Page 41 of Silencing Stolen Whispers
Hannah’s background check revealed that she had stayed in dorms throughout her undergraduate studies. While she returned home during the summers, the day she started law school was the last time she spent a night at her parents’ house.
Against the far wall, eight cardboard boxes sat in a neat row, each labeled with black marker in what was presumably Hannah's precise handwriting.
Books.
Winter clothes.
Bathroom.
Electronics.
Knickknacks.
Bedding.
Kitchen.
Personal items.
The last box drew Kinsley’s attention. The tape on the seam was neatly cut, yet someone had folded the four flaps back into place.
“Mr. Scriven,” Kinsley called out, hoping to catch him before he descended the staircase. She waited a heartbeat, grateful when he materialized in the doorway. “Just out of curiosity, has anyone else been through these boxes? You? Your wife?”
“Hannah had borrowed a pair of earrings from Bailey before…, well before.” William appeared unfazed by his daughter's request. "She wanted them returned, and we didn't see any issue with that. Detective, I understand that my daughter can be... unpredictable. She's impulsive, acts on awhim, and often doesn't consider the outcomes of her actions. However, she would never have harmed her sister. Ever.”
Kinsley nodded her understanding, keeping to herself that people made choices that they otherwise wouldn’t in precarious situations. She was living proof of that, but she wouldn’t project her own circumstances onto someone else.The truth of the matter was that Bailey was hiding something.
Whether that something had to do with her twin sister remained to be seen.
16
Kinsley Aspen
July
Saturday — 6:17 pm
Country tunes played from several speakers near the bar, creating a background that filled the comfortable gaps in conversation without overpowering the discussion of weather patterns and crop yields. The old country music was a nostalgic blend of classic hits about love lost and found, along with the simple pleasures of small-town living.
The Plow was one of the few places in Fallbrook that hadn’t been modernized over the years. It was one of the main reasons farmers and ranchers preferred the remote bar located on a quiet country road in the middle of nowhere. It was also why The Plow attracted a different crowd than those who visited The Bucket, the pub across from the station.
Kinsley had claimed a booth in the back corner, where the scuffed wooden floors and the overhead beams flickered with golden light from the hanging lanterns. She took a long, slowsip of her beer, the cold amber liquid most welcome after a day spent sorting through a dead girl’s belongings.
Someone called out Kinsley’s name, and she spotted Chuck Harrington behind the bar. His hair and beard were salt and pepper, matching his neatly trimmed beard. The front of his flannel shirt was covered by the apron he always wore when deep-frying chicken wings. He raised his hand in greeting, flashing her a smile. She waved back, figuring he would come over to chat when he had a moment.
Chuck, originally from Fallbrook, was a former truck driver who had used every penny in his checking account to buy out the previous owner of The Plow. The spontaneous purchase had been his way of staying connected to his hometown.
Back in the day, Chuck and her father had been as thick as thieves. Their high school days had come and gone, though.
“Sorry, sorry, I'm here!” Lydia's voice preceded her arrival by several seconds, carrying across the bar with the same enthusiasm she brought to everything else. She slid into the booth across from Kinsley with her characteristic lack of grace, her curly auburn hair slightly disheveled and her cheeks flushed with exertion. “I couldn't find a parking spot that wasn't the size of a matchbox.”
“I hear you,” Kinsley said in agreement as Lydia tucked her purse into the side of the booth. “I had to park on the grass on the north side of the building. I heard Chuck switched wing night from Wednesday to Saturday. Smart move, but I think every rancher from here to the county line decided to get here early.”
“Please tell me you ordered our meals before Chuck rings that bell announcing he’s all out of wings.”
“Of course, I ordered for us.” Kinsleyhadordered their usual—loaded nachos with extra jalapeños as their appetizer, and two orders of wings and fries for their meals. “But you said thatyou’re on some health kick, right? I ordered you the garden salad.”
“Don't start with me.” Lydia reached for the bottle of beer that Kinsley had preordered for her. “My entire body feels like I've been hit by a combine harvester. I can barely lift my arms, and don't even get me started on what sitting down does to my ass.”
