THE FALLEN

A CHILLING MYSTERY SUSPENSE THRILLER

P.I. NIA CARTER THRILLER SERIES

BOOK 4

DAN PADAVONA

CONTENTS

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

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Acknowledgments

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1

Dana Breland’s breath came in puffs as she pushed herself along the path, her running sneakers crunching over the thin crust of snow that had settled in the woods overnight. The air was sharp, edged with the scent of pine and wet earth, the morning still thick with the dampness of late autumn. Early November in Duskwood meant the trees stood bare, their branches rattling against the wind like brittle bones. She adjusted her gait, avoiding the slick patches where frozen leaves had fused against the dirt.

She ran this trail every morning, from her rental cabin near Deer Hollow down to the lake’s edge, where the water lay chilly and undisturbed. At this hour, the town was just waking up; the only sounds were her own breaths. The path sloped downward, leading toward the shoreline, and she focused on the familiar markers—the gnarled oak with its split trunk, the moss-covered rock where the fishers liked to gut their catch during the summer.

But something was different this morning.

She heard a footfall against the snow. A pause, then another step. It wasn’t the movement of a deer or the scramble of a squirrel. Someone was in the woods.

Dana slowed but didn’t stop. The rational part of her mind told her it was nothing. A hunter, maybe. Crossbow season had started last week, and she had seen a few men in camouflage heading into the woods over the last forty-eight hours. Perhaps one of them had strayed too close to the trail.

Still, unusual noises in the forest put her on edge.

She kept jogging, ears tuned to the woods behind her. The footsteps didn’t come again, but she sensed someone had been watching her.

Get a grip. It’s only a hunter.

By the time she reached the lake, her skin felt clammy beneath her thermal shirt. The lake stretched before her, vast and dark, reflecting the bruised sky of early morning. A mist curled along the surface, clinging to the shoreline like breath against glass. It was eerily quiet.

Dana slowed to a walk, her shoes crunching over reeds stiffened by frost. The water lapped against the muddy shore. By January, Duskwood Lake would be nothing but ice.

Then she spied a boat.

It was anchored fifty yards out, a small aluminum craft bobbing on the frigid water. Odd. No one usually took a boat out this early, not when the air was bitter and the water cold enough to kill in minutes.

Dana shielded her eyes from dawn’s light, trying to see if someone was in the boat. But the mist was thick, curling up and around the boat like fingers.

Something was wrong.

She took a cautious step toward the shore, her sneakers sinking into the frozen mud. She looked along the empty shoreline.

Behind her, in the woods, a branch snapped. Dana whirled.

“Hello?”

No one answered.

“You’re too close to the footpath,” she said, hoping against hope the stranger behind the tree line was hunting.

The anchored boat swayed on a wave. Dana squinted through the mist, searching for any sign of the boater inside, but the craft appeared empty.

“Is anyone in the boat?”

There had to be. How had the boat gotten fifty yards off shore without someone driving it?

“Are you okay? Should I call the police?”

A strange sensation crept up her spine. Something about the way the boat rocked and the fog clutched it left her shivering.

She turned to glance back at the woods. No unexplained noises had come from the forest since she’d warned the hunter to stay away from the trail. The shoreline sat empty.

Her eyes on the dark surface, Dana continued along the shoreline. The lake was deep and treacherous this time of year. One wrong step, one fall from a boat, and the icy waters would steal your breath before you could think about calling for help.

Bending, she retrieved a rock and considered tossing it into the water to rouse the boater.

Another wave lapped the shore. Then another.

The water bulged.

Bubbles frothed to the surface, breaking through the stillness in an endless churn.

Then a shape rose from the murky depths.

A shape, pale and bloated, pushed its way to the surface, as if the lake had spat out what it could no longer hold down. A hand emerged first, fingers stiff and swollen, reaching toward the sky. Then came the head. And a face.

The man’s skin was pallid, almost waxy, lips blue, eyes open and empty. Water streamed from his nose and mouth as he bobbed, the current pulling him closer to the shore, closer to where she stood.

Dana’s breath seized in her throat.

For a moment, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream.

The man’s body tipped, rolling with the water. His arms floated outward as if he were reaching for something. For her.

His clothes, dark jeans and a heavy jacket, billowed around him, slithering like a jellyfish against the lake’s pull.

Then his mouth, slack and gaping, seemed to move.

