The Silent Hour Read Free Page A

you as a
storyteller. You take something that's hidden from the world, and you bring it
forward, give us answers to our questions, give us an ending. It's what you do,
and you seem to be very good at it. I'm asking you, please, to do that for me.
Give me those answers, give me the ending."
        I
didn't say anything. He shifted in his chair, looking uneasy for the first
time, and I had an idea of how badly he wanted me to take this job.
        "You
just want to know where they went—" I said. "Is that it—"
        He
nodded. "I'd like to speak with her."
        "I
won't facilitate contact for you. I believe there is a very good chance that
one of your letters got through, and they did not wish to hear from you. If
that's the case, I'm not going to pass along any messages or give you their new
address. I'll simply tell you what I can about why they left."
        "The
address is important to me, though, because I want to send a letter. I have some
things I need to say."
        I
shook my head. "I'm not doing that. The most I will do is tell them where
you are and say that you'd like to be in touch. If they want to hear from you,
they can instigate it."
        He
paused with another objection on his lips, then let it die, and nodded instead.
        "Fine.
If you find her, she will be in touch. I'm sure of that."
        "You
said you weren't close with her husband," I said. "Perhaps you should
consider the possibility that he didn't think highly of you, and that he's one
of the reasons you haven't heard from her."
        "He's
not the reason."
        "We'll
see."
        It
went quiet again, both of us realizing that the back-and-forth was through,
that I had actually agreed to do this. I'm not sure who was more surprised.
Harrison shifted in his chair and began to speak of the six thousand again, to
ask me what retainer fee I would require.
        "None,
Harrison. Not yet. I expect this won't be hard. What seems altogether
mysterious probably won't be once I dig into it. Now, you gave me their names,
but is there any chance you remember the address of that house—"
        "It's
3730, Highway 606. just outside of Hinckley."
        Hinckley
was less than an hour south of Cleveland. I took a notepad out of the desk
drawer, then had him repeat the address.
        "There's
a stone post at the end of the drive that says Whisper Ridge," he said.
"That's the name Alexandra gave to the place, and it was a good choice.
Appropriate. It's the quietest place I've ever been. Alexandra said one of the
contractors told her it was built in an acoustic shadow. Do you know what that
is—"
        I
shook my head.
        "I'd
never heard the phrase, either, but apparently in the right terrain you can
have a situation where the wind currents keep sounds from traveling the way
they should. I have no idea if that's true of Whisper Ridge, but I can tell you
that it's an unnaturally quiet place."
        "The
house will give me the start," I said, not interested in hearing another
spiel about the property. "I'll be able to tell when they sold it and
whether there was a foreclosure involved. Sudden departure like that, one could
be likely."
        He
shook his head. "That's not going to be your start."
        "No—"
        "Well,
the house will," he said. "The house absolutely should be. I'd like
you to see the place before you do anything else, but there won't be any
details in a sale that will help you."
        "You
say that with confidence."
        "That's
because they never sold it."
        You’re
sure.
        "Yes."
        "Then
who lives there—"
        "No
one."
        I
cocked my head and studied him. "Positive about that—"
        "I'm
positive. I've had correspondence with the sheriff out there. The house is
still owned by the Cantrells, the taxes are current, and according to him, it's
empty."
        "It's
been twelve years," I said.
        "Yes."
        "The
house has