“Well, they’re from the devil. They never end well. There’s always at least one kid in tears. Always. I’m pretty sure Easter egg hunts were invented by the same people who decided clowns would be fun for kids.”

“You don’t think clowns are funny?”

“Clowns are to funny what Cheetos are to health food.”

“That is . . . so true.”

She sighed. “I hope when Mom comes back she doesn’t have a monk haircut.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that.”

++++

Tessa was heading toward the door to go to school when Patrick suggested dropping her off on his way to work.

“I can walk. I do it every day.”

“It’s cold out there this morning.”

“Not any colder than usual.”

“It’s not a problem. Really.”

She looked at him curiously. “Are you being for real here? I’m not in the first grade.”

“No, I know. I’m just trying to be helpful. It’s no problem, really. I’ll grab my things.”

Just to get going, she gave in. “Whatever.”

Five minutes later when she was getting out of the car, he said, “Have a good day at school.”

“Now there’s a contradiction in terms.”

++++

Though I was feeling a little overly protective of my stepdaughter, I hoped she wasn’t intuiting the extent of my concern. With Mannie on the loose and Christie not back yet, I couldn’t help but have the girl’s well-being on my mind.

I called in to see if the lab was able to pull any prints from the mannequin head I’d found last night. The technician I spoke with told me that so far they’d only found Mannie’s and Blake’s prints—and mine, from when I’d picked it up.

“Alright. Listen, I’ve been thinking: I want you to look for DNA as well.”

“DNA?”

“Is it too late to do that?”

“At this point it’s not ideal, but we can give it a shot. It would probably be contaminated. Why?”

“In the past, there were instances when Blake made his prostitutes kiss the mannequins that he had.”

“You want us to look for the DNA of a fille de joie on this mannequin head?”

“Anyone’s DNA, but yeah. On the lips, particularly. Let me know what you find.”

Earlier, I’d sent an expedited request through to find out whose prints had been on the jacket the woman left in the woods beside the graveyard, but when I checked my messages, I found that the request had been denied, leaving the lingering question of whose prints those were.

And the even more baffling mystery of why I wasn’t being told her identity.

++++