The Disappearance of Brandy Lynn Myers: A Missing Girl, a Haunting Confession, and a Family’s Relentless Search for Justice

   

  Thirteen-year-old Brandy Lynn Myers had her whole life ahead of her when she vanished on May 26, 1992. She wasn’t out doing anything dangerous or rebellious that day—she was walking around her own Phoenix, Arizona neighborhood collecting pledges for a school Read-A-Thon. It was the kind of wholesome activity many of us remember from childhood: going door-to-door with a clipboard, eager to meet a goal, to make our teachers and parents proud.

But Brandy never came home. 

Despite massive efforts from family, neighbors, and law enforcement, there was no trace. Not a single clue. What should have been a normal Tuesday evening in the Sunnyslope neighborhood became a family’s worst nightmare—and the beginning of one of Arizona’s most frustrating missing person cases.

Who Was Brandy Myers?

Brandy Lynn Myers was born on March 13th, 1979. At 13 years old, she was in the 7th grade at Sunnyslope Elementary School. She was described by family and friends as kind, trusting, and hopeful. 

That day, she was dressed in a green t-shirt, a denim skirt, white socks, and pink and white high-top Pro King sneakers in a size 6. Brandy had blonde hair, blue eyes, and wore distinctive pink and yellow eyeglasses. She was a petite Caucasian girl, standing between 4'9" and 4'10" tall and weighing around 75 to 85 pounds. She also had a few notable features: scars on her upper left knee and cheek, pierced ears, and an oval-shaped strawberry birthmark. Brandy had been diagnosed with brain damage, a condition that may have influenced her behavior or development.

Brandy was developmentally delayed—she was said to be emotionally closer to 9 or 10 years old. That spring, she was excited about participating in her school’s Read-A-Thon and had been eagerly going door-to-door to collect pledges from neighbors to support her reading goals.

On the evening of May 26, around 8:00 p.m., 13-year-old Brandy left her home carrying a clipboard in hand. She was expected to return quickly.

She never did.

The Sister Who Didn’t Go

Perhaps one of the most heartbreaking parts of Brandy’s story lies in what didn’t happen. Her younger sister, Kristin, was supposed to go with her that day. The two were very close, and Kristin had joined her on previous outings to collect Read-A-Thon pledges. But for some reason—whether distracted or simply not feeling up to it—Kristin didn’t go that night. It’s a decision that haunts her to this day.

Kristin would later become one of the most dedicated advocates for Brandy’s case, transforming her grief and guilt into action. She’s kept her sister’s name in the public eye for over three decades and continues to push for answers—even when it feels like no one else is looking.

An Immediate Search, But No Answers

When Brandy failed to return home, her family immediately grew concerned. This wasn’t like her. She didn’t wander. She didn’t run away. Within hours, law enforcement was involved, and a search began. Officers canvassed the neighborhood, interviewed neighbors, and looked for any signs of a struggle. Volunteers joined in. Flyers went up. But despite the quick response, the trail went cold almost instantly.

Brandy seemed to have vanished without a trace. No personal belongings were found. No one saw anything suspicious. It was as if she had been swallowed by the neighborhood itself.

Phoenix in the Early 1990s

The Sunnyslope neighborhood in 1992 was a modest, tight-knit community—one where people knew their neighbors and kids played outside until the streetlights came on. But it wasn’t immune to crime. Behind the familiar faces and tidy homes, there were stories of domestic abuse, petty theft, and drug use.

There were also whispers, especially after Brandy disappeared, that someone nearby had to know what happened. Some believed a neighbor might have taken her. Others thought perhaps a stranger had been cruising through the area. But no solid leads emerged. And without a body or any physical evidence, the case went cold.

Then, A Chilling Development: The Arrest of Bryan Patrick Miller

In January 2015, the Phoenix Police Department announced the arrest of Bryan Patrick Miller, a man suspected of two horrifying murders that had haunted the city for over 20 years. The victims, 22-year-old Angela Brosso and 17-year-old Melanie Bernas, had been killed in 1992 and 1993 respectively—both found mutilated along the Arizona Canal.

Known in local cosplay circles as the “Zombie Hunter,” Miller had lived in Phoenix for years. He drove a hearse, attended comic conventions in post-apocalyptic gear, and blended into the background as an eccentric figure. But DNA would finally connect him to the brutal canal murders.

The arrest shocked the city. And it sent a chill down the spine of those familiar with Brandy Myers’ case.

