He frowned. “Cold?”
I nodded. “Maybe leave the life insurance papers out before you go.”
He pointed at me. “There. There’s my wife.”
TWENTY FIVE
Detective Priscilla Hanborn folded her hands over her stomach and raised an eyebrow in my direction. “Ms. Savage. It’s been awhile. To what do I owe the...pleasure?”
I set the small pink box down on her desk. “Oh, I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by and say hello.” I pointed at the box. “And bring you some breakfast.”
She eyed me with a hard stare for a long moment, then reached over and lifted the lid on the box. “Apple fritters?”
“And bear claws,” I said. “I wasn’t sure which you preferred so I had to guess.”
She let the lid fall on the box. “A bit clichéd bringing a police officer donuts, don’t you think?”
“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that,” I said, reaching for the box. “I can certainly take them home—”
She reached out and snatched the box before I could touch it. “I didn’t say I didn’t want them.”
“Oh. Alright.” I waited expectantly.
She sighed. “Have a seat.”
I sat down on the other side of her desk. I’d first met Detective Hanborn when we’d discovered a dead body in the basement of our home while trying to unfreeze a frozen pipe. She’d immediately identified me as the prime suspect in the murder because I’d known the victim. Our relationship hadn’t gotten off to the best start. Even when she realized I had nothing to do with the murder and the actual culprit was arrested, she still hadn’t taken a great liking to me. Over the months, we occasionally saw each other around town. I usually waved and she usually pretended like she hadn’t seen me. But she was the head of law enforcement in Moose River and I couldn’t think of a better person to speak to about Amanda Pendleton.
She lifted the lid on the box again and pulled out one of the fritters. She pulled a napkin out of her top desk drawer and laid it flat on the desktop, then set the fritter on top of it. She broke off a tiny piece and popped it into her mouth. She was still a moment, like she was savoring it like it was a fine wine. “Good Egg, right?”
I nodded. Clearly, she was a donut connoisseur.
“Ted is always bringing in donuts from there,” she said, leaning back in the chair.
I wondered what other places he frequented. There weren’t any other donut shops in town, but the local groceries had bakery departments, and there was a funky, retro-looking donut shop across the river that we’d taken the kids to on a couple of occasions.
“How can I help you?” she asked.
“I’m actually here for two reasons,” I said, trying to get comfortable in the metal chair. “I assume you know about Amanda Pendleton.”
Her expression transitioned to one of impassiveness. “I do, yes.”
“And you’ve had no luck locating her yet?” I asked. “And to be clear. I’m not asking just to be nosy. I’m asking because my daughters were in the play with her and it’s just been kind of a mess since she disappeared.”
“That’s Eleanor Bandersand’s deal, right?” she asked. “The play?”
I assumed she had to know that, but I figured she was trying to figure out if I was telling the truth or not about why I was asking. “Yes. She’s the director and the owner of the theater company. They’re doing Snow White.”
“Right, right,” she said, nodding, chewing on her bottom lip. She ran a hand over her nearly white, spiked hair. “No, she has not been located as of yet.”
“My understanding is that this has happened before with her?” I said.
Hanborn’s mouth flattened into a tight line. “Ms. Savage. I really can’t discuss the particulars of the case with you. I understand you might have a somewhat related interest here, but that doesn’t mean I can tell you what’s going on.”
“I know that,” I said. “I’m sorry. My approach is all wrong here. What I meant is that I might have information that could be helpful to whatever investigation you’re doing.”
She raised the eyebrow at me again, her crystal blue eyes full of skepticism. “Information?”
“Well, I guess it’s information,” I said, a little less sure of myself. “And I guess it depends on how you’re approaching her disappearance.”
She broke off another piece of the fritter and popped it into her mouth. “I’m listening.”
“Because I’ve been around the play a lot, I’ve heard a few things,” I began and then told her what I knew about the company’s possible financial issues and Madison’s rejection from drama school.
Hanborn picked at the fritter while she listened to me, glancing at me occasionally, but giving the pastry most of her attention. I couldn’t tell from her expression what she thought of what I was telling her, but at least she hadn’t gone to sleep or told me to leave.
The fritter was almost gone when I stopped talking. Hanborn looked up from the donut, almost surprised. “That’s it?”
“That’s what?”
“That’s your...information?”
I squirmed in the chair. “Well, yes. I know that none of those things are the proverbial smoking gun, but I thought they might shed a little light on the situation.”
“Shed a little light,” Hanborn repeated, then smiled at me the way she might smile at a dog who kept bringing her a slobber-covered tennis ball. “On the situation.”
I sat there, now wishing I’d gone for the run with Jake and Sophie. I glanced around the office, trying to find something to take my mind off the fact that I might have made a mistake in coming to her office. But there was nothing to look at. The beige walls were devoid of decorations and nothing but nondescript books and binders lined the bookshelf behind her desk. There were no photos, no trinkets, nothing that hinted at Hanborn’s likes or dislikes or personality.
Probably because she didn’t have one.
Hanborn made a great show of pushing herself up in her chair and moving the fritter to the side and folding her hands on top of her desk. She stared at me for a long moment, perhaps thinking I might wither under her gaze.
I managed to not wither.
“Ms. Savage,” she finally said. “I...appreciate...you bringing these things to my attention. But I think you might just be jumping the gun a little bit here. Police work is about connecting the dots, not about hoping the dots connect. Do you get what I’m getting at?”
“Not really,” I admitted.
“What you are giving me is conjecture,” she said. “It’s not information.”
“I disagree.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“It’s information that informs the conjecture,” I argued. “It’s information that might provide motive.”
“Ah, yes. Motive,” she said, nodding, amused. “Probably saw that on Law & Order, right?”
“I don’t watch television.”
She frowned. “Right. Look, these are things that might provide...motive. If we were looking for one. But we’re not.”
“You’re not?”
“We’re not.”
“Why not?”
She sighed. “Because there’s nothing to indicate she was, you know, kidnapped.”
“So you think she just ran away?”
She sighed again and reached for the last bit of the fritter. “I’m indulging you here, Ms. Savage, because you were kind enough to bring me donuts. If you’d come in empty-handed, this conversation would already be over.”
I made a mental note to never show up empty-handed.
“Yes, I believe she ran away,” she said, finishing off the last little bit. She wiped at the crumbs on her lips, then brushed off her uniform top. “And I hope I don’t have to remind you that I’m telling you this in confidence.”
“You don’t.”
Hanborn leaned back in her chair. “Amanda Pendleton has done this before.”