“Hello, Pete, this is Sylvia Meisner, how are you?”

The voice was soft, but not unrecognizable. Although significantly startled, Pete was quite sure the caller was Sylvia.

“Sylvia! It’s been a long time,” Pete said, trying to move the stack of assumptions cluttering his mind since she disappeared. “It’s been almost two years since we last spoke,” he said.

“Two years, one month, thirteen days, eleven hours, forty-six minutes,” the caller said in what was little more than a whisper.

“Sylvia, I have to ask, where have you been? People have been terribly worried about you.” Heavy silence rang in Pete’s ears.

“Really? Worried, you say?” the female voice said.

“Yes,” Pete answered.

“Funny,” the caller said. There was a click, and then a dial tone.

The phone rang again. Pete waited for the third ring then slowly picked up the phone. “Hello?” he said calmly.

“Pete! Why are you still home?! Have you forgotten about the debate? You’re late!” Quintin O’Dillmotte said.

“What debate?” Pete asked.

“Are you kidding?! The debate about the job I’m going to take away from you!” O’Dillmotte answered.

“Quintin, listen, I’m starting to worry about you. There isn’t a debate, not today, not any day,” Pete said.

“Oh, are you scared? You should be. People are talking,” Quintin said, accusingly.

“I don’t have time for this, Quintin. There’s no debate today, and I have work to do. Goodbye,” Pete said as he hung up the phone.

Seconds later, it rang again.

“Sheriff Terkinberry? This is Eliveena Scibber, the new president of The Ladies Who Mean Well Chapter of Maple Valley, the oldest The Ladies Who Mean Well chapter in the nation. We have you scheduled for a debate with Quintin O’Dillmotte this morning at nine o’clock, in anticipation of the election for sheriff. It is now 9:15, the debate was to begin promptly at 9:00. You are late. Do you forfeit the debate, thereby giving Quintin O’Dillmotte the win, and a decisive, and shall I say, impressive lead in this election?”

“What is your name, again?” Pete asked.

“I am Eliveena Scibber, the new president of The Ladies…”

“I heard that part,” Pete interrupted. “Listen, Olivia, I haven’t scheduled a debate with Quintin, and I’m not going to any time soon. The election is well over a year away and the candidate filing deadline isn’t until November. Tell Quintin to go back to his funeral home, and don’t bother me with this again.”

“Well, I never!” Eliveena Scibber, the new president of The Ladies Who Mean Well said. “This isn’t going to look well for your hopes to be reelected, Sheriff Terkinberry!”

“What did you just call me?” Pete asked in an argumentative tone.

“I called you Sheriff Terkinberry,” she answered.

“That’s right! And don’t forget it!” Pete said and slammed the phone down.

Pete Terkinberry stared out the kitchen window, waiting for his coffee pot to boil. Just as it began to show signs of life, the phone rang again.

“Sheriff Terkinberry,” Pete answered.

“Hello, Sheriff Pete, this is Sylvia Meisner.”

“Sylvia, I’m so glad you called me back. People really are worried about you, and…”

“I haven’t called you.”

“What are you talking about? I just spoke to you ten minutes ago and you hung up when I told you people were worried about you,” Pete said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t talked to you in two years,” the caller said.

“Two years, one month, thirteen days, eleven hours, and fifty-six minutes,” Pete said.

The caller hung up.

A sickening feeling stirred Pete’s belly. Nothing but rumors and guesses about Sylvia occupied his time for the past two years. Recently, a few folks said they saw Sylvia in Newtown and a few other places, but nothing more. And now this.