Micanopy in Shadow by Ann Cook

two overstuffed armchairs, an uncluttered coffee table, and piecrust end tables furnished the pristine living room. Ethan Allan pieces, she thought, and everything new, including the green Berber carpet. Yet something was missing. The room had no pictures on the walls, no family photographs, no magazines, books, no feeling of being lived in. As she glanced about, puzzled, Hunter noticed.
    “Been here only a month.”
    Still, didn’t he read the newspaper? Books? Take a few magazines? She did see a stack of CD’s, but no stereo.
    Hunter ran a large hand through his hair and followed her gaze around the room. “A gift for my wife. She put up with the law enforcement life in Gainesville for a lot of years. Too many, I guess.” He gave a short, harsh laugh. “Took her a week to move in and another to move out. The joke’s on me. Rejected the house— and me. She’d found another guy. He didn’t work nights.”
    Brandy hesitated. What could she say? “Sorry to hear it” was all she managed.
    He shrugged. “I like to sit out in back. It was the arbor I liked best.” He led the way through the formal dining room with its oblong maple table and six chairs and down a short hall. The door to the bedroom stood ajar. She could see an unmade bed, a pair of pajamas trailing onto the floor. She also saw a file cabinet and a desk, bare. He walked on into the small kitchen, where a plastic topped table stood next to the sink and counters. On it sat a half empty coffee cup and a fat file folder. Brandy glimpsed the name “ Losterman ” on the folder, but Hunter had pushed open the screen door, and was holding it for her. He must have refreshed his mind about Ada before Brandy arrived.
    “Guess I’ll sell,” he said. “I thought Micanopy would be a nice change. Not for her, I guess. Now it’ll be too quiet.”
    He gestured toward a narrow strip of lawn and two benches under a latticework gazebo laced with Confederate jasmine. A small CD/tape player sat on a plastic table beside one seat. He did play music but out here, away from the reminder of his rejected gifts.
    Hunter glanced at the lush green leaves overhead. Next spring it would burst into fragrant white blossoms. “Come May, the whole yard will smell like jasmine.”
    Brandy didn’t ask about the separation. Hunter obviously needed to talk to someone. She couldn’t be that person.
    “About the Ada Losterman case,” she began, “can you help me with it?”
    He paused, then leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees. “My dad was a rookie in the Sheriff’s Office when the Losterman woman drowned. He was only twenty. The older guys were still getting back from the war. He tried more than anyone to figure out who she was and why she died. The coroner’s jury called her death a suicide. No evidence of anything else. Still, Dad thought it odd, coming here like she did and then drowning herself the same day. Especially since no one even admitted knowing her. An ugly place to die, that muddy pond.” He gave her a penetrating look. His eyes were steely blue. “Strange to leave a child here like she did. Dad was never satisfied with just forgetting about her. But he was too young to influence decisions in the department, and there wasn’t a provable crime, you see.”
    Brandy slipped her notepad out of her tote bag. “I told you, my grandmother is that abandoned child. She still wants to find out what happened. Did he discover anything helpful?”
    “Truth of the matter is, the family who took the little girl in didn’t welcome an investigation. Afraid they’d lose her. They had help from people in town, so supporting her wasn’t an issue. The extra money wasn’t a bad thing for the Havens. They weren’t well off. If Dad found out who the child was, her family would get custody. But …” He tilted his head back for a second, then glanced down at Brandy and dropped his voice. “Dad did leave notes. He always thought someone would care