Missing

Darlene sat up on the sofa, confused.  She didn’t remember laying down.  Her mind raced to reorient her.  Black Lincoln… nosy Mrs. Crawford…

“Ma’am, are you okay?”

FBI agents… Father.  Sure enough, the agents sat on the loveseat to her right.  “Oh.  Um, I guess.”  She’d fainted.  They must have put her on the sofa.

“When was the last time you talked to your father?”  The taller agent with darker hair and graying sideburns spoke.

He doesn’t waste time.  She furrowed her brow and shook her head.  “I don’t know.  Maybe eight months ago?”

The younger, shorter agent tilted his head.  “Interesting.  He lives in town doesn’t he?”

Darlene raised an eyebrow.  “The FBI doesn’t know the exact distance between our homes?”

The other agent suppressed a laugh.

“Okay, so 12.4 miles, give or take,” he mumbled.  “Why haven’t you spoken to him?”

“He didn’t agree with some of my life choices.”

“Like what?”

Like it’s none of your business, Darlene wanted to say.  Instead, she asked, “What do you want with my father?”

“Your father disappeared four weeks ago.”

“Does the FBI normally handle missing person cases?” Darlene asked.

“We do when the person is the subject of a long-time investigation.”

Darlene slumped into the sofa cushion.  “Investigation for what?”

The agents exchanged glances.  “Mulroney?” the shorter agent said to the other.

Mulroney cleared his throat.  “We can’t divulge details in an open case.”  He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a long white envelope.  He handed it to Darlene.

Darlene accepted it and slipped her finger under the sealed flap.  “What’s this?”

The agents stood simultaneously.  Haversill, the shorter agent, responded, “It’s a subpoena for your financial records.”  They made their way to the door.  “We’ll be in touch.”

Darlene watched them leave and caught sight of Myrtle Crawford still staring out her window.  Her smile confirmed she’d witnessed everything.

Darlene couldn’t dwell on the imminent neighborhood gossip.  Not while the FBI nosed around, anyway.

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This is my response to the Trifecta challenge this week.  It’s supposed to stand on its own, but if you’d like more background on the story, check out the previous writings:

First Part (Dead Flowers)     Second Part (Investigation)     Third Part (Unknown Path)

This week, the Trifecta editors asked that we use the following word/definition in a 33 to 333 word (mine is 329) response:

DWELL:  (a) to keep the attention directed —used with on or upon<tried not to dwell on my fears>; (b) to speak or write insistently —used with on or upon<reporters dwelling on the recent scandal>

If you want to read the other entries, or if you want to try one yourself, click on the tricycle picture to view Trifecta’s site.

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