Page 7 of Silencing Stolen Whispers
There was a brief pause, and Kinsley realized her mother understood her mistake. Margaret was talking about Calvin Gantz’s trial and how George Aspen had chosen a killer over his own daughter. Kinsley eased off the gas pedal as a gap in the trees showed several vehicles parked in front of a small cabin.
“I'll talk to Captain Thompson,” Kinsley relented, knowing it was easier to give in than to argue with her mother. “I'm not promising a whole week, Mom.”
“Just as long as you’re there, I’ll be happy,” Margaret said, relief evident in her voice. “Oh, and don't forget that you’re on dessert duty tonight.”
“I won’t forget,” Kinsley replied mechanically, not bothering to mention the banana bread in her passenger seat. Considering she usually brought store-bought pies, her family was in for a treat this evening. “See you tonight, Mom.”
The entire police station and most of the community had sided with her after her father had taken a private phone conversation she had with Alex and used it to get key evidence thrown out in Calvin Gantz’s trial. The same father who had been her hero, who had taught her about justice and integrity. The truth was simply too complex to explain.
She both loved and resented her father.
Kinsley brushed off her mother's call as she pulled in behind Alex's car, gravel crunching under her tires. The Jeep settled with a slight shudder when she turned off the engine.
Alex was already engaged in conversation with Officer Hendricks and Dorothy Whitaker. Dot was known for her outspoken views on the town’s history and how it should be preserved at all costs. She rented out three remote cabins on her property to pay for property taxes, and everyone was well aware that she would never sell out to a corporate entity.
Kinsley checked her reflection in the rearview mirror.
Her blonde hair was growing out, now falling just past her shoulders. She was beginning to regret letting it grow. The strands were thin, and the clip couldn’t keep her butterfly bangs from falling into her eyes. She lifted her sunglasses to rest on top of her head, pulling her bangs back as well.
As she stepped out of the Jeep, the July humidity wrapped around her like a heavy blanket, immediately causing a thin line of sweat to form along her hairline. She had chosen black pants and a white three-quarter sleeve shirt today—professional, yet practical enough to wear her waist holster comfortably.
“Hi, Dot,” Kinsley greeted as she came to a stop next to Alex. She glanced over her shoulder toward Officer Blake, who stood near the front door of the cabin. “It’s been a while. I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances.”
“You and me both,” Dot muttered with a frown. “She was such a nice girl, too. I delivered her some groceries yesterday. The poor thing never remembered to eat.”
“Officer Hendricks will take the rest of your statement, Dot,” Alex instructed gently with a nod in the officer’s direction. “We’ll reach out to let you know when we’ve released the cabin.”
Kinsley lifted one side of her lips in understanding when Dot shook her head in sorrow. It was obvious that the older woman had been fond of the victim.
“Hannah Scriven, twenty-seven,” Alex shared as they fell into step, approaching the cabin. “Law student studying for the bar exam. Rented this place from Whitaker for some peace and quiet.”
The log cabin's weathered exterior was the result of decades of North Dakota winters. The wood had transformed into a deep, earthy grey. Despite its aged appearance, the structure itself was solid. While it lacked a front porch, the cabin’s stone chimney more than compensated with its rustic charm.
It was the kind of place that promised warmth and solitude.
“How long was she staying?”
“Four weeks total. This was her third week.” Alex flipped through his small notepad. “Whitaker says she checks on her tenants once a week.”
“And delivers groceries,” Kinsley said, reiterating Dot’s previous claim. “I wouldn’t mind renting out one of her cabins.”
“Dot forgot the milk. If she hadn’t stopped in this morning, Scriven’s body wouldn’t have been found until sometime next week.”
“Did Whitaker mention any visitors? Maybe Hannah hosted a get-together of some sort.”
“Dot claims Scriven wanted complete solitude.” Alex slipped the notepad back into his shirt pocket beneath his jacket. How he managed to wear a suit in this heat was beyond her. “Novisitors that she knew of, but her own house is at least two miles from here.”
By this time, they had reached the cabin's front door. Officer Drew Blake held an electronic tablet issued by the police department. He finished entering their names into the log.
“You two ready for the game on Sunday?” Officer Blake asked as he adjusted the brim of his hat to shade his eyes.
“I’m always ready, but Wally has talked this one into adding more offensive plays,” Kinsley replied wryly before sharing the latest piece of news she heard before leaving the station. “How do you two feel about headbands?”
Both men groaned in unison, though neither seemed to be surprised by the latest development. Wally was known to go overboard with these types of things. He was still peeved that she had won the prize pool in their fantasy football league last season, which was the reason she proudly displayed the mock-championship ring with all its bling on her desk.
“I can tell you right now that I’m not wearing a headband,” Officer Blake muttered before getting back down to business. “I cleared the cabin and checked for a pulse before calling it in. Massive trauma to the head. No one has entered the premises. Whitaker saw just enough from the kitchen to know she shouldn’t touch anything.”
Alex unfolded the blue shoe coverings with a practiced motion that spoke of too many crime scenes. Kinsley held out her hand expectantly, palm up, wiggling her fingers.