A gasp, ragged and primal, ripped from Dana’s throat. She stumbled backward, feet skidding over the frozen mud.

She turned, sprinting for the tree line.

Her scream echoed across the silent lake.

2

Eli Mitchell guided the cruiser down the narrow access road, his tires bouncing over the snow-covered gravel. The road was barely maintained, a winding stretch of hard-packed dirt and rutted mud that snaked through the forest. A few dead autumn leaves clung stubbornly to the trees and rattled in the wind, their curled edges rimmed with frost.

It was early morning and the light here was dim, the sky a muted gray behind the trees. The cruiser’s engine sounded disturbingly loud. Ice popped like gunshots beneath the tires.

He adjusted his grip on the wheel, jaw tightening. The call had come in at dawn. A body in the water.

The dispatcher hadn’t given many details, only that a jogger had found the victim at the shoreline. The rest was speculation. A drowning? An accident? It was possible a boater had fallen in and succumbed to the cold before they could climb to safety.

Eli wasn’t so sure.

It wasn’t long ago that his team had dragged a murder victim from these waters.

As he rounded a bend, the trees thinned, revealing glimpses of the lake between the trunks. The water, dark and vast, appeared like glass. From here, it looked bottomless. A place that swallowed secrets and held them tight.

He slowed as the access road widened into a crude parking area, which was nothing more than a patch of dirt and gravel. Only one other vehicle was here. He noted the silver hatchback, parked at an odd angle, its tires half-sunk in the mud.

A woman stood nearby, arms wrapped around herself, shifting her weight from foot to foot. She was alone, though he could tell from her posture that she had already gone through hell. According to the dispatcher, her name was Dana Beaubrun.

Eli shut off the engine.

For a moment, he sat and stared at the lake, wondering what he would find.

Then he opened the door and stepped into the cold. As he acknowledged the woman standing on the shore, he grabbed the radio clipped to his vest and pressed the button.

“Dispatch, this is Mitchell. I’m on scene at Duskwood Lake. Has the medical examiner given an ETA?”

“She’s en route and should be there in about thirty minutes,” the dispatcher said. “Looks like it’s just you for now.”

“Copy that.” Eli exhaled. He’d already known the answer, but he asked anyway: “Any other units available?”

“Negative. Jenkins and Craig are tied up on a domestic. The sheriff’s department is covering the break-ins on the south side.”

Figured. Duskwood PD was running thin, as usual. Budget cuts, the town always told them. Two officers had retired over the summer, and their jobs weren’t even posted yet.

“Thanks for the update,” Eli said. “I’ll secure the scene. Tell the medical examiner to call me when he’s five minutes out.”

“Will do. Stay safe out there, Mitchell.”

The radio went silent.

Eli clipped it to his vest and walked toward the woman waiting between the water and the silver hatchback. She was shifting from foot to foot and rubbing her arms. Dana Beaubrun, 34. Local nurse. He’d seen her around town but had never had a reason to speak with her before. She appeared rattled. Who wouldn’t be?

The lake stretched until it merged with the sky. Somewhere in that water was a body.

Perhaps he should call Nia.

She wasn’t an officer, but she was the best private investigator he’d ever met. Sharp. Smart. And he wasn’t equipped to remove a body from the water anymore.

Give her space. That’s what he kept telling himself.

A season ago, they’d saved Kit Stratton and arrested Kellen Hilldale. Since then, things between him and Nia had slowly settled. Yet it was the kind of settling that felt like stepping onto a frozen lake while uncertain whether the ice would hold.

She’d forgiven him for Maya’s ride-along, but things were different now. They both wanted to find out where fate would take their relationship; it wasn’t enough for him. He was always pushing, trying to figure out if they had a future together.

Eli hadn’t expected his feelings to deepen, but they had. And that scared him.

Nia wasn’t looking for romance. She had Maya to think about, plus her business and independence. She didn’t need a cop getting in the way, especially after what had happened with Cecilia Gray. And yet, every time they worked a case, it felt like they were moving toward a life together.

But those were feelings, and he knew better than to assume. That was dangerous.

He shook the thoughts away and focused on the task.

Eli straightened his shoulders and walked over to Dana Beaubrun.

“Ms. Beaubrun? I’m Officer Mitchell. Can you walk me through what happened?”

Her eyes darted back to the lake. “I was jogging along the shore, doing my morning loop. I noticed a boat in the water, which was weird because, you know, it’s freezing.” She wrapped her arms tighter around herself. “And then the body surfaced.”

