Page 57 of Little Child Gone

“Several times,” she said. “He wanted to believe that she was alive, or at least one of the kids was out there somewhere, but deep down Karl believed they were dead. He refused to believe that Ms. Smith would just vanish like that without saying goodbye. She’d talked about getting the kids enrolled in school and staying the winter.”

“Did he have any theories?” Nikki asked. “From everything we’ve learned, there weren’t any signs of violence when Karl returned from his trip.”

“Karl believed she was running from an abusive partner,” Deandra said. “She had a couple of scars in her eyebrow and on the side of the neck. When Karl asked about it, she’d only say it was from an accident. And she was very skittish about her or any of the kids leaving the property. It took him all summer to convince her to enroll the middle one in school.”

“Going back to the amendment in the will, what did you have to do in order to find her?”

“Everything in my power.” She sighed. “Karl believed the Smith family came from Pennsylvania, near Amish country, because she talked about driving on the roads with the Amish, starting with Iowa. I told him there were Amish in several states, and he said that Ms. Smith said they came from ‘back east.’ The middle child was a fan of all the Pennsylvania sports teams.” Deandra held up her hands in frustration. “Everything in my power wasn’t a lot. I looked through missing persons reports, called police departments all over Pennsylvania, and then Ohio. I just didn’t have enough information.”

“It was an impossible task,” Nikki said gently. “I would have been in the same boat.”

Deandra pulled a tissue from her bag and dabbed her eyes. “I’m just sorry that I couldn’t truly honor his last wish.”

“You are,” Nikki reminded her. “We’re going to find out who she was and what happened.” Nikki gave her a few moments. “One last question: what was Stephanie’s reaction when the will was read?”

“Utter shock.” Deandra grinned. “I’m familiar with the will because I wrote it, so I was able to look at Stephanie’s face when I read the amendment out loud. She had no clue. Her father got the best of her, somehow.”

Nikki parked in front of the historic building at 109 Myrtle Street, an 1880s Victorian at the top of the hill, overlooking the river and bluffs. Packed snow and ice still covered the street. Nikki checked to make sure the parking brake was on before exiting. Ice melt covered the sidewalk, but she still grasped the old iron railing. The building had been turned into private offices run by an investment group. Stephanie had the largest office on the second floor.

She and Miller had spent most of last night going through Rodney Atwood’s file in search of anything they might have missed that could link him to Ms. Smith or Taylor Hall. Nothing linked Atwood to Taylor.

Atwood being Stephanie’s lover before the Smiths disappeared was an easier one to theorize. By all accounts, Stephanie wasn’t one to get her hands dirty. Nikki believed Atwood was capable of murdering his stepson. Killing the Smith family for Stephanie wasn’t that big of a stretch.

Garcia had warned her that Stephanie was already threatening lawsuits for slandering her family name, claiming any theory her family was involved was nothing but heresy, especially with Karl gone. But Stephanie couldn’t know that Nikki knew about her relationship with Atwood, unless her ex had spoken to her in the last twelve hours. Given his obvious vitriol toward her, Nikki was confident he hadn’t given Stephanie any sort of heads-up. She wanted to find out if Stephanie was the woman Taylor was talking to. Was she the link between all three cases? Her two missing boys, and poor Scott’s murder?

Nikki wiped her boots on the entry mat and checked the bulletin board to make sure she went to the right office. Stephanie’s law firm had offices in both Minneapolis and St. Paul, but, apparently, this was Stephanie’s personal office.

Nikki climbed the wood stairs, admiring the quality of the craftsmanship. Like most houses its age, the narrow stairs were barely large enough for her foot, cherry-wood panels lining the wall.

A slim woman a couple of inches taller than Nikki greeted her. Her Chanel earrings and necklace were no doubt real, along with the cashmere sweater that perfectly fit her willowy figure. “Good morning, Agent Hunt. You’re looking… healthy.”

Nikki rolled her eyes at the veiled insult. She was fine with being a size eight and didn’t give a damn what this woman thought about it. “You look tired.” Nikki smiled sweetly. “Having trouble sleeping?”

Stephanie turned on her stiletto and directed Nikki to follow her into the corner office overlooking the lift bridge and the river. Unlike the rest of the building, the eggshell white on the walls made her brightly colored contemporary furniture stand out.

Stephanie sat down behind her dark-wood desk, the windows behind her overlooking the frozen St. Croix River. She gestured for Nikki to sit down in the uncomfortable-looking chair and waited.

“Well?” Stephanie demanded. “Aren’t you here to question me?”

“I’m here because you threw a fit and demanded to talk to me.”

“Because you are spreading lies about my family.”

“I’m trying to find out who murdered those people in your family’s apartment. You didn’t trust Ms. Smith at all, did you?”

“Why would I?” Stephanie snapped. “This woman shows up out of the blue, answering my father’s ad, with her damn kids. Instead of at least doing a background check, he moves her in!”

“I do see how that would be upsetting,” Nikki agreed.

“Do you?” Stephanie shot back. “You don’t have aging parents to worry about.”

Tension clogged the air, Stephanie’s smirk making it clear she thought she’d scored a point.

“That’s true.” Nikki summoned every ounce of self-control and smiled. “But a background check just seems like common sense to me. Did she have references?”

“Dad said she did, but he refused to show them to me. I think he was infatuated with her. He always had a thing for Mexican women.”

“Was she a Latina, though?” Nikki asked.

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