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.
“What?”
“I didn’t leave that open.”
Inside the cabinet, behind a stack of paper towels, was a narrow gray box attached to the back panel.