Run: 2026-03-11-01KKFHPETB1GJ6975AH9GPFHQR

# Chapter 12: The Café on Maple Street The bell above the door of Rosie's Café chimed softly as Detective Hunter Cole pushed inside, scanning the handful of patrons scattered among the small wooden tables. The morning light streamed through the front windows, catching motes of dust in the warm air. Most of the usual faces were here — Mrs. Linden with her crossword puzzle, old Bill Hartley nursing his second coffee at the counter. But his eyes landed on a woman sitting alone at a corner table, her attention fixed on a small digital camera she held in both hands. She was young — early thirties, maybe — with dark hair pulled back in a loose braid and olive skin that stood out against the pale Minnesota light. A leather satchel sat on the chair beside her, stuffed with what looked like maps and brochures. He'd seen her around town a few times. The girl with the camera. One of the exchange students from the university program. He'd been meaning to talk to her. Word had gotten back to him that she'd been near the old Hartwell Farm the night Marcus Devlin went missing. Hunter pulled out the chair across from her. "Mind if I sit?" She looked up, her dark brown eyes wide with surprise. She glanced around the café as if confirming he was speaking to her, then nodded and gestured to the chair. "Thanks." He sat down and placed his hands flat on the table, the way he always did — open, non-threatening. "You're Maria, right? Maria Delgado?" She blinked at him. A flicker of recognition crossed her face at the sound of her name, but then she tilted her head slightly, her brow creasing. "I'm Detective Cole. Hunter Cole." He pointed to his badge, still clipped to his belt. "I'm looking into Marcus Devlin's disappearance. You were staying at the inn near Hartwell Farm, correct?" Maria stared at him. She opened her mouth, then closed it. She pressed her lips together and looked down at the table, her fingers tightening around the camera in her hands. "*Perdón, no entiendo,*" she said quietly. "*No hablo inglés.*" Hunter leaned forward slightly. "Sorry?" "*No hablo inglés,*" she repeated, more slowly this time, her voice tinged with frustration — though whether at him or at herself, he couldn't tell. She tapped her chest with one hand. "*Español. Solo español.*" He felt the familiar tightness behind his eyes that came with hitting a wall. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Right. Spanish. Okay." Maria watched him, her expression guarded. She clutched the camera a little tighter, and he noticed now that her hands were trembling — just barely, but enough. "Look," Hunter said, slowing his words down and speaking more deliberately, as if volume and patience might bridge the gap. "Marcus Devlin. Gone missing. Three days ago." He pulled a small photograph from his jacket pocket and set it on the table — a candid shot of Marcus, grinning at the camera during last year's Apple Festival. He tapped the photo. "This man. You see him?" Maria looked down at the photograph. Something shifted in her face — a flash of recognition followed immediately by something deeper, something darker. Her breath caught audibly. "*Dios mío,*" she whispered. She pressed her hand to her mouth and looked away, staring out the window at the quiet street. Her eyes glistened. Hunter watched her carefully. "You knew him?" She turned back to him, her expression troubled, her jaw tight. She spoke in rapid Spanish, her voice low and unsteady. "*Sí, lo vi. Lo vi esa noche cerca de la granja. Estaba… estaba alguien con él. Una figura. Alguien lo seguía.*" She pressed both hands flat on the table now, the camera forgotten beside her. Her voice cracked. "*Y ahora no está. No está en ningún lado. ¿Qué le pasó? ¿Dónde está?*" Hunter sat perfectly still, watching her face, watching her body language, trying to read something — anything — in the waves of emotion rolling off her. Fear. Guilt, maybe. Confusion. But not a single word registered in his mind. "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't— I don't understand what you're saying." Maria let out a breath that was almost a laugh — bitter and helpless. She picked up a napkin and a pen from the holder on the table and began to sketch quickly — a stick figure, then another, then a rough outline of a barn. "*Granja,*" she said, pointing to the barn. She drew a line between the two figures. Then she drew a jagged line away from them, trailing off the napkin. "*Oscuro. De noche. Él iba por aquí… y alguien…*" She trailed off, shaking her head. She set the pen down and pressed her palms against her eyes. Hunter studied the napkin. He looked back at her. "You were at Hartwell Farm. That night. You saw something." Maria lowered her hands and looked at him. She nodded slowly, her eyes fierce with something that might have been determination or might have been fear — maybe both. "*Sí,*" she said firmly. "*Vi algo. Algo terrible.*" Before Hunter could try another approach, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen — dispatch. "Give me one second." He answered. "Cole." The dispatcher's voice was clipped and urgent. He listened, his expression hardening with each word. "Copy that. I'm on my way." He ended the call and stood, already reaching for his wallet to leave cash on the table. "I have to go," he said. He looked at Maria, then down at the napkin sketch, then back at her. "I need to talk to you more. Properly. I'm going to find someone who can translate." Maria watched him, her dark eyes searching his face. She seemed to sense the urgency — or maybe she was simply accustomed to being caught in something larger than herself. "*Vaya,*" she said softly. "*Pero vuelva. Por favor.*" He gave her a single, firm nod. "I will." He was out the door before the bell finished chiming behind him. Maria sat alone at the corner table, the sketch still crumpled under her hand. She picked up her camera and stared at the screen — at the last photo she'd taken that night. A dark shape against the treeline. Too far away to be sure of anything. But she knew what she'd seen. She closed the screen and held the camera against her chest. --- ## VOICE SHEET **Maria:** "Perdón, no entiendo. No hablo inglés. Español. Solo español." **Hunter:** "I'm Detective Cole. Hunter Cole. I'm looking into Marcus Devlin's disappearance." **Maria:** "Sí, lo vi. Lo vi esa noche cerca de la granja. Estaba… estaba alguien con él. Una figura. Alguien lo seguía. Y ahora no está. No está en ningún lado. ¿Qué le pasó? ¿Dónde está?" **Hunter:** "I'm sorry. I don't— I don't understand what you're saying." **Maria:** "Sí, vi algo. Algo terrible." **Hunter:** "I have to go. I need to talk to you more. Properly. I'm going to find someone who can translate." **Maria:** "Vaya. Pero vuelva. Por favor."