“Were you alone?”

“Yes.” She swallowed hard, her face pale. “I thought the body was a log at first. But then I saw a face.”

Eli followed her gaze to the water. He could see a shadow under the waves.

“Did you see anyone else? Another boater? A person on shore?”

“No. It was just me.”

Eli glanced at her damp sneakers. “You didn’t enter the water, did you?”

“I stepped in a little,” she admitted. “Then I called 911.”

“You did the right thing.”

The lake was chilly but not frozen. How long had the body been in the water? Water could preserve a body for a long time in November. Drowning? Boating accident? A case like this could go in a dozen different directions.

“I’ll need to get a statement from you, and then you can go.”

She nodded, looking grateful. “Just so you know, I heard someone in the woods.”

His eyes snapped up. Then he swung his head around to study the forest.

“At this time of morning?”

“I thought it was a hunter.”

Or an animal. Were they alone?

Darn it, Eli wished he had backup. A troubling thought entered his mind. This drowning was no accident. If someone was in the woods, they might be watching.

“Tell me about this person you heard. Did you see anything?”

“No, just footsteps. Maybe twenty, thirty feet into the trees. It wasn’t a deer.”

“Could it have been another jogger?”

“Possibly, but I’m the only person who runs after the weather turns cold.”

“And this was before or after you saw the body?”

“Before,” she said. “I thought it was a hunter. Crossbow season started.”

Eli frowned. “Did the footsteps follow you?”

“I don’t think so.”

He keyed his radio. “Dispatch, this is Mitchell. I need additional units to sweep the tree line west of the lake access road. Possible witness or unknown subject in the area.”

“Copy that, Mitchell. Nearest available units are Craig and Jenkins, but they’re still tied up. ETA thirty minutes at best.”

Eli was on his own. “Understood. I’ll deal with the body and check out the surroundings when I can. Tell them to notify me when they’re en route.”

“Will do.”

“I may have additional questions in the coming days,” he told Dana.

“Of course.”

“Dispatch gave me your info. If anything comes up, I’ll let you know.”

As Dana rushed back to her car, Eli took a few cautious steps toward the lake, his boots sinking into the half-frozen mud. The wind carried the scent of wet earth and lake water.

He didn’t want to disturb the scene before the medical examiner arrived. From a distance, he could see that the victim was a male.

His training dictated a careful, methodical approach. The body needed to be recovered, but protocol was clear—preserve the scene until the medical examiner Lisa Arnold arrived. She was the first female ME to serve their county.

Eyes sweeping for evidence, he stepped closer. The shoreline was uneven and slick, patches of ice clinging to the reeds. He saw the body, which was half-submerged, floating near the shallows, its limbs stiff. The victim’s skin had taken on that peculiar, waxy pallor that cold-water victims often had.

Behind him, Dana’s car pulled away.

“Dispatch, be advised, the victim is partially submerged near the reeds. No signs of wildlife interference. Holding off on removal until the ME arrives.”

“Copy, Mitchell. ME is still twenty out.”

Though Eli hated waiting, it was the right call. Moving the body prematurely could compromise evidence. If this was a homicide, he couldn’t afford a mistake. As a crow flew overhead, he pulled on a pair of latex gloves and crouched.

Careful not to get too close, he grabbed his phone and snapped a few photos. The wind rustled through the forest, and for a moment he thought he heard a footstep in the woods.

His hand went to his holster. He wasn’t taking any chances.

“Dispatch, I need confirmation on that ETA for backup.”

“Fifteen minutes, Mitchell. Hold tight.”

Fifteen minutes. That was a long time to wait with a potential hostile in the forest.

He was out of options. Eli picked up his phone and called Nia. His pulse thumped in his ears as he crept closer to the shoreline. The wind carried the sharp scent of decay. The body bobbed and rose, caught in a tangle of weedy growth.

Squinting against the morning light, he tried to make out defining features. The body lay face up, the dark jacket waterlogged and clinging to the victim’s body.

As Eli approached, the wind shifted and a wave lapped against the shore, nudging the body closer.

Eli could now see the face.

His stomach dropped.

Officer Joel Greene.

The officer’s face, drained of life, stared vacantly at the sky. A shock of dark hair spread in a starburst pattern.

“Dispatch, I identified the victim. It’s Officer Joel Greene.”

Silence.

