dog to Liv. “Keep the puppy to your left and face the fence, okay?”
“Uncle Jim,” Holly said over her shoulder, “close up that house and then follow us to the hotel parking lot. Mike, Liv, we go now !”
“This dog isn’t evidence,” Mike said while unlocking his car. “He’s irrelevant.”
“But why?” Holly asked. “I mean some investigator could find…uh…carpet fibers on his coat or mud under his nails. Maybe they could track the fiber to a particular make and model of car. That would help, wouldn’t it? What if the mud’s from Boston?”
Mike shook his head. “Even if the dog was in a car from Boston, so what? There’s nothing linking this animal to the kidnappings or the murder victim except being in a building. He could have made his way in just this morning.”
“I’m sure he’s the puppy I saw when Ari was taken,” Liv insisted.
“Are you?” Mike put his hands on Liv’s shoulders and stared hard into her eyes. “Without looking at the dog, tell me what special marking he has that makes him an exact match for the one you saw.”
“I…well…” Liv squirmed under Mike’s grasp, trying to sneak a peek at the dog by her feet. She shrugged, shaking herself free. “All right. I can’t. Are you happy now?”
“In a way,” Mike said. He faced Holly. “Look, I feel for the dead girl. I want her to have justice, but I’m also thinking of the two missing kids still out there. If Liv’s right—a big if —the dog could be more useful in Boston than here.”
“You believe me?” Liv shrieked.
“Even you,” Mike said, “have good ideas once in a while. But, oh crap.” His face fell. “Who knows if that dog is housebroken? Don’t want him springing a leak in my car.”
Jim reached them and overheard Mike’s complaint. “Here. Give me the pup. I’ll bring him along in my truck. Gotta talk to my crew, tell them the shoot’s off for today, then I’ll follow you to the station.”
Across the parking lot, the doorway to Jess’ studio opened. She waved and called out, “Holly! You’re here early.”
Holly looked at Liv, who seemed as uninterested in costumes as Holly felt, but Jess needed to know what was going on, to be warned. Her business was only one street away from the abandoned house—and the corpse. Holly took Liv with her into Jess’ design workshop.
After they left the studio, Mike drove Holly and Liv to the police station, part of a complex of red-brick government buildings facing the South Mill Pond, which gleamed under bright sunlight. The air was cool but not cold. A beautiful day, Holly thought while Mike parked. One that poor girl will never see.
Pushing open the station’s glass door, Holly suddenly felt four years old again, a child following her mother into a space not made for children—no happy colors, no toys. Afraid, little Holly clutched her mother’s hand while Lisa Glasscock spoke through the window to someone Holly wasn’t tall enough to see.
And then her father came into the lobby, so big and strong in his black uniform. He hoisted her up in his arms, and Holly felt safe.
She never lost that sense of safety at the station. Even now, approaching the receptionist behind the glass window, she breathed easy for the first time since the discovery. “We’re here to report a death—a murder victim.” Holly gave her name and the crime scene address to the shocked clerk.
Detective Putnam came through the door, just as Holly’s father had years ago. He greeted her with the words, “Holly Glasscock? I knew your father.”
Holly remembered the man with the thick mustache, though he was older, heavier, and his brown hair had grayed. She introduced the others, but the detective told them to wait. He would interview each person separately.
In his office, Holly gave him details until he stopped her to make calls to a patrol officer and a crime scene investigator. “There’s another reason why we didn’t phone in,” Holly told Putnam
“Uncle Jim,” Holly said over her shoulder, “close up that house and then follow us to the hotel parking lot. Mike, Liv, we go now !”
“This dog isn’t evidence,” Mike said while unlocking his car. “He’s irrelevant.”
“But why?” Holly asked. “I mean some investigator could find…uh…carpet fibers on his coat or mud under his nails. Maybe they could track the fiber to a particular make and model of car. That would help, wouldn’t it? What if the mud’s from Boston?”
Mike shook his head. “Even if the dog was in a car from Boston, so what? There’s nothing linking this animal to the kidnappings or the murder victim except being in a building. He could have made his way in just this morning.”
“I’m sure he’s the puppy I saw when Ari was taken,” Liv insisted.
“Are you?” Mike put his hands on Liv’s shoulders and stared hard into her eyes. “Without looking at the dog, tell me what special marking he has that makes him an exact match for the one you saw.”
“I…well…” Liv squirmed under Mike’s grasp, trying to sneak a peek at the dog by her feet. She shrugged, shaking herself free. “All right. I can’t. Are you happy now?”
“In a way,” Mike said. He faced Holly. “Look, I feel for the dead girl. I want her to have justice, but I’m also thinking of the two missing kids still out there. If Liv’s right—a big if —the dog could be more useful in Boston than here.”
“You believe me?” Liv shrieked.
“Even you,” Mike said, “have good ideas once in a while. But, oh crap.” His face fell. “Who knows if that dog is housebroken? Don’t want him springing a leak in my car.”
Jim reached them and overheard Mike’s complaint. “Here. Give me the pup. I’ll bring him along in my truck. Gotta talk to my crew, tell them the shoot’s off for today, then I’ll follow you to the station.”
Across the parking lot, the doorway to Jess’ studio opened. She waved and called out, “Holly! You’re here early.”
Holly looked at Liv, who seemed as uninterested in costumes as Holly felt, but Jess needed to know what was going on, to be warned. Her business was only one street away from the abandoned house—and the corpse. Holly took Liv with her into Jess’ design workshop.
After they left the studio, Mike drove Holly and Liv to the police station, part of a complex of red-brick government buildings facing the South Mill Pond, which gleamed under bright sunlight. The air was cool but not cold. A beautiful day, Holly thought while Mike parked. One that poor girl will never see.
Pushing open the station’s glass door, Holly suddenly felt four years old again, a child following her mother into a space not made for children—no happy colors, no toys. Afraid, little Holly clutched her mother’s hand while Lisa Glasscock spoke through the window to someone Holly wasn’t tall enough to see.
And then her father came into the lobby, so big and strong in his black uniform. He hoisted her up in his arms, and Holly felt safe.
She never lost that sense of safety at the station. Even now, approaching the receptionist behind the glass window, she breathed easy for the first time since the discovery. “We’re here to report a death—a murder victim.” Holly gave her name and the crime scene address to the shocked clerk.
Detective Putnam came through the door, just as Holly’s father had years ago. He greeted her with the words, “Holly Glasscock? I knew your father.”
Holly remembered the man with the thick mustache, though he was older, heavier, and his brown hair had grayed. She introduced the others, but the detective told them to wait. He would interview each person separately.
In his office, Holly gave him details until he stopped her to make calls to a patrol officer and a crime scene investigator. “There’s another reason why we didn’t phone in,” Holly told Putnam
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