Chapter 3

"Had I not told you to give me a call once you've arrived?" he asked, his blue eyes flashing in annoyance as he drove.

Why do I feel as if I'm being scolded like a seven year old?

"Look, I'm a grown woman. I can take care of myself. Plus, I just completely forgot about you when I got here." I shrugged, watching his brows furrow at the truth-slap.

We were already headed to the hotel and have left Clarkson's Garage five minutes ago. My bike was safely tucked on top of the vehicle.

After that insignificant incident earlier, I found out that the two angry voices belonged to the detective himself and some old man.

Roman had got up silently and helped me up then. But he hadn't spoken a word to me, just giving those intimidating brown stare, his lips tight and his expression blank. I wanted to speak to him so that I could get him to talk and make a short analysis on his person. But of course, the detective had to ruin my plans.

Detective Michael had seen my bandaged knee and offered to assist me, I quote "the poor young lady," back to my residence. And now, here we were.

"What were you doing there, Sinclair?" the detective grumbled in inquiry.

"What does it look like I was doing there?" I retorted. "Initiating contact with Samantha's friends, of course!"

"You're not going to get anything from the Clarksons', Sinclair. Stay out of there." His tone held an ominous warning.

Now, my suspicion was aroused.

Why was he so defensive and protective of the Clarksons?

I took a moment to observe the detective's body language. His large, muscular frame appeared tensed, especially at the shoulder area. His dark eyebrows were knitted together and his striking blue eyes dilated.

What am I missing here?

We remained silent for a few minutes, the little space between us crackling. I knew that he knew that I was watching him closely. So, I decided to break the ice.

"Mikee," I whined like a kid which finally elicited an eye-roll from him. "I told you not to interrupt me when I'm gathering intel." He just scoffed, shaking his head while he parked the car near the hotel's portico.

Once the engine died, the detective turned to me from his seat. "I want you to be wary of your surroundings Ms. Sinclair. Stay away from the Clarksons. This is my advice to you. Take it."

"Okay," I responded flatly.

Mikee's face turned impassive. He knew I was lying. The moment he turns his back, he knew I would deliberately disobey him. The advices he gave me had always fallen on deaf ears. Now was no different. But what could he do to stop me?

Let me answer that: nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I'm not a case officer who had a badge he could confiscate. As long as I'm not "interfering" with his investigation, I was untouchable where the law is concerned.

My relationship with the detective had always been complicated, in a way. Our age gap didn't help either.

We've worked together for years and I still can't be certain whether he thinks of me as a friend or an annoying child; a partner or a nuisance. We were hot and cold from one moment to the next. It was always so confusing.

I got out of the vehicle while he retrieved my bike. He handled it with care as he stepped close to me.

The detective was a head and two inches taller so I had to tilt my head up to meet his gaze. I hate it when people look down on me... literally.

"It's been a long time," his nostalgic tone surprised me, causing my brows to shoot up.

"So, you did miss me?" I teased, my lips suddenly stretching into a wide Cheshire smile.

Mikee grunted a reply, "Perhaps."

"Aw, that's so romantic of you ole man." There was the eensy-weensy hint of a smile in his bright blue eyes as I punched him playfully against his shredded abs. But then, his demeanor suddenly changed as he stared at me in deep thought.

"Is there something wrong?"

"Nothing." He glanced at his watch before looking back at my perplexed expression. "I have to go."

That was all he said to me, before driving out of the hotel's portico. This is exactly what I mean by hot and cold. That old man has bipolar tendencies at times.

The very moment his car disappeared from view, however, I mounted my bike and drove back to the center of the town.

Damien, Samantha's boyfriend, is to leave work at 4 pm. It was 10 o'clock. I still had so much time on my hands.

Hmm... what to do? What to do?

As if by some providence, I passed by a few gossiping women garbed in old-fashioned clothes. My bicycle screeched to a halt and I smiled to myself.

Gossipers were the easiest source of information; not too reliable at times, but they are something.

I went inside the closest shops to buy a Sunday dress and a few cakes. It was time to play the social butterfly.

*****

When I first approached the gossiping women from their table, their eyebrows all rose indicating their surprise. They scanned my body up and down in my baby blue dress as I explained to them that I was new in town and would like to share a few slices of cake with the ladies.

Mrs. Pierce, who seemed to be the ringleader of the group, stood up and introduced herself first. "Welcome to our town," she said with a practiced smile, but her handshake was brief and weak, indicating that she didn't want to have any close ties with me.

The rest followed her lead and introduced themselves. When it came to Mrs. Port's turn, I immediately recognized her resemblance with Kassandra Port, Samantha's best friend. Her dainty fingers grasped mine fully in a handshake; it was weak, but unlike the rest, her handshake took a bit longer.

Submissive and friendly.

They then gave me a seat at their table outside the cafe and ordered tea for all of us. I knew better than to order coffee. That would only serve to isolate me from their group. Mimicry and compliments are the very first step to befriend strangers.

I gave them compliments on their make-up, dresses and hairstyle whatsoever to which they relished on and began to brag about themselves.

The cake was already sliced and we each took a slice unto our plate. The chubby one, Mrs. Luccita, already ate three before I could finish mine.

