And he was wearing his town clothes and his town voice, the particular performance he put on when there was an audience. I appreciate your patience in this matter. I'm sure this can all be resolved simply and quickly. I'm sure it can," Silas said in the flat, unbothered tone that Martha had come to recognize as the voice he used when he was not going to move. Then Crane saw Martha on the porch and something shifted in his face.
"He recovered it quickly, but she saw it a flicker of surprise and behind the surprise, something harder." "Mrs. Whitaker," he said. "Mr. Crane," she said. Deputy Hol looked at her with his careful eyes and nodded once.
Ma'am, he deputy, she said. I'm glad you're here. I have documentation I'd like you to see. Crane's voice sharpened slightly. The matter of documentation is precisely why we're here.
There is a technical drawing that belongs to Crane Freight Company that has been reported among your belongings, Mrs. Whitaker. I'm asking that it be returned. Martha felt the cold move up from her stomach to her chest. A technical drawing.
She had not seen a technical drawing in her belongings. She had inventoried her tool chest twice, and she knew every paper in it, and there was no technical drawing from Crane's company in her possession. "I'd like to see this drawing you're describing," she said carefully. Crane looked at the deputy. The deputy looked at Martha.
"May I look in your tool chest, ma'am?" Holt said politely like a man who had been asked to do something he wasn't entirely comfortable with but was going to do properly. Yes, Martha said. She brought the chest out herself. She unlocked it herself. She opened it herself.
She did not stand back and let Crane do any part of this. Hol leaned over the chest and looked through it with the methodical patience of a man who was taking his time. He straightened up and looked at Crane. There's no drawing in here. Crane blinked once controlled, but there it was reported.
There's no drawing, Holt said. I looked. Martha looked at Crane and he looked at her and she watched him recalibrate, watched him shift behind his face into whatever the next version of this conversation was going to be. Perhaps it was misplaced during transport, he said smoothly. Mrs.