Page 65 of Last Seen Alive
The garage had always been Kevin’s domain, and she hadn’t touched it since his death. They’d never used it for a vehicle. From the day they took possession of the house, it was a space where boxes were moved in. Many of them never moved out. Over time, more and more junk got added, and there was barely room to move in there. Maybe she’d finally take care of this, donate everything she could and move forward. She found the thought something of a relief. She might even use the garage for the purpose it was designed for. Novel concept.
She wedged between stacks of boxes, recalling by some miracle where two standing fans were. With some expert maneuvering, she freed them both of their confinement. She set one up in the living room and another in Zoe’s bedroom. If she remembered right, there were a couple of fans in the basement too.
She checked on Zoe and found her playing in the sandbox and talking away to her imaginary friends. They only came out when Zoe was alone. Amanda had asked Zoe’s therapist about it, and the woman told her it was completely normal. She also said that Zoe likely saw the relationship with these friends as private, hers alone. There were times Amanda wondered if the girl was communing with her dead parents. Not that Amanda truly believed that possible. But if, and when, Zoe was ready to introduce her friends, Amanda would be loving and accepting.
Amanda went to the basement and found the fans. Both were tabletop ones, but they oscillated. She put one on the dresser in her bedroom and one in the kitchen. Satisfied they were moving the air in the house enough to make it bearable, she called Zoe inside. It was going on seven thirty, and she wanted to make sure that the girl had some time to calm down before bed.
She stuck her head outside and called for Zoe, who was at the back fence line talking to Mrs.Little. They’d had the conversation about not speaking to strangers a few times, but that didn’t apply to the neighbor lady. The woman waved to Amanda, and she returned the greeting as Zoe strode across the yard at a decent clip. So much for the fresh air and activity burning up the girl’s energy. Hopefully watching some TV would do the trick.
By eight thirty, Zoe was falling asleep against Amanda’s shoulder.
“All right, sleepyhead, time for bed.” She nudged Zoe, and the girl grumbled. “Let’s go,” Amanda prompted.
Zoe dragged herself down the hall, slumped, arms hanging at her sides like she was a criminal being led to the execution chamber.
“If you make it snappy, I’ll read to you.” Amanda hoped that would work as an incentive.
The girl picked up her pace and changed for bed. All tucked in, her stuffed dog next to her, Zoe’s eyelids lowered.
Why is she fighting sleep so much?Amanda found amusement in how that was a story on repeat that followed most people through their entire lives. She read for a few minutes until Zoe dozed off. Amanda kissed her on the forehead, turned on the light that cast stars on the ceiling, flicked off the main light, and backed out of the room.
For most of the night, thoughts of the case, even Logan, were far off. But Amanda was curious about Graves’s story. Why was she so bent on Logan being guilty? Why had she originally been so insistent that Amanda not go near the case?
She went to the kitchen and grabbed her laptop from the top of the fridge, the new place she was keeping it. Not that Zoe usually got into her things, but it was a safeguard. Kids were becoming savvier all the time, and Zoe showed a natural inclination toward anything with a computer board, which she no doubt picked up from her father who had been a programmer.
She set up on the peninsula and logged on. It opened to the results that came back on her search for Katherine Graves from Friday night. She was clicking on the first article when the battery warning popped up in the bottom right-hand corner.
Figures!
She fished out the cord, plugged it in, and started reading.
Katherine Graves had been a sergeant in Homicide for the NYPD. News that Amanda was familiar with. The piece didn’t expose anything scandalous, but it announced the promotion of Callum O’Brien to sergeant. From the looks of it, he took over Graves’s position.
She googled his name.
No more articles surfaced to do with Callum O’Brien, but there were plenty about a Seamus O’Brien, police chief of the NYPD.
Had Graves been given the boot to make way for family? Was there favoritism at play in the ranks of the NYPD? Did that explain why Graves was so sensitive to having Amanda involved with this case at all—because Amanda was too close to it?
There was a bang at her front door.What the…
Amanda got up. This was the second time someone had knocked on the door while she’d been looking into Graves’s background. The first time it had been Trent, but she couldn’t imagine who it would be now. She looked out the window in the door. No one was there. But there was something on her top step.
She cracked the door and looked closer at the item.
It was a rock of about three inches in length, and half an inch thick. A string had been tied around it, and she could make out the corner of paper from the underside. Her heart pounding, she grabbed a pair of latex gloves that she knew she had in the pockets of a light jacket by the door. She put them on, picked up the rock, and looked at the note.
One sentence, scrawled in messy handwriting:Stop or you’ll wish you had!
Shivers spread down her arms and had her going cold despite the high temperature.
The wheels of a vehicle ran over the pavement, and she looked up, feeling vulnerable and exposed. It was Mrs.Little in her Cadillac. But behind her SUV came a silver sedan. It had the body lines of a Toyota Camry. It could have belonged to anyone in the neighborhood, as there were several around, but Amanda had this sickening feeling in her gut. She couldn’t make out the driver’s face, but she’d swear it was a man, and that he was watching her as he drove past.
She looked at the license plate, but the number was obscured by a tinted cover. Had the driver just left this sinister note on her doorstep?
TWENTY-FIVE
“You need to tell Graves,” Trent said, repeating the admonition again and planning to do so until it sank into his partner’s stubborn head.
