“Grandma puts me in the freezer when I spill my juice,” my 7-year-old daughter sobbed in my arms. As I carried her to my heated truck, she gestured to a second, padlocked freezer hidden under my old boxes. “Don’t touch that one,” she whispered. “That’s where Grandpa went eight years ago…”

radio. “Dispatch, this is Vance. I need Homicide, Forensics, and the District Attorney at **412 Elmwood Lane** immediately. We have a crime scene.”

Just then, the screech of tires echoed from the driveway.

Brooke’s sedan pulled up behind the ambulance. She threw her door open and ran into the garage, her face flushed with anger.

“Mark!” Brooke screamed,continue reading …