Then the dispatcher returned. “Say again?”

“It’s Greene,” Eli repeated. “Get those officers down here. Now.”

3

The body of Officer Greene rocked in the shallows, his face gray as the morning sky. His sightless eyes didn’t blink.

Gloved hands clenched at his sides, Eli stood motionless. The icy wind sliced through his uniform, but he barely felt it. Greene was dead.

Eli had never particularly liked the officer. Greene had been a thorn in his side ever since Eli first let Nia Carter help the department. The officer had never trusted her, never understood why Eli tolerated an outsider meddling in law enforcement matters. Yet Nia always presented evidence that Duskwood PD overlooked.

Despite his poor work ethic and his hatred for Nia, Greene hadn’t deserved this. Not to be pulled from the lake. Not to have his life end in the bitter cold, his body left to drift in the current.

A familiar car came around the bend and bounced down the uneven access road, snapping Eli back to the moment.

Nia was here. Despite not having any time to adjust her schedule, she’d beaten his fellow officers to the scene.

Behind her, another vehicle followed. It was a large white van, trundling over ruts and potholes. The medical examiner Lisa Arnold was right on schedule. Her staff would be with her.

Eli felt a flicker of warmth in his chest as Nia exited the car. She pulled her coat tight against the wind as she crossed the lot. As she caught sight of the body in the water, wariness contorted her face.

“What have we got?” she asked.

He hesitated before speaking, watching her closely for a reaction. “It’s Joel Greene.”

She stiffened. The wind tossed strands of dark hair across her face. “Officer Greene?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“How could this happen?”

“That’s what I intend to find out.”

The wind tossed buckets of icy, damp air across Eli’s body as the van rumbled to a stop. Lisa Arnold exited, her flaxen hair pulled back in a messy bun. She was bundled in a heavy coat, yet her teeth were already chattering.

“You always bring me the fun ones, Mitchell,” Lisa said, slinging her kit over her shoulder. “And on an empty stomach, no less.”

“Morning, Lisa,” Eli said, stepping toward her. “Got a drowning victim, pulled up near the reeds. ID confirmed as Officer Joel Greene.”

Lisa’s tired eyes sharpened. “Are you certain?”

Eli gave a grim nod.

She snapped on gloves as two assistants removed additional gear from the back of the van. “All right. Walk me through what we’ve got so far.”

“The call came in at dawn. Local jogger spotted the body surfacing near the shore. Water’s cold, but the body hasn’t been in there too long. It appears to me rigor is just setting in, but I’ll leave that for you to determine. No obvious wounds, but I haven’t gotten close enough to confirm. Dispatch is sending additional units for a grid search. The jogger heard someone in the woods.”

Lisa lifted a brow. “A suspect?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

Lisa grunted and motioned at the body. “Let’s take a look.”

Nia followed as Eli led Lisa to the shoreline. Two male assistants in waterproof gear carried collapsible poles and a heavy-duty black bag.

"Here’s what we’ll do," Lisa said, assessing the scene. "We’ll extract the body from the lake as cleanly as possible. If this was a homicide, I don’t want to lose evidence."

One assistant, Todd, stepped carefully into the shallows, the water lapping at his boots. His partner, Jim, remained onshore, holding the collapsible poles that would be used to guide the body onto a stretcher. At Todd’s request, Jim handed him the poles.

Lisa crouched near the edge of the water, squinting at the waxy skin of the submerged officer. "Todd, get the poles under him, slow and steady. Jim, be ready with the board."

Eli and Nia watched as the two assistants maneuvered the poles beneath Greene's body. Todd lifted, guiding the body toward Jim, who secured the stretcher under the corpse.

"Nice and easy," Lisa instructed. "I don’t want any unnecessary movement before I assess post-mortem lividity."

As they lifted Greene from the water, the soaked uniform clung to his body, revealing the stiffness of rigor mortis setting in. The scent of lake water and something metallic filled the air.

Once they set the body on the black plastic sheet, Lisa snapped on another set of gloves and leaned in for a closer look.

"Facial pallor suggests he’s been in the water at least a few hours," she murmured, tilting Greene’s head to examine the way the blood had pooled. "Rigor setting in confirms early decomposition—probably less than eight hours post-mortem."

Eli took notes. "And the cause of death?"

Lisa grabbed a pair of medical shears and carefully cut the back of Greene’s uniform, peeling the fabric from his soaked skin.

