On June 6, 2024, a woman named Tori Ellen Milsak vanished from Edgewood Street in Hot Springs, Arkansas. She was just 34 years old.

Tori is described as 5’6”, 125 pounds, with blonde hair and blue eyes—a familiar face in a tight-knit community. But after that early June day, she was simply… gone.

What followed was an all-too-common silence. A brief alert. A few scattered headlines. And then, like so many women before her—Tori slipped through the cracks. Her case got buried beneath bigger news, louder stories, and the casual cruelty of indifference.

Authorities noted that Tori may have been experiencing mental health challenges, a detail that should have prompted urgency—but instead, may have contributed to her case being quietly dismissed in the court of public opinion.

Tori Ellen Milsak mattered.

If you know anything about her disappearance, please contact the Hot Springs Police Department at (501) 321-6789.

She was just fifteen years old when she vanished.

On the afternoon of November 18, 2006, April Andrews walked out the door of her apartment in Pea Ridge, Arkansas with a simple plan. She told her mom she was headed to the Pea Ridge Church of the Nazarene, just down the street, to look through some clothes the church was giving away.

It was a short walk. A familiar street. A place where she should have been safe. But April never made it home. She was never seen again.

The last known sighting came from a child who said they saw April talking to someone in an older model brown pickup truck. But contrary to some reports, no one knows for certain if she ever got into the vehicle. What is certain is this: by that evening, April’s mother knew something was wrong — and reported her missing.

In the early days, her case was labeled as a runaway. That label stuck for far too long. But the more investigators looked, the more concerned they became. April hadn’t taken anything with her. She hadn’t made plans. And despite scattered, unconfirmed sightings in northwest Arkansas, there has never been any verified trace of her.

At the time of her disappearance, April was navigating more than most fifteen-year-olds should have to. She had few close friends. She was being bullied at school. And she was grieving the loss of her father — all while quietly worrying that she was a burden to the family that loved her.

Nearly two decades have passed, and April Andrews’ case remains unsolved. Her mother is still waiting for answers. Her name rarely makes headlines. But she was a daughter, a student, a young girl with dreams that should have stretched far beyond that church parking lot.

This is her story.
Because April still matters.
Because silence should never have the final word.
Because every girl deserves justice.

In this episode of Lost Girls, Amy and LaDonna share the heartbreaking story of Jamie Denise Brown, a 30-year-old mother of seven who vanished on March 16, 2016, after being seen at the Dallas County Court in Fordyce, Arkansas. Jamie, known for her vibrant red hair and distinctive tattoos, disappeared without a trace — and has never been seen or heard from again.

Jamie struggled with addiction, a fact that sadly led to her case being overlooked and underreported. But behind the headlines was a woman: a mother, a daughter, a human being who mattered. Her story deserves more than silence.

In this episode, we confront the harsh realities of stigma, addiction, and how the justice system often fails women like Jamie. LaDonna, a sober living director and advocate for women in recovery, speaks directly to the urgent need to protect, honor, and search for those who are so easily dismissed by society.

Jamie Brown is still missing. Her children are still waiting. And we are still fighting.

If you know anything about her disappearance, now is the time to speak.

Because addiction does not erase worth.
Because Jamie deserves justice.
Because every girl deserves justice.

It was April 29th, 1989—a spring day in Arkansas, quiet and unassuming. Susan Lynn Burns, a 32-year-old mother, daughter, and wife, was dropped off at the Little Rock airport by her husband. According to him, she was heading somewhere. But no one knows where. And no one ever saw her again.

Susan was born on June 23rd, 1956, and lived in Mena, a small town tucked in Polk County, Arkansas. She stood 5 foot 6, with brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and a few aliases—Susan Darst and Susan Brown—names that now echo like unanswered questions. At the time of her disappearance, she weighed about 135 pounds. But beyond those basic details, little else is known—not what she wore that day, not if she ever boarded a plane, and not what she may have taken with her.

What we do know is chilling: There’s no record of her ever arriving at her destination. No boarding pass. No confirmed flight. No phone calls. No activity. Nothing.

Her husband claimed he left her at the terminal. That was the last time anyone admits to seeing her. Since that moment, Susan Lynn Burns has vanished without a trace.

There are no dental records, no fingerprints on file, and to this day, no DNA has ever been submitted to any database. That alone makes her one of the most invisible missing persons in the system. And yet—someone, somewhere, knows something.

Did Susan ever plan to get on that flight? Or was she already in danger before she ever reached the airport?

Over three decades have passed. No answers. No justice. No peace.

If you're listening and you know anything—if you remember something, overheard something, or you’ve carried a secret for years—it’s not too late to speak up. You can remain anonymous. You can make the difference.

Susan Lynn Burns didn’t just disappear. People don’t just vanish. Someone out there holds the key to what really happened that day in 1989.

On the night of December 17, 2016, 18-year-old Mercedes Toliver—affectionately known as “Cede”—walked away from her home in Prescott, Arkansas after a disagreement with her mother. She was expected to head to her aunt’s house just down the road. She never made it. And she’s never been seen or heard from again.

