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Amanda pushed the memory aside and continued dancing her gaze over the space.
A couch and two end tables faced a fireplace on the far wall.
Fred headed there, and Amanda and Trent followed.
Rounding the couch, she caught her first glimpse of Felicity. She was on the floor. Amanda’s breath caught in her throat.
Remember, you’re a professional.
A reminder she didn’t normally need but being off had made her rusty, wiping out years of auto-response. Or was it because she had known the woman and liked her? In the least that aspect explained the guilt trying to suck her down in its powerful undertow. But it wasn’t the time to surrender. It was time to focus and be present.
Felicity was on her back, arms at her sides, head angled to the right. Her face appeared haunted—eyes widened, lips parted. Her long, light-brown hair fanned out beneath her head and was haloed by a pool of deep crimson that reached her upper torso. The color and tacky-looking texture indicated the blood had coagulated, meaning Felicity had been dead for several hours.
A knife was sticking out of her chest, a bloom of red around the entry point.
Their first meeting rushed back to Amanda. Felicity was quiet, slightly awkward, giving the impression she was far more comfortable with her characters than interacting socially in real life. She was caught up in the worlds of her creation, living peacefully, and getting paid to do what she loved. That someone did this to her had a redhead rage blinding Amanda.
Deep breaths… She’d be no good to Felicity if she let herself become sideswiped by emotion.
Amanda moved closer, mindful of her steps.
Felicity was barefoot but wearing jean shorts and a gray tee. Gold studs and dangling dragonflies adorned her ears. Three gold chains of different lengths and thicknesses dipped above the rounded collar of her shirt. Her fingernails were deep purple. It was impressive with her busy schedule she had time to paint them or get a manicure.
She’d been hitting against a writing deadline when they were here last, stacks of paper everywhere. Today, there wasn’t a stray piece in sight. In fact, the entire room was tidy and more sparsely furnished than before.
Or does it just seem that way without the clutter?
She lifted her gaze to the mantel. Several framed photographs of Felicity and her late sister, Eve, were displayed there. They served as a time capsule, capturing the siblings at different ages.
Yet again, murder served up an irony—chaos and death in a homey setting.
Amanda was about to turn around when her eyes landed on the hearth. She headed toward it for a closer look.
“Steele, what are you doing?” Fred asked.
She stopped walking and pivoted.
“I’ve given you the courtesy of letting you into my crime scene, but you need to leave now.”
“I’m not—”
“We’re not,” Trent interjected.
“Going anywhere,” Amanda finished.
Fred’s cheeks shot crimson. “Oh, yes, you are. You’re getting out of this house. Now.”
“Nope.” Malone stepped through the threshold, and the officer at the front door scurried behind him, urging him to put booties on over his shoes. Malone snatched them and conceded. “She’s staying, so is Stenson.”
“Excuse me, Sarge,” Fred said, “but Natalie and I were the first from Homicide to respond.”
Malone would have sent them here, but Fred wisely kept his mouth shut on that point.
“Yep, and now this is their case.” Malone flailed a hand toward Amanda and Trent. “They have history with the victim.”
Amanda resisted the urge to smile at the win. She knew that Malone would come through for her.
Fred’s cheeks blazed even hotter, and his lips quirked. “Shouldn’t that be a reason for them not to take the lead on this?”
