Don't Tell A Soul (Detectives Kane and Alton)

“Not at this time of the year.” Rowley nimbly sidestepped a couple of kids, rounded the hood, then slid onto the passenger seat. He fastened his seat belt then pulled on his gloves. “The snow hangs around until April sometimes.”

Kane recalled passing the real estate office on the way into Black Rock Falls. The snow had eased a little but the wipers labored under the drift on the windshield. He waited for a break in the traffic and headed downtown. His mind moved between the cases Jenna had outlined: two people missing without a trace was unusual in a small town. An attack on a sheriff even more bizarre. Spotting the real estate office on the left, picturesque with its roof heavy with snow and icicles hanging from tree branches, he pulled into the small parking lot outside. He stared at the frost-obscured photos of properties for sale and rent. Who looks at properties in this kind of weather? “Let me do the talking. You take notes as necessary and bring up the photograph on your cellphone.”

“Sure. Can I ask a question?” Rowley turned in his seat then continued at Kane’s nod. “How do you keep all the cases in your head? You seem to jump from one to another without so much as checking your notes.”

Kane pulled his woolen cap over his ears. “I treat the cases like TV programs. I’m sure you watch many different series in one night and you can remember what happened in the last episode, right? It’s the same thing only these are real people, so instead of waiting until next week’s thrilling episode, I need to know what has happened right away.”

“I think I’m going to need my notes; one mistake and the sheriff will have me by the balls.” Rowley grimaced then took out his notepad and pen. “Ready?”

“Oh, yeah.” Kane slid from the car and an arctic blast hit his face. He walked around a woman carrying a kid with a snotty red nose and headed for the door. I’m crazy to take this job. I don’t need the money. I should be at home, reading a book, in front of a fire.

The bell on the door clanged their arrival and Mr. Davis emerged from the back room holding a steaming mug.

“What can I do for you, Deputies?” His eyebrows rose in question and the hand placing the cup on the desk trembled a little.

Kane looked down at him and caught a whiff of brandy drifting from the beverage. “Mr. Davis? I’m Deputy Sheriff Kane. I’m aware you have an appointment soon but I need to ask you a few questions.”

“Okay, the clients are due at noon, so I do have a little time to spare.” David dropped carefully into the office chair behind his desk as if in pain. “Please take a seat. Looking up at you makes my neck ache.”

“Sure.” Kane sat down on an exceedingly uncomfortable wooden chair, unearthing unpleasant memories of sitting in a principal’s office. He pushed the image from his mind and gathered his thoughts. “I’m investigating the disappearance of Mrs. Samantha Woodward.”

“I’ve told Deputy Rowley everything I remember about her and I haven’t had time to go through my files for a list of the properties.” Davis rolled his eyes to the ceiling as if seeking divine intervention. “It takes time and I’ll get them to you as soon as possible.”

“I understand and appreciate your help.” Kane smiled in an effort to relax the man but from the beads of sweat forming on his brow, it had not worked. “I thought seeing a photo of Mrs. Woodward might jog your memory.”

“Here, take a look.” Rowley held out his cellphone. “Do you remember meeting her?”

Davis leaned across the desk and squinted at the image, then flicked a concerned gaze in Kane’s direction.

“I have a lot of people dropping by asking about properties.” He slumped back in his chair and sighed. “I do remember one woman who mentioned selling her home and wanting to retire here. She wasn’t looking for a big place, just something she and her family could manage alone.”

Kane straightened. “That’s a good start. Do you remember discussing any particular property with her?”

“Vaguely. We would likely have discussed suitable properties and arranged an appointment for a viewing but I have no recollection of taking an elderly woman to view ranches.” He drummed his fingers on the desk. “None at all.”

“Did she mention anything about where she was staying?”

“I really don’t remember.” He spread his hands. “Really, Deputy, I can’t tell you what I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I feel like I’m being harassed. This is the second time you’ve spoken to me in less than an hour, and a young woman came by asking the same questions. She showed me her ID and insisted I tell her where I sent her grandmother. I’m giving you the same answer. The moment I can go through the old listings, I’ll send them to you, but right now I have to get ready to leave.”

Looks like Miss Woodward is still doing a little investigating of her own. Kane pushed to his feet. “No harassment intended. You must appreciate we have to follow leads, and if you supply me with a list of the properties as soon as possible, we can do our job.” He took a card from his wallet and placed it on the table. “Thank you for your time.” He led the way out the door with Rowley close behind.

“Now can we eat?” Rowley rubbed the end of his red nose.

“Oh, yeah.”

* * *

Consumed by the sheer delight of Aunt Betty’s chili, all thoughts of the Woodward case slid into oblivion. When Rowley cleared his throat, Kane’s brain snapped back into action. He pushed the empty plate away and reached for his coffee. “That has to be the best bowl of chili ever.” He grinned at Rowley.

“I agree.” Rowley appeared uncomfortable and moved the saltcellar around the red and white checkered tablecloth like a chess piece. “Ah, the paperwork for a transaction check on Mrs. Woodward’s credit cards hasn’t been started yet. I don’t have her cellphone number either.” His cheeks flushed. “I thought you should know.”

Kane’s respect of Rowley multiplied tenfold. He apprec

iated professionalism and honesty. He leaned back in his chair and met his troubled gaze. “I spoke to Sheriff Alton this morning about Mrs. Woodward. Her granddaughter insists she was old-school and didn’t own a cellphone; she wrote letters. We know she banked money in town and picked up her mail.” He sipped his coffee, eyeing the relief spreading across Rowley’s expression. “She gives the impression of a woman who uses cash rather than a card, but as we know she has an account at the local bank, it would be prudent to file the paperwork for access to her records.” He gave him a nod of approval. “I appreciate your candidness. Giving me this information means we cover every angle of Mrs. Woodward’s case.”

“Thank you, sir.” Rowley let out a long sigh. “I’ll get on it first thing Monday morning.”

“No, I need this information now. Daniels should have the documents ready to file for the Helms case by the time we get back to the office. It won’t take you long to do the same for Mrs. Woodward. We have probable cause for court orders and warrants for both cases. All I need is a judge. When we get back to the office, I’ll sign the paperwork and you’ll have to interrupt the local judge’s weekend. I’ll need permission to do a search ASAP.” He finished his coffee and placed the cup on the table.