Then she stopped and fell silent.

She shone a flashlight over Greene’s back. "Well, this changes things."

Nia stepped closer, peering over Lisa’s shoulder. "What is it?"

The ME pointed to a dark, jagged wound just under Greene’s left shoulder blade. The skin was torn around it, the edges clean but slightly widened from the time spent in the water.

"That," Lisa said, "is a knife wound."

The implications sank in fast as Eli stared at the wound.

"This wasn’t a drowning," Nia said. "Somebody murdered Officer Greene."

"He may have been dead before he hit the water."

"Who the hell wanted Greene dead?"

Eli didn’t have an answer.

4

The wind slid through the trees in a long, mournful sigh as Nia and Eli moved toward the forest’s edge. The medical examiner’s team worked along the waterline, their voices low, the rustling of plastic and metal instruments barely audible over the creaking branches.

"Where the hell are Jenkins and Craig?" Eli asked. He checked his watch, as if his irritation would make them move faster.

"They’ll be here," Nia said, though she wondered. Eli was the most dedicated officer on a troubled staff. And now one of its members lay dead.

“A murdered officer and a potential hostile in the woods, and I can’t get a little help.”

“What am I? Chopped liver?”

“Not in the least. I’d take you over half our staff any day.”

“Just half?” she asked, trying to lighten his mood.

“You know what I mean.”

Nia rubbed the back of her neck. "I just don’t get it, Eli. Nobody loved Greene, but who hated him enough to commit a murder?"

Officer Joel Greene had never been a friendly face to anyone, let alone Nia. He treated civilians with suspicion and regarded private investigators, especially Nia, with outright hostility. Still, there was a vast difference between disliking someone and driving a knife into their back.

"Whoever did this dumped the body, thinking we wouldn’t find it until spring. In a few months, the ice won’t allow anything to bubble to the surface."

They reached the incline, the ground harder here and slick. A few feet from the shoreline, the woods grew thick, standing shoulder to shoulder like silent witnesses. The light, weak and pale, shone on the ground.

"The jogger came in from this direction, right?" she asked.

Eli searched the sloping terrain. "Dana said she took the footpath through the forest, then headed to the lake." Eli squatted, fingers grazing a set of imprints. "These must be hers."

The footprints curved down the decline. Then Nia saw something else. A little further up the incline, pressed into the half-frozen dirt, was another set of tracks. "Those aren’t Dana’s."

"No," Eli agreed. "They’re larger. Deeper impressions."

“A witness, or the killer?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Nia took a tentative step forward, her boots skidding on the incline. The hard pack offered little traction, and she found herself grasping at a sapling to keep from sliding. Eli reached out, his fingers wrapping around her wrist to steady her.

“You good?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She adjusted her footing. The incline was steeper than it looked, a treacherous rise covered with wet leaves and patches of ice.

They moved carefully, using tree trunks as handrails. The sight of Greene’s lifeless face floated back to her.

At the top of the incline, the ground leveled out and revealed a clearing framed by dense thickets. The impressions were clear here. Eli removed his phone to document the scene. The artificial click of the camera shutter broke the quiet.

“These are fresh,” Eli said, eyes narrowed as he inspected the prints. He glanced up, noting the direction in which the tracks led into the forest.

Nia scanned the surroundings. “Those aren’t hunting boots.”

“Definitely not. These are hiking boots. Size twelve, maybe thirteen. Deep heel. Whoever it was weighs over two hundred pounds, easy.” Eli retrieved an evidence ruler from his pocket and positioned it beside one print, snapping another photo for scale. “We’ll cast these later, but I want to get as much documented as we can.”

He continued his search, eyes raking over the forest floor. A broken branch hung from a tree, and Eli took a picture of that too, careful not to touch the bark in case it held latent prints.

A rustling sound drew their attention up the incline. Nia shot a glance at Eli, whose hand drifted toward his holster.

But the source of the noise revealed itself. A deer bounded away through the underbrush, spooked by their presence. Nia released a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

“Mitchell, be advised, additional units are arriving on scene now,” the dispatcher said through Eli’s radio.

“Copy that,” Eli said.

The glow of swirling emergency lights filtered through the trees beyond the incline.

A minute later, Jenkins’ voice came through the radio. “Mitchell, we’re parked near the access road. You got eyes on anything?”

