Her Second Death (Bree Taggert #0.5) (6)

Bree jogged to the stoop and knocked on the front door. A tiny old woman answered. The tops of her gray curls barely reached Bree’s collarbones. She showed the old woman her badge and introduced herself.

“I’m Mina Lawrence. Hold on.” The old woman adjusted her hearing aid. “Now go ahead.”

“Mrs. Lawrence, the little girl next door has gone missing.”

“Lena is missing? Oh, no!” Mrs. Lawrence cried.

“Yes, ma’am. When did you see her last?”

Mrs. Lawrence looked at the sky. “Yesterday morning, I guess, when her daddy came to pick her up.”

“You noticed?”

“They had a huge fight, and they weren’t quiet about it. They never are.” She touched her ear. “There are times it’s good to be able to dial down my hearing.”

“Did you hear any sounds from the Tysons’ place later in the day or during the night?”

Shivering, Mrs. Lawrence closed the front of her heavy sweater. “No, but I go to bed early.”

“Do you know what the Tysons were fighting about?”

Mrs. Lawrence’s mouth puckered. “No. Even with this”—she pointed to a small, flesh-colored device in her ear—“my hearing isn’t that great.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us to help us find Lena?”

Mrs. Lawrence shook her head. “That poor child. I’ll pray you find her.”

“Thank you for your time, ma’am.” Bree hurried back to the vehicle.

“Well?” Romano asked.

“The neighbor confirms the Tysons had a fight yesterday morning, but she didn’t hear the details.” Bree fastened her seat belt. “How about on your side?”

“No one is home.” Romano turned on the lights and siren to cut through traffic.

Bree directed her partner toward James’s father’s house. “Marty Tyson has lived at the same address forever.”

It wasn’t unusual for Philadelphia natives to stay in the same neighborhood where they were raised. Parents sold or left their homes to their children.

Marty Tyson lived just ten blocks from Kelly. He opened the door before Bree and Romano had even reached the stoop. Marty was a big man, with heavily calloused hands the size of whole hams. Devastation lined his craggy face.

He led them back to a warm, tidy kitchen that smelled of fresh coffee. He eased into a chair as if his bones ached. “My son is really dead?”

“We’re sorry for your loss, Mr. Tyson.” Romano unzipped her jacket and sat across from him at a round oak table.

He nodded and appeared to be fighting tears. “I didn’t even see Lena yesterday. James said he was taking her out for pizza, and I went to bed early.”

Bree wandered a circle around the kitchen. She unbuttoned her coat to let the heat in.

“You wanted to see James’s room.” He pointed to the stairs. “Top of the steps. On the left. Help yourself.”

“Where did Lena sleep when she stayed here?” Romano asked.

“The room next to James’s. It’s small.” His face cracked in a bittersweet smile. “But so is Lena.” He turned watery blue eyes on Bree, then Romano. “You have to find her. She’s not like other kids.”

“We understand she’s autistic and nonverbal.”

Marty nodded. “Doesn’t talk, but she gets her point across.”

Bree headed for the stairs. She heard Romano asking more questions. “In what way?”

“She gestures.” He exhaled. “She knows what she wants. She might not talk, but she’s smart.”

“Sounds like you love your granddaughter.” Romano’s voice faded.

Bree climbed the stairs and went into James’s room. A basket full of folded clothes sat on the bed. Pulling on gloves, she searched every inch of the bedroom. No guns. No drugs. No illegal substances of any kind. The room didn’t smell of pot. If James was doing drugs, he hadn’t kept any at home.

She moved into the little girl’s room. It was small, but cozy and neat. Built-in shelves overflowed with picture books and stuffed animals.

Bree went back downstairs. She caught Romano’s eye and shook her head.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Tyson.” Romano stood and zipped her coat.

Mr. Tyson was putting on his own coat.

“Where are you going?” Bree fastened her coat buttons.

“I’m going with you to look for Lena.” He grabbed a pair of heavy gloves.

Bree glanced around. Marty’s house was warm and welcoming. “What if Lena comes here? Shouldn’t someone be here?”

Marty went out onto the stoop and knocked on his neighbor’s door. A tiny old woman in a fuchsia tracksuit opened it. “Marty, what’s wrong?”

“Lena is missing.” Marty didn’t mention his son’s death. Maybe he was blocking it. Maybe he just couldn’t talk about it. “I’m going to go look for her. Would you stay at my place in case she comes back here?”

“Of course.” She nodded, her head of white curls bobbing.

Marty gave Romano a problem solved look. “Lena won’t go to just anyone. She might hide.”

Wonderful.

A dog will still find her.

Bree and Romano shared a Look. They’d only been partners for a couple of days, but they already communicated pretty well.