Cede wasn’t the type to run away. She was quiet, bookish, and deeply driven. Fresh out of Prescott High School, she had just returned from Kansas, where she’d been studying for the ASVAB in hopes of joining the U.S. Air Force. She had plans. She had discipline. She had everything to live for.

She left that night with only her phone and $20. Her phone went dead shortly after. Her social media—once active—has been silent ever since.

She was last seen wearing a red hoodie over a yellow shirt, gray sweatpants, and a future full of possibility. She is described as a Black female, between 5'0" and 5'4", weighing 115 to 125 pounds, with black hair and brown eyes.

Years have passed, and the silence surrounding her case has only deepened. No updates. No clues. No justice.

Someone knows what happened to Mercedes Toliver. It’s time to speak up.

Because lost girls don’t just vanish.

Fifteen years old.
That’s how young Cassie Compton was when she vanished.

It was a quiet Sunday — September 14, 2014 — the day after Sydney attended the Arkansas County Demolition Derby with a friend in DeWitt, Arkansas. It should have been an ordinary weekend for a teenager — full of laughs, late-night snacks, and small-town memories. Instead, it became the last day anyone ever heard from her.

No goodbye.
No explanation.
Just silence.

Today, we’re once again sharing the story of a woman whose disappearance has left far more questions than answers.

Montana Bone was last seen in Little Rock, Arkansas, on June 30, 2019. That day, she seemingly vanished — and from that moment on, she was never heard from again.

What makes her case even more heartbreaking is that, for reasons still unclear, she was not reported missing until May of 2024 — nearly five years after she disappeared. Five long years where her absence went unspoken, unreported, and unnoticed by the systems that are supposed to protect people like her.

We know Montana had connections to Paragould, Arkansas, and Greene County, Arkansas — small threads of information that might one day help piece together what happened to her. But as of today, very few details have been released about her disappearance.

Her story matters. Her voice deserves to be heard, even if it’s through us now.
We won't let her be forgotten.

If you know anything about what happened to Montana Bone, please come forward. Help us find the truth. Help bring her home.

On a quiet summer day—July 24, 1993—in the small town of Heber Springs, Arkansas, Debara Jean Vaughan vanished without a trace. She was 41 years old, standing 5 feet 7 inches tall, and weighed about 110 pounds. With her brown hair, brown eyes, and gentle demeanor, Debara was more than a missing person statistic—she was a woman with a life, a family, and people who loved her deeply.

And then, she was gone.

More than three decades have passed since that day, and Debara's disappearance remains one of the most haunting unsolved cases in Arkansas. The details surrounding her vanishing are disturbingly scarce. She was last seen on that July afternoon in Heber Springs—and then, nothing. No phone calls. No sightings. No physical evidence. Just silence.

For Debara’s family, the absence of answers has been agonizing. The lack of closure has left them trapped in limbo—unable to grieve fully, unable to move forward, because the question of what happened still lingers painfully in the air.

In so many unsolved cases, we can trace patterns—familiar red flags, suspicious individuals, or timelines that help reconstruct the final moments. But in Debara’s case, those critical puzzle pieces seem to be missing. And yet, someone out there knows something. Because no one just disappears. Not without someone seeing, hearing, or knowing something.

It’s been over thirty years. That’s thirty years of birthdays missed, holidays left empty, and time lost—time her loved ones can never get back.

If you have any information—no matter how small—you may hold the key to unlocking the truth. You may be the missing piece that gives Debara's family the answers they’ve been waiting for all these years.

Debara Jean Vaughan deserves to be found. Her family deserves justice.
Because every girl deserves justice—and Debara is no exception.

On September 18, 2019, Cheyenne Stannard vanished from Huntsville, Arkansas, under circumstances that raised far more questions than answers. Known for her consistent communication with family, Cheyenne's sudden silence was immediately alarming. The story offered by those closest to her didn’t add up—claims of her leaving on foot, heading to far-off states with no transportation or resources, defied logic and left loved ones desperate for clarity.

In this episode of Lost Girls, we explore the troubling details surrounding Cheyenne’s disappearance. With no confirmed sightings, no phone activity, and no contact in over four years, the case remains unsolved—and deeply unsettling. As we share Cheyenne’s story, we also amplify the voices of those still searching for her, holding onto hope and demanding the answers she deserves.

This is Lost Girls. And this is the story of Cheyenne Stannard.

In the early hours of September 2, 1995, Lori Ann Murchison-Dunbar was seen for the last time at the corner of Parker Street and South 6th Street in Fort Smith, Arkansas — just steps away from the Continental Motel. She had been released from the Sebastian County Jail earlier that day following a DUI-related car accident involving her and her boyfriend. He remained in custody, and Lori had reportedly been given $50 to bail him out. But Lori never made it back.

She vanished without a trace. She never picked up her final paycheck from the Oaks Lodge Nursing Home, and most haunting of all, she never contacted her baby daughter, who was being raised by Lori’s mother.

Lori’s case remains unsolved, tangled in rumors, silence, and alleged corruption. In this episode of Lost Girls, we explore the life and disappearance of Lori Ann Murchison-Dunbar — a mother, a daughter, and a woman whose story demands answers, even after nearly three decades of uncertainty.

If you know anything about Lori’s disappearance, please come forward. It’s time for the truth to finally surface.