Eli pressed the button. “Yeah. We’ve got two sets of tracks leading from the incline into the forest. One set belongs to the woman who found Greene. The other could belong to anybody. Looks like someone was around this morning. Follow the second path into the woods.”

“Copy that. Craig and I will take the north side. Anderson and Miller just pulled in. I’ll send them south along the ridge.”

“Good. Keep your eyes open for anything. I have no idea what we’re dealing with. Nia and I will keep moving higher.”

“Roger that. Heading into the forest now.”

“Come on,” Eli said to Nia. “Let’s see where the tracks lead.”

As Nia and Eli ascended, the terrain fought against them. The path ahead was uneven, littered with fallen branches and frozen puddles.

The deeper they moved into the woods, the more the reality of Greene’s murder sank in. An officer’s death would send a ripple through the department and across the town. In the distance, the trail of footprints continued, but something was different. The larger set of tracks angled to the left, veering toward the densest part of the woods. To Nia, it appeared obvious the person had followed Dana.

But was it the same person who had killed Officer Greene?

5

The ground changed as Nia and Eli climbed the incline. Whereas the path had been damp and half-frozen below, the earth ahead was drier, shielded by towering conifers. A thick canopy of pine needles had caught much of the previous night’s snowfall, leaving the ground untouched.

Eli stopped. “I was afraid of this.”

The footprints faded into nothing, swallowed by the hard-packed soil. Nia bent down for a closer inspection. If the stranger had come this way, there was no way to tell. Whoever they were following had the luck of the land on their side.

Behind them, the crackle of radio chatter and the snap of twigs signaled the approach of the other officers. Jenkins was first, his breath clouding. Craig and Anderson followed close behind. Their expressions were tight, drawn by the weight of Greene’s murder.

Anderson shook his head. “I still don’t believe it.”

“None of us do,” Jenkins added, swiping a gloved hand over his mouth. “I never thought this could happen to one of our own. But who would kill Greene?”

“You need to travel to Syracuse or Rochester to encounter gang activity,” Eli said. “But Duskwood has its issues.”

Greene had been a miserable bastard, but theirs.

Craig said, “We don’t even know if these tracks belong to the killer.”

“And now we don’t have any tracks to follow.”

Nia sensed the officers were growing irritable. They wanted answers, and she couldn’t blame them.

“We need a team at Greene’s place,” Eli continued.

“Fat chance. You’re looking at every available officer.”

Jenkins cursed under his breath. “Perfect. Just perfect.”

“I can help Eli investigate Greene’s house while the rest of you search the woods and the lakeshore,” Nia said.

They didn’t respond.

Craig was looking past her, jaw tight, eyes locked on Eli. Anderson rubbed his chin, frowning at the ground. Jenkins adjusted the strap on his rifle, staring toward the tree line as if expecting the killer to emerge.

They hadn’t even heard her.

She tried again. “If we can get a closer look at Greene’s records⁠—”

“We’ll handle it,” Craig said.

Nia bit back the response forming on her tongue. She could see it in their faces, the unspoken barrier keeping her out. Nia wasn’t one of them. She never would be.

“Has Lisa loaded the body yet?” asked Eli.

“Not yet,” Jenkins said. “Her team is still working. Probably another twenty minutes before they’re ready to transport.”

Down the slope, the van’s rear doors were open, ready to receive Officer Joel Greene’s remains.

“Anderson, Craig—help Lisa and her team wrap up the scene. Jenkins, you and Miller search the woods. Someone left footprints leading up the incline. Maybe there are more we missed farther in.”

“You sure that’s the best use of resources?” Jenkins asked.

“We’re spread thin, and we need answers.”

Jenkins grunted but didn’t argue.

“I’ll take Nia to Greene’s place,” Eli continued.

The shift in energy was subtle but there. It was an uncomfortable silence that made Nia wish she hadn’t come here this morning. No one outright opposed her investigating inside Greene’s place, but no one looked pleased either.

Craig adjusted his vest. “We’ll update you if we find anything.”

“Let’s go,” Eli told Nia.

Without another word, he led her down the decline and to the parking lot, leaving the officers behind. Nia felt their gazes lingering as she climbed into her car. It wasn’t suspicion, exactly. More like irritation. She was an unwanted presence they were forced to tolerate.

She buckled in and stared straight ahead. It didn’t matter. The Duskwood officers could resent her all they wanted. She wasn’t going anywhere.

Ahead of her, Eli started the engine and completed a three-