll be fine.“All right, good. You have lots of fun, and later I’ll take you to dinner at Petey’s Patties.” It was Zoe’s favorite burger joint.
“Sweet.” That was followed by a chuckle, and the most tender, “Loveyoubye.” Three words rushed together like they were one.
“You get that?Swweeeeeet?” It was Kristen back on the line, and she was laughing.
“I got it. All is under control.”
“Yes, it is. Call if you need anything else. Love ya.” With that her sister hung up without even waiting for a response. Typical Kristen.
Under control…She was deluding herself. Those two words alluded to confidence, but they were a badge of denial. Nothing was under control—ever. She’d told Logan she’d do what she could to help him, but her hands were rather tied. Graves had seen to that. There were two options, and neither was pleasant: one, sleuth around; two, go to the top and speak to Chief Buchanan. And if she wanted anything she discovered to hold up in court, to be of help to Logan, she had to go about this the legitimate route. Even if it wouldn’t be a particularly pleasant path to take.
And it was Saturday. The police chief was likely enjoying the day on a patio somewhere or out on a golf course. And how could she expect a favorable response when she’d be going over her superior’s headanddoing so while invading the chief’s personal time? It probably wasn’t the fastest track to his good side.
She dropped into her desk chair and flicked the monitor on again. This time she googled the name Claire Ramsey. That netted results and a Facebook profile. It wasn’t locked from public view, but it hadn’t been active for about seven years—around the time Logan and Claire first met. Claire would have been twenty-nine, though she looked like she could be younger than that.
Her profile picture showed a pretty woman with brown hair and long bangs—the same style and looks as the woman in Logan’s bed. The last post was a picture of her with Logan. She was kissing his cheek, and he was smiling. The expression reached his eyes, only confirming how he had felt for her. How he mightstillpossibly feel.
There was no way he killed her.
Amanda had to help everyone else see that too.
This is a bad idea.The thought ricocheted around Amanda’s head. She’d thought the same thing last night when she went to Logan’s. She should have listened to that little voice inside her. But like then—andlike an idiot—she was ignoring it again.
She knocked on Chief Buchanan’s front door. He had a nice two-story brick house in Woodbridge, which he shared with his wife, and apparently a yappy little dog. Its high-pitched barks—yap, yap, yap—rang out like heavy artillery fire, as did its sharp little claws that ticked against the back of the door.
Buchanan didn’t need a doorbell with that fur ball on duty.
The sound of a woman’s voice carried over the animal. Then it stopped. All went quiet. The door cracked open to a woman with a slight build, on the shorter side, with a pleasant demeanor. She was holding onto a Pomeranian—all eight pounds of him if it weighed that much—akathe security system.
“Sorry to bother you on a Saturday,” Amanda said. “Mrs.Buchanan?” She had yet to meet her and was certain showing up at the woman’s home would make one hell of an impression.
“That’s me.”
“I’m Amanda Steele. I work for the PWCPD in Homicide, as a detective.”
“Holly. Nice to meet you.”
“Thanks. And who’s this?” Amanda held out a hand toward the dog, but it lunged for her, his jaw snapping.
