Page 38 of Silencing Stolen Whispers
Could she have tracked him down and—what?
Shot him?
Stabbed him?
Was Kinsley capable of murdering someone in cold blood?
Everyone in the department…in town…was aware that Gantz hadn't been seen in years. There had even been an investigation when a distant cousin called the station and made a claim about being unable to reach him.
Shane’s chest tightened with an emotion he couldn’t name. Fear. Horror. Disgust. It was far too complex for him to sort through, and the implications were staggering.If the accusation was unfounded, it implied that someone was harassing Kinsley, and she hadn't mentioned it to anyone. Considering her independent nature, the possibility wasn't unlikely.
However, if there was any truth to the claim, then the note was a threat. Could she be in some sort of danger? Why wouldn't the individual simply turn her in if there was evidence to support such an allegation?
But most of all…why would anyone allow her to be judge, jury, and executioner?
“What the hell did you do, Kin?”
15
Kinsley Aspen
July
Saturday — 10:24 am
The Scriven estate was located in a rather prestigious Fallbrook neighborhood, where each house seemed to compete for the title of most intimidating. The red brick exterior and white columns hinted at generational wealth and long-standing traditions. The meticulously trimmed lawns, with their razor-sharp edges, brought to mind the old adage—measure twice, cut once.
Kinsley guided her Jeep through two rows of strategically planted White Ash trees. Their tall shadows fell in an aesthetically pleasing pattern across the long driveway. Even she was impressed with the way the patterns of light and shade shifted ever so slowly, creating a serene and picturesque entrance.
All that serenity ended abruptly at the sight of Bailey's yellow Volkswagen parked out front. Knowledge of the grief currently captured inside the somber brick façade of the family home,the cheerful color was a jarring contrast.The little car seemed almost defiant, its bumper stickers for various bands and causes creating a collage of rebellion that Hannah would never have tolerated on her own vehicle.
Kinsley left her engine running, the steady hum providing a comforting barrier between herself and the difficult task that awaited her inside. Needing some extra time, she used the Jeep’s Bluetooth system to access her speed dial list. Alex's name was at the top, so she pressed the call button, activating the electronic ring to blast through her speakers. She was able to turn down the volume just in time before Alex’s deep voice vibrated the windows.
“You've reached Alex Lanen. Leave a message, and I'll get back to you as soon as possible.”
“Alex, it's me.” Kinsley kept her gaze on the front door. “I'm rescheduling the follow-up with Jade until Monday morning. I'm at the Scriven residence. The local moving company finally delivered Hannah’s boxes. I also get a bonus this morning, because Bailey’s yellow bug is parked out front. I’ll press to see what she knows about Rebecca Chambliss. Talk to you soon.”
Kinsley and Alex discovered yesterday that a local moving company had packed Hannah’s belongings. Since she had rented the cabin for a full month, she told them there was no rush to deliver the boxes.
Kinsley ended the call, but before she could shut off the engine, Lydia’s name began to flash on the screen. For a moment, Kinsley considered letting it go to voicemail, but she accepted the inevitable.
Her best friend possessed the persistence of a third-grade teacher who had spent years dealing with children's creative excuses, and she would keep calling until Kinsley answered. Their friendship had weathered close to twenty-seven years oflife's complications, but right now, normal seemed like a foreign concept.
Kinsley sighed and accepted the call.
“I got your message this morning. Don't you dare tell me that you're canceling tonight.” Lydia's voice filled the Jeep, her warning coming through loud and clear. “I've been looking forward to this all week, and I already promised myself the loaded nachos at The Plow.”
“I wasn't planning to cancel,” Kinsley replied, though the thought had crossed her mind more than once. “But could we maybe meet at The Bucket instead? It's closer to the station, and I might be running late depending on how my afternoon goes.”
“The Bucket?” Lydia’s reluctance was more than apparent. “Kin, we've been meeting at The Plow for girls' night since we turned twenty-one. It's tradition. Besides, you know how I feel about all those cops hanging around The Bucket. What if they figure out I was the one who stole that tube of lipstick from the makeup counter?”
“You were twelve, Lydia.”
“Still a crime.”
Kinsley resisted the urge to laugh.
“Fine, but like I said, I might be a few minutes late.”
