Page 16 of Sinister Secrets

“Coffee.”

“I’ll brew a fresh pot. Just one?”

He looks at me and arches his eyebrows.

“I’m good, thanks.”

He nods and continues down a narrow hall. Enters a room with his name on a placard beside the entry and collapses into a leather office chair that looks much more comfortable—and cleaner—than the armchair with tattered upholstery that he gestures for me to take.

I watch him tap his mouse to wake his computer screen, then peck out his password painfully slowly using only his forefingers before I reluctantly take a seat, keeping to the right to avoid a suspicious-looking stain stretched across the left. There’s no telling how long this could take.

The only sounds are his jabbing at the keyboard and a faint whistling coming from his nose. My skin crawls, though I couldn’t say whether the feeling of microscopic legs creeping across my arms is real or imagined. I fight the urge to scratch, not wanting to do anything to distract the sheriff and prolong my suffering. Just when I think I can’t take it anymore, he leans back from his desk, rubbing a hand down his face as he sighs heavily.

“Here it is,” he says, meeting my gaze. “Gordon Massey was reported missing by his mother, Cheryl Massey, over five months ago. Identifying features include a small birthmark under his left eye and a tattoo of a cartoon alligator on his left upper arm. The birthmark isn’t going to be much use to us, but it sounds like you got the ID right with the tattoo.”

“Had he mentioned anything to her about leaving town for a while?”

He squints at the screen a minute before saying, “No. According to the report, she’s not sure how long he might have been missing. Says here that it wasn’t abnormal for her not to hear from him for weeks at a time, but when he forgot to call on her birthday, she tried getting in touch. When she didn’t get a response, she reached out to the real estate office he worked at and discovered that he hadn’t shown up for a while.”

“How long’s a while?”

He shrugs.

“Didn’t anyone follow up?”

“The deputy who took the report didn’t see any reason to. There was no evidence of foul play. He wasn’t at high risk. Adults are allowed to take off if they want to.”

“What about his living situation? Did he rent? Own? Have a roommate?”

“It doesn’t say.”

“We need to find out.”

“I’ll ask when I speak to his mother. I plan on visiting her myself later today to break the news. Drive her to the ME’s for the viewing.”

“Alone?” I ask.

“I think that would be best.”

I don’t, but I suspect there’s no use arguing. “As soon as she formally identifies the body, I’d like to speak with her. And his coworkers.”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is my town.”

“And you asked for my help with this investigation. How am I supposed to find out any answers if I don’t ask any questions?”

His lips thin as he studies me for a long minute.

“Fine. But I don’t want to hear about you being too aggressive. These types of things require a certain finesse.”

I swallow down my response, knowing that it won’t help the situation. Instead, I say, “I’ll keep that in mind. While you’re speaking with Mrs. Massey, can you find out what happened to Gordon’s belongings? It might prove helpful to take a look at them. There could be something to clue us in to where he’s been all this time.”

“I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, I want you to stay away from town until I give you the go ahead.”

“What?”