Brooks didn’t move. Her eyes shifted from Cole to me, then toward Patricia’s house. The upstairs curtain had fallen still again.
I kept my voice level. “Deputy Brooks, he took a federal credential from my wallet and put it in his pocket. I’d like that noted before anyone goes anywhere.”
Cole’s face changed.
Brooks stared at him. “You found a federal ID?”
“It’s not an ID.”
“Then show me.”
He didn’t.
Patricia had finally lowered her phone. She was too far away to hear us, but she could tell the conversation wasn’t going the way she expected. She started walking toward the driveway.
Cole saw her coming.
“Stay over there, Patricia.”
She stopped.
It was the first time I’d heard him use her first name.
Brooks heard it too.
“You know the caller?” she asked.
Cole looked annoyed with himself. “Everybody around here knows the HOA president.”
Patricia forced a laugh. “I call the sheriff’s office all the time. Noise complaints, parking issues. You know how it is.”
Brooks didn’t answer.
I looked at Cole. “Who told you I wasn’t supposed to move into this house?”
He glanced toward Patricia again.
Nobody spoke for several seconds. Somewhere behind my house, a lawn mower started up.
Then Brooks held out her hand.
“Give me her card.”
Cole didn’t move.
“Mason.”
He took it from his pocket and slapped it into her palm.
Brooks studied the front, then the back. She didn’t recognize the office immediately, which was reasonable. Most people wouldn’t. I worked as a financial investigator for a federal inspector general’s office. We weren’t the FBI, and we didn’t show up in windbreakers. Most of my work involved contracts, grant money, shell companies, and people who assumed financial crimes were too boring for anyone to notice.
The house was supposed to have nothing to do with my job.
That was becoming harder to believe.
Brooks handed the card back to me.
“Can I ask why he reacted like that?”
“You can,” I said. “I’m not sure I can answer yet.”
Cole let out a sharp breath. “This is ridiculous. She buys one house and suddenly everybody’s running an investigation?”
I turned to him.
“I didn’t say I was investigating anything.”
He realized it a second too late.
Brooks did too.
Her expression flattened.
Patricia looked between us. “What does that mean?”
Cole walked toward his SUV.
Brooks caught his sleeve. “Where are you going?”
“Calling the lieutenant.”
“Your radio works fine.”
He looked at her hand until she released him.
I picked my phone up from the hood of the SUV. Cole had placed it there during the pat-down. There were two missed calls from my attorney and one text from the title company.
The title company message was short.
CALL ME. PROBLEM WITH PRIOR OWNER AFFIDAVIT.
I read it twice.
The house had been owned by a small real estate holding company before I bought it. The seller’s paperwork had been handled by a man named Daniel Keller.
Keller.
I looked across the street.
“Patricia, is Daniel your husband?”
Her mouth opened slightly.
That was enough.
Brooks looked at her. “Ma’am?”
Patricia lowered the phone all the way.
“He handles investments.”
“Did he own this house?”
“He managed it.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Patricia’s eyes moved toward Cole.
There it was again.
Not fear exactly. Coordination.
I opened the county property website on my phone. I had checked the parcel before closing, but I wanted Brooks to see it herself.
The deed recorded three days earlier showed the property transferred to me.
Before that, the owner was Millstone Residential Holdings LLC.
Brooks read the screen.
“So who called us claiming to be the owner?”
Cole answered before Patricia could.
“Daniel.”
Brooks slowly turned toward him.
“How did you know that?”
Cole rubbed his jaw.
Patricia closed her eyes.
I felt something settle into place, not the whole explanation but enough of its outline.
Daniel hadn’t just called the sheriff’s office after Patricia saw me.
Cole had known who he was dealing with before he arrived.
I asked Brooks if I could retrieve my closing file from inside. She hesitated, then nodded and came with me.
Cole stayed outside.
The house was quiet except for the ceiling fan in the living room. Boxes covered most of the floor. I walked toward the kitchen, where I’d left the closing folder on the counter.
Something was wrong.
A cabinet door beside the refrigerator was open.
I knew I had closed it because I’d wiped every cabinet front that morning.
Brooks noticed me stop.