Page 56 of Three Girls Gone
“What? No. There’s no way I’m going to leave my grandmother.”
“You realize you already had? You just returned,” Amanda pointed out.
“I just popped to the store a block down and was gone like five minutes. You can’t bully me around. I know my rights.” Anne went to shut the door on them, but Trent stepped in front of Amanda.
“So do we, and you’re a person of interest in a murder case. It’s your choice. You come with us peacefully or we force your cooperation.”
Anne’s eyes jabbed left and right, and left again. Amanda could call it before the woman set one foot in front of herself. They had a runner. But she didn’t head for the front door. Instead, she spun and headed farther into the house. The bottom of her shoes slapped against the old wood flooring, leaving an audible trail to follow. The challenge was navigating the mess of furniture and junk all over the house. Grandma Harrington was a borderline hoarder.
Amanda ran after Anne to the back of the house and through a cluttered kitchen. Dirty dishes and pots were stackedin the sink, on the counters, and on the stovetop. Anne threw a screen door open. It screeched on its hinges and sprung back. Amanda caught it just before it smacked into her and bolted outside.
Anne was taking a sharp left to round the house.
“She’s going for her car,” she called out to Trent, who spun around and tore back through the house to the front.
Amanda shouted to Anne to stop but no luck. She watched as she slipped behind the wheel of the Mustang. Trent reached the driveway just as Anne was tearing out. The wheels of her car were kicking up plumes of dust from the gravel driveway.
“I’ll call it in. You catch us up,” she told him.
They were just about to get into the department car when they heard a loud, sickening crunch.
“That can’t be good.” Trent’s words came out in slow motion while they both ran toward the road.
Sure enough, just a few houses down, the silver Mustang was hugging a pole, steam rolling out of the hood.
Amanda pulled her phone to call it in when the driver’s door opened, and Anne emerged. She glanced over her shoulder, and upon seeing them, she bolted.
“Here we go again.” Amanda tore after her, thankful she kept herself in relatively good shape.
Trent started behind but blew past her.
Ahead, Anne went down a side street and started shrieking for help like she was insane.
“PWCPD! Stop!” Trent yelled, and Amanda picked up speed.
Anne looked over her shoulder just as a van backed out of a driveway a few feet in front of her.
“Stop!” Amanda called out, but it was too late.
Anne turned around only to smash her face smack-dab into the side of the van. She crumpled to the ground.
Amanda caught up to Trent, and he turned to her. “Why do they always run?”
She shrugged. “They think they can get away.”
“Then they don’t know who they’re dealing with.” Trent smiled at her, and she grinned back. If Anne Harrington was the monster they were after, she deserved to feel pain.
TWENTY-FOUR
“Tell me what happened. I want to hear everything.” Malone only lowered his last request a couple of decibels while he stared down Amanda.
The fact the two of them and Trent were in a hospital emergency room did little to douse his temper. It might have had the opposite effect… “We just knocked on her grandmother’s door and?—”
“I have a headache.” Malone rubbed his brow.
Amanda continued. “Anne returned home and immediately took issue with us being there. As soon as we mentioned a murder investigation, she bolted. She got into her car, took off, and crashed into a pole.”
“Then she got out of her car and started running again. This time right into the side of a van,” Trent said, wrapping up the recap.
