Nothing but the sound of the rain hitting the metal roof.
I checked the heavy deadbolt.
It was still engaged, but the metal casing around the lock was scratched, as if someone had just tried to force a crowbar into the gap.
I stepped back and looked up at the small security camera mounted above the doorframe.
The red light that usually indicated it was recording was dead.
Whoever was outside had cut the main breaker line behind the building.
I walked back out to the dining room.
"Folks, I apologize, but we've had a power failure," I said to the customers, forcing a calm, apologetic smile. "I'm going to have to close up early today. Your meals are on the house."
The utility workers nodded, gathered their hard hats, and walked out to their truck.
Henderson grumbled about the weather, put on his raincoat, and slowly made his way to his old sedan.
I watched through the front window until their taillights disappeared down the muddy highway.
We were completely alone.
"Maya, gather your things," I said, pulling my cell phone from my pocket. "I'm locking this place down, and you're going home."
She shook her head stubbornly.
"I'm not leaving you here alone, Thomas. That man was crazy."
"That man is Declan Vance," I said, staring out at the empty parking lot. "And he's not looking for a fight. He's looking for something his father left behind."
Maya's eyes widened.
She had grown up in this county.
Everyone knew the ghost stories about Sheriff Calvin Vance.
He had run the town through extortion and violence until he was arrested in 1999 for stealing hundreds of thousands of dollars in municipal funds.
The money was never recovered.
"I thought that was just a town rumor," Maya whispered.
"It wasn't," I replied.
I didn't have time to explain the complicated truth.
I dialed the number for Marcus, the retired county deputy who had worked under Calvin Vance before turning him in.
Marcus was the only man in this town I trusted with my life.
He had helped me navigate the legal nightmare of buying the diner property from the county after Calvin went to prison.
The line rang three times before Marcus picked up.
"Thomas," Marcus said, his voice gravelly and calm. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Declan Vance is back in town," I said bluntly.
There was a long, heavy silence on the other end of the line.
"Are you sure?" Marcus finally asked, his tone shifting into something tight and guarded.
"He was just standing in my dining room," I said. "He left a padlock on my table. Calvin's padlock. Then he cut the power to the diner and tried to pry the back door open."
"Listen to me carefully, Thomas," Marcus said, his voice dropping low. "Lock your doors. Do not engage him. Declan got out of state prison three months ago. He's convinced his father hid the stolen county funds on your property before he was arrested."
"He told me I have until midnight tomorrow to give him what's in the basement," I said.
"Don't go down there," Marcus warned sharply. "I'll call the state boys. I'm coming over right now."
"Hurry," I said, and hung up.
I turned to Maya.
"Go to the office," I told her. "Lock the door. Do not come out until Marcus gets here."
She hurried down the hall, and I heard the heavy click of the office lock.
I needed to secure the perimeter.
I grabbed a heavy Maglite flashlight from under the counter and walked to the front door.
I peered out through the glass.
The rain was still falling heavily, turning the world into a gray blur.
I slipped out the front door, locking it behind me, and walked carefully around the side of the building toward the back alley.
The mud sucked at my boots.
When I reached the rear delivery door, I saw the deep gouge marks in the metal frame where a pry bar had been used.
I shined the beam of the flashlight down toward the ground.
There were fresh, deep boot prints in the mud.
They were large, heavy treads, identical to the ones I had seen on Declan's boots inside the diner.
But as I swept the flashlight along the foundation of the building, my breath caught in my throat.
The boot prints didn't just lead away from the door.
They led toward the small, ground-level cellar window that opened into the basement.
The heavy iron grate that protected the window had been completely removed, the masonry around it smashed with a sledgehammer.
I knelt in the mud and shined the light into the dark opening.
The sharp, chemical smell of paint thinner wafted up from the hole, stronger than before.
Declan hadn't just been down there to look around.
He had been preparing something.
I hurried back inside the diner, relocking the front door.
I needed to check my office safe.
I walked down the hall and knocked on the office door.