Little Girl Gone (An Afton Tangler Thriller #1)(69)

Max smiled evenly. “Thank you for your cooperation. We really appreciate it.”

“Am I finished?” Winters asked. “I have work to do.”

Max held up a hand. “We just need to tie up a few loose ends.”

Afton looked up from studying Winters’s file. “You live in Woodbury?”

“Yes,” she said.

“With your son.”

“Leave him out of this!”

“He’s a junior in high school?” Afton said. “And the two of you live fairly close to Hudson, Wisconsin.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

The Max, speaking in a pleasant tone, said, “Tell us about the dolls.”

Winters’s head snapped in his direction, a puzzled expression on her face. “Dolls?” she said. She looked at Randle. “What does he mean by ‘dolls’?”

Randle shook her head.

“I’m sorry,” Afton said. “We were under the impression you had a doll collection.”

Randle leaned forward in her chair, fairly seething. “Wait a minute, you think I’m the crazy doll lady they’ve been talking about on TV? Are you insane?”

“You don’t collect dolls?” Afton asked.

“No!”

“Ever owned a doll?”

“Not for a long, long time,” Winters said. She curled a lip. “What about you?” she fired back. “Do you collect anything? Stamps, postcards . . . teddy bears?”

“I think,” Afton said, “that a collection is just a shopping addiction in drag.”

Winters turned to Randle. “This conversation is beyond insulting. I’m not answering one more ridiculous question unless I have an attorney present.”

Randle tipped her head. “You heard the lady.”

Max held up both hands. “Hey, we’re just trying to cover all the bases.” He turned toward Afton. “Do you have any more questions?”

Afton shifted her attention to Randle. “How about you, Miss Randle? Do you have any connection with dolls? Any dolls lying around your house?”

Randle actually smirked. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“Actually,” Afton said, “you’ve both been a big help.” She pulled out her cell phone and, as Winters seemed to relax, sensing the interview was about over, snapped a quick shot of her.

Winters went ballistic all over again. “Wha— You can’t do that!”

“I just did,” Afton told her.


*

THOSE broads are a couple of cold fish,” Max said once they were back outside, crossing the parking lot.

“Don’t call them ‘broads,’” Afton said. “I don’t like them any more than you do, but there’s no reason to be disrespectful.”

“You have an interesting way of phrasing things.”

“Thank you.”

They ducked into Max’s car, grateful to be out of the wind and cold. He turned on the engine and flipped the heater on high. “You got Susan Darden’s number?” he asked.

“Got it. I’m texting the photo to her right now. She knows it’s coming; she’ll be on pins and needles. Now all we have to do is wait.”

They didn’t have to wait long.

Susan Darden called a minute later. “It’s not her.”

“You’re sure?” Afton asked.

“Positive. The photo you texted me, that woman is way too chic looking. The doll lady, she was more of a country bumpkin.”

“It’s not her,” Afton told Max.

“She’s sure?” Max asked. “She’s positive? Tell her to take another look.”

“I can hear him,” Susan said in Afton’s ear. “Tell Detective Montgomery that I’m sorry, but it’s not the same woman.”

“Okay,” Afton told her. “Thank you.”

“I’ll talk to you later?” Susan asked.

“Count on it.”

As they spun out of the icy parking lot, Afton glanced back at the white building, which seemed perfectly set against the snowy landscape, like an enormous pile of ice that had washed up onshore in the Antarctic. “That place is a dead end,” she said.

“You don’t know that,” Max said.

“Yeah, I do. I’ve got that gut feeling, just like you do.”

“Just because the harassment lady wasn’t the doll lady—”

Afton cut him off. “The really tragic thing is we’re running out of time. That baby’s been missing for almost five full days.”

“Maybe we wait for the ransom exchange,” Max said.

Which made Afton feel even more disheartened. How rotten was it that they had to wait for the ransom exchange to see how this drama played out? And buried deep in her psyche was the burning question: Would there even be a ransom exchange?





29


SHAKE sat on the edge of her bed, gnawing her thumbnail. She had a decision to make and she knew she didn’t have a whole lot of time. Ronnie and his crazy mother were acting more and more strangely. Lunatics was the word that kept rolling around in her brain. Ever since they’d come home with that baby last Saturday, they’d both been tiptoeing around on eggshells. And anytime she asked a question about the kid, Ronnie’s face took on this dumb, guilty look. She knew Ronnie wasn’t a bad guy, certainly not the worst she’d known. But being under his mother’s thumb . . . well, anything could happen.