Chapter Fifty-Two Raine
Chapter Fifty-Two
Raine
The three of us climbed to the second floor. While I held Molly’s hand, Judson opened the attic door and switched on the light. Musty, cold air mingled with a faint charred scent.
I squeezed Molly’s hand. “Are you okay to come up here?”
The little girl nodded. “I liked it up there.”
“The fire didn’t scare you?” Judson asked.
“No. Amy took care of it.”
“You’re pretty brave,” I said.
Molly shrugged.
Judson moved ahead of us toward the singed corner. “I don’t see any candles.”
“Maybe Amy came back and cleaned them up,” I said. “They proved she trespassed and set the fire.”
“Molly, did Amy come here a lot?” Judson asked.
“I don’t know.” She pulled free of my hand and moved toward an old trunk, scorched on the outside with soot and ash. She dusted off the brass lock and opened the lid. “Yuck.”
Inside the trunk were skeletal remains. I gulped in a breath and immediately pulled Molly behind me. “What’s that?”
Judson closed the lid. “Molly, did Amy know what was in the trunk?”
Molly shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Did you ever try to open it before?” he asked.
“Amy wouldn’t let me,” Molly said. “That’s why I wanted to look now.”
“Did Mommy or Daddy know you came up here with Amy?”
“Daddy found out. He was mad at Amy.”
“How did he find out?”
“He was waiting for us when we came out of the attic. He smelled the smoke. He yelled at Amy.”
“When was this?”
Another shrug. “The day we had a costume parade at school.”
A quick search, and the school website supplied the date. “October 12 was the annual parade.”
“Then days ago.” Judson kept his expression neutral. “Was the parade fun?”
“Yeah. I was a princess.”
“Sounds pretty cool,” I said.
Judson glared at the scorch marks. “Why don’t we go downstairs?”
I guided Molly to the first floor. In the kitchen, I offered her a cookie, which she could eat picnic-style in front of the TV. She was quick to say yes. Once she was settled, I joined Judson in the kitchen.
“Was that a skeleton in the trunk?” I asked quietly.
“The remains of an animal. I think a dog.”
“Why would anyone leave remains there?”
“The bones are old—bleached white in countless hot summers.”
“How long have they been there?”
“Years.”
“There was a stray dog on the property about the time Mom died. It vanished.”
“What kind of dog?”
“A hound-shepherd mix, I think. I’d leave food out for it, thinking I could make a friend. It ate the food only when I wasn’t around.”
“I’ll have the trunk removed. I want to test the bones.”
“Why?”
“Poison.”
“You said yourself the skeleton was old.”
“That’s only a guess.”
“Why would someone poison a dog?”
“Practice.”
“Why would anyone save the remains?” I asked.
“Killers keep mementos.”
My brain struggled with someone stowing the animal’s remains as a trophy. “Amy knew what was in the trunk.”