The air did not move in the underground facility. The coolness afforded from the poured concrete walls was no match for the scorching heat. Even at seven in the morning, Amanda could feel sweat dripping down her neck and into her collar.Neither she nor Evelyn had been up for the barbecue after leaving the morgue on Saturday evening. Hank Bennett. The misidentified girl. The red fingernails. The broken hyoid bone. It was a lot to process, and neither of them seemed up to having a coherent conversation. They’d both talked in monosyllables, Amanda because of the things she’d seen with Pete Hanson, and Evelyn—most probably—because she’d been unsettled about seeing Rick Landry again. No matter their reasons, Evelyn had gone home to her husband and Amanda had gone home to her empty apartment.If Sunday brought anything, it was a welcome sense of normalcy. Amanda had cooked breakfast for her father. They’d gone to church. She’d cooked Sunday dinner. All the while, Duke had been notably more cheerful.
