several years before being promoted from patrol to Detective two years earlier. Since taking on the new role, he had seen his share of difficult cases—including taking the lead on Noah’s mother’s murder. Dedicated and thorough, he was a valuable asset to Denton’s investigative team.
Josie watched him and Noah emerge from the vehicle and jog over toward her car. Noah opened her door, extending a hand to her. She took it and let him guide her out of the car. Mettner said, “Hummel and the Evidence Response Team should be here in five minutes. We’ll wait for them to secure the scene before we go up. Dr. Feist is on her way as well. Once we start moving, stay off the driveway. If there are any tire tracks, I want to get them.”
“I already drove up there,” Josie croaked. “I probably destroyed whatever was there.”
“There might still be something,” Mettner assured her. “If there is, Hummel will find it.”
Six
Alex’s favorite time of day was when his mother, Hanna, went into her studio to work. Not only did she let him come inside, but she often sought him out and asked him to help her. He set up her canvases and paints, retrieved brushes and glue, and any other items she needed while she worked. After his adventures in the woods with his father, Alex was very good at sitting still for a long time. While Hanna worked, he sat on a stool behind her, watching and listening to her as she hummed. It was always a variation of the same song. He’d never heard words to the song, but he’d heard her hum it so many times, he could carry the tune in his sleep.
She was putting the finishing touches on a new painting when she said, “Alex, dear, where is your sister? I think she’d like this one.”
He felt his throat tighten. Was she serious? “You-you mean… ?” His voice was barely a squeak. He couldn’t even get it out. He hadn’t spoken her name in almost a year. No one ever said it anymore. Sometimes he wondered if he had imagined her. He tried again, only getting out the first syllable.
Hanna’s eyes narrowed, and the name froze in his throat. She gave him a meaningful look and her tone grew cold. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Oh,” he breathed.
She kept her eyes locked on him. “Where is Zandra?”
He shifted on the stool. “Dad says she has to stay away because she’s sick.”
Hanna frowned. “Still? She’s been locked away for days. Why don’t you check on her?”
“I can’t,” he said. “You know the rules.”
Paintbrush in hand, she turned and looked at him. “Right,” she said. She took a moment to touch a long cut on her painting arm, her fingers tracing over the dark scab. “Well, your father makes the rules. Although, Alex, it would be nice to be able to have both of my children in the studio again.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, although he wasn’t sorry for what had happened to her, only sorry that he hadn’t been strong enough to stop Zandra.
He cast his gaze downward, but he could feel her eyes on him. He heard her drop the paintbrush into a cup. Then she knelt in front of him, staring up at him. She seemed smaller now that he was almost eleven years old. “My son,” she said. “Look at me. You have to help your sister, do you understand?”
He nodded.
She looked behind him, toward the door, and then back into his eyes. “I worry, Alex, that your father will get… carried away with his punishment if these incidents with Zandra continue.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
But he didn’t have a chance to answer. The sound of the front door slamming shut made them both jump. Hanna squeezed his hand and whispered, “Quickly, get downstairs to your studies.”
Before he could hop off the stool and scurry into the hall, Frances’s heavy steps sounded on the stairs. A moment later, he filled the doorway. “Hanna, what’s he doing in here? Aren’t you working?”
She smiled. “Yes, I’ve been working all morning. What do you think?” She turned and presented her latest painting with a flourish.
He raised a brow. “It’s very good,” he said. “But it’s missing something.” Zeroing in on Alex, he said, “Get downstairs. Let your mother concentrate.”
Alex moved toward the door but Hanna said, “Alex was helping me. He’s fine. Let him stay. He’s not a bother. Maybe he can help me find what’s missing.”
“He’s a stupid boy,