A Haunting Confession

Once Miller was arrested, investigators began digging into his past. What they discovered was a disturbing pattern of violent behavior, beginning when he was just a teenager. He had stabbed a woman in Washington state when he was 16 and had been institutionalized. He had also allegedly displayed obsessive, controlling behavior in his relationships.

Then came the revelation that would rock the Myers family: Miller’s ex-wife told police that he had once confessed to killing a young, mentally delayed girl who came to his door selling something. He told her he panicked, killed her, and then “cleaned everything up.”

Brandy fit that description. She had been developmentally delayed. She had been going door-to-door with a clipboard. And Miller lived less than half a mile from where she was last seen.

Despite this confession, Phoenix prosecutors declined to charge Miller with Brandy’s murder. Their reasoning: without physical evidence—no body, no DNA—they couldn’t make a case that would hold up in court. And so, once again, Brandy’s case stalled.

Unanswered Questions and Lingering Theories

The case of Brandy Myers has haunted Phoenix for decades. And while Miller remains the most likely suspect, many questions remain:

Why didn’t Brandy scream? If she was taken from a doorstep, why didn’t anyone hear anything? Could she have known her killer, or was she lured inside under false pretenses?

Where is her body? Unlike the canal murders, Brandy’s remains were never found. Some theorize Miller disposed of her differently because it was a panic killing, unlike the methodical murders of Brosso and Bernas.

Why wasn’t Miller charged? Prosecutors often require a high burden of proof—especially in cold cases. Without physical evidence, the case remains circumstantial, even with the confession.

Could someone else be responsible? While Miller is the prime suspect, no one has ever been officially charged in Brandy’s case. Some believe the neighborhood held secrets that were never fully uncovered.

A Sister’s Promise

Today, Kristin Myers continues to fight for justice. She runs the Justice for Brandy Myers Facebook page and works tirelessly to bring attention to her sister’s case and other cold cases around the country. She has appeared in interviews, podcasts, and local news segments, always keeping Brandy’s memory alive.

Brandy’s disappearance isn’t just a mystery—it’s a wound in the heart of her family that’s never healed. A little girl who just wanted to read books and win a school prize was taken from them, likely by someone living just houses away. And thirty years later, they still don’t have answers.

If You Have Information

If you or anyone you know has any information about the disappearance of Brandy Lynn Myers, please contact:

Phoenix Police Department Missing Persons Unit

 Phone: 602-534-2121

 Or submit anonymous tips through Silent Witness at 480-WITNESS (480-948-6377).

Conclusion

Brandy Myers deserves more than just a cold case file collecting dust in a drawer. She was a daughter, a sister, a student, and a little girl with hopes, dreams, and a kind heart. Her life mattered. And her disappearance left a painful void—not just in her family, but in an entire community that failed to protect one of it’s most vulnerable members.

It’s easy to look at cases like Brandy’s as tragedies from the past, moments frozen in time. But for the loved ones left behind, the pain never goes away. Her sister Kristin didn’t just lose a sibling—she lost her best friend, her childhood, and a sense of safety that was shattered in an instant. Every birthday, every milestone, every holiday that passes without Brandy is a reminder of everything that was stolen.

We often assume justice will come. That the system will work. That if someone knows something, they’ll say it. But Brandy’s story is a stark reminder that justice isn’t guaranteed. Even with a credible confession, even with a named suspect, even with the tireless efforts of a grieving family—answers don’t always come. That silence, that lack of closure, is it’s own form of cruelty.

But silence doesn’t have to mean forgetting.

By continuing to share Brandy’s story, we honor her life. We amplify the voice of her sister and every loved one who refuses to give up. We remind authorities that this case still matters. And we keep the pressure alive—for justice, for accountability, and for the truth.

This isn’t just about Brandy. It’s about every child who disappears while doing something as innocent as going door-to-door for school. It’s about every family that’s left in limbo, begging for answers that never come. It’s about ensuring that someone, somewhere, finally says something.

If you’re reading this and you remember something—no matter how small—please speak up. Because until Brandy is found, until her family knows what happened, her story isn’t over. And it’s up to all of us to keep telling it.

Thank you for reading Echoes of The Unsolved. If you want to stay updated on more true crime stories and ongoing investigations, be sure to subscribe to my blog. I'd also love to hear your thoughts on Brandy Myers’ case—feel free to share your opinions or any insights in the comments below. Until next time, stay safe.