Mrs. Pierce grimaced when she noticed this, pausing from her prattling about her neighbor's daughter returning home late at night. She glanced at me once, asking about me and what I do.

I told her I just graduated and was enjoying my vacation in town for the meantime. She was quick to point out that I should look for a job and not rely on my parents' money. Her body language told me she didn't like me; her body facing away from my direction as we conversed. It was time to break the ice and be more persuasive.

I made up some story about my family owning a business enterprise and that I was supposed to take over the company a year from now. Their eyes all glinted with interest at my proclamation. I didn't go to the specifics and remained vague about my narration, before quickly diverting the topic about "themselves." Leeches like to talk about themselves and could go on for hours and hours about it.

We talked more about nonsense stuff before I took control again and diverted the conversation to my desired topic.

"...Sylvan is such a peaceful town. It's so unlike my hometown. The crime-rate there is so high that kidnapping and murder is such a common topic already." I shivered visibly, waiting for them to mention Samantha.

There was silence at first, as the five of them looked at each other morosely. I pretended to be confused. "What's the matter? Did I say something wrong?"

It was Mrs. Port who answered me. "It's true that Sylvan is a peaceful town. But something happened recently here that petrified everyone." Mrs. Port's blue eyes stared at me in suspense. "A girl suddenly disappeared without any trace. Not just any girl; Samantha Roberts was my daughter's best friend."

Was?

"That's terrible!" I gasped, putting a hand over my heart as I observed their expressions. "What do you think happened to her?"

Mrs. Luccita then interpolated, "Someone abducted her, I tell you! I heard from my cousin who heard it from her neighbor whose brother worked with Samantha as a tour guide, that she was seeing someone in the woods often."

"Why didn't he tell the police?" I asked, suddenly interested. The detective already interviewed Samantha's boss and co-workers, but he seemed to have missed this important piece of information.

They all looked at me confused. Mrs. Luccita asked, "How did you know he didn't tell the police?"

Shoot!

I shrugged nonchalantly. "I just guessed. So, did he see who it was?"

"No," Luccita whispered. All of them leaned closer as though worried that someone might overhear them. But they've probably circulated this information all over town either way; if they were so ready to disclose such knowledge to a stranger like me, who else in this town would they not tell?

"How often did they meet in the woods?"

"Every day after work... Olden was the name of her co-worker. He said that every time after work, he'd see Samantha headed towards this cabin in the woods... Once, he tried following her, out of curiosity of course. I heard that he heard them arguing. It was a man's voice!"

"He was seeing a man in the woods every day after work?" I clarified, waiting for her confirmation. She nodded. "Didn't she have a boyfriend?"

It was Mrs. Port who quickly defended Samantha, "Yes, she does. Damien is such a sweet boy and they really love each other. She wouldn't cheat on him. That man in the woods must have been trying to blackmail her."

"How did you come to this conclusion?" I inquired which made her fall silent in conflicted thought, brows furrowing as she considered my question.

"I-I don't know," she stuttered.

Another woman, whom I recalled was named Mrs. Urion suddenly exclaimed beside me, "Samantha was a good woman! I heard she and Damien were contemplating on living together for months now. But then, she just disappeared out of nowhere."

"Maybe even kidnapped by that man in the woods!" Mrs. Luccita added.

"Oh, she was such an angel! Who would do such a thing to her?" Mrs. Pierce cried out dramatically.

There it is again, the past-tense. Did they believe Samantha to be dead? If they did, then why?

"Was there ever any suspect?"

"Nonsense," Mrs. Pierce waved it out of the question. "The residents of Sylvan are completely harmless. That man in the woods was probably not from here. If there ever was a suspect, it would be him."

"Does anyone know who had last seen her?"

"Nobody knows. It was my daughter who first reported her missing," Mrs. Port said. "They were very close you know. She was the first one who immediately noticed."

"So, how would you describe Samantha then?" I asked casually, trying not to sound too inquisitive. "I can already tell she was a magnificent woman."

"Why of course. She does a lot of volunteer work in our community," Mrs. Pierce answered with a flurry. "Samantha even babysits poor Timothy Jr. every weekend. That poor kid."

"Timothy? I'm sorry. I'm afraid I don't know who that is."

"Oh, he's Mrs. Olive's son. Quite a strange child. His parents are very rich but cannot make babysitters stay for long." Mrs. Pierce shook her head.

"And why is that?" I asked, realizing that they were talking about the kid I saw last night.

"We don't know ourselves," Mrs. Urion put in, leaning closer. "But only Samantha lasted among little Timothy's babysitters. He's most peculiar. But for sure he will grow up to be as handsome as his father."

The ladies all giggled along with her. All-in-all, that was the limit of important information I gathered from them. After that topic was over, they once again gossiped more about other people's personal life. That's when I decided to excuse myself, telling them I needed to buy some groceries.

"I do hope we could chat again," I said as I stood up, before bidding them all farewell. By this time, they were already getting comfortable with me and was throwing invitations to their tea parties and church meetings.

Safe it is for me to say, that I left with a substantial lead on my list. Tomorrow, I needed to visit Samantha's workplace.

Those women seem to turn a blind eye to the possibility of a Samantha having an affair. But the world isn't all cupcakes and rainbows. Bad things happen.

More so, they should be ready in case... things turn dire.