Page 95 of Building What's Meant to Be

“Or in this case missing,” I say. “But that’s what I was afraid of.”

Henley claps me on the shoulder. “Son, I know you’re angling for the job, but we have to hold an election all the same.”

“I’m aware and wouldn’t think of doing anything illegal.”

“Well, there is a market that needs repair over on Route Seventeen. Mitch’s old place if you feel like updating another local business. Things like that sure look good on a ballot.”

I laugh dryly. “That’s not it. Sir, Twinky, er, Cindy Clawford is Stoll’s next of kin and the recipient of his estate in the case of his untimely death.” I have a copy of the will on my phone but ought to keep the finer points to myself, so I don’t arouse suspicion in Tinsley.

“Thought you said she was stolen.” Henley cocks an eyebrow.

“Indeed. From his wife. I have reason to believe he stole the cat back from whoever took it in the first place. In any case, the veterinarian records show she belonged to Estelle Stoll.”

“Estelle Stoll? I’ve never heard of her.” Henley rubs his chin.

“I can provide you with all the documentation to confirm.”

“Where are Gatlin and Estelle?” Henley asks vaguely as if the answer will materialize in the hole of the doughnut as he takes a bite.

“All I have is the name of Gatlin’s once-upon-a-time wife, video footage of his last sighting, and the receipt from the purchase of a Hawaiian shirt, but I’m working on it.”

“I bet you are...and working your way into the mayor’s office,” Henley says knowingly.

“You sound like a private detective in a whodunnit movie, but did you say Estelle?” Tinsley asks, breaking from her chat with Dora.

“Yeah, supposedly that’s Gatlin’s wife’s name.” I keep her real name to myself because I can’t easily explain why I have that other than my federal database clearance.

“I knew an Estelle Blanchard—she played Sierra Mahoney’s mom on the show. Sierra was the main vampire-wisp. Estelle was so sweet and always brought cookies to the set.”

I tilt my head like Brave when Tinsley calls his name. It’s a flimsy lead, but I’ll look into it all the same. But first, I want to talk to Tinsley about tomorrow and the day after that and the next...

Henley takes a last sip of coffee and then puts on his hat. “Time to get back to work.”

Yeah, me too, but I’m tired. Tired of chasing clues and criminals. Tired of always looking over my back. Tired of obfuscating and bending the truth.

I should just tell Tinsley about my job and my status. Clear things up now. We’ll go back to the office to talk. Hopefully, the animals haven’t torn the place to shreds.

The rain still comes down as we step outside. Thankfully, it’s a short walk, but Tinsley goes still the moment she sets foot on the sidewalk. She ducks behind me.

“What’s wrong?”

I glance down the street as a black Lamborghini with a red and gold claw mark wrap whizzes by. “That’s out of place in Butterbury.” Then I glimpse the four letters on the license plate. “Puma.”

Taking Tinsley by the arm, I lead her out of the rain and upstairs to the office. Brave greets us like celebrities. She goes still when she spots something on my desk.

“Is there something you’d like to tell me?” I ask, alarmed that he found her here unless they’d arranged to meet.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” she fires back.

A long and pointed silence stretches between us as the cat weaves and rubs our legs. I look at my desk and notice an open file—Twinky must’ve flicked it with her tail. Clipped to it is a black and white mug shot of Harold Jerrold Pumanowksi.

I move to close it, but Tinsley beats me there and her eyes widen at the federal heading on the top sheet. Her eyes scan until they reach the bottom where she stops. Her nostrils flare. I know what it says without having to read it myself. I’ve memorized every detail of this case.

“Known associates? Tinsley Louise Humber? Aiden, what is this?”

My breath stalls, unsure whether to go in or out. I’m not going to lose my cool, but I need to keep my calm. I could really use those cute cat pics right at the moment. I’m not mad at her. No, far from it. I’m upset with myself for not coming forward with the truth sooner and for being so careless.

When I don’t answer, she shakes her head and then rushes out the door and down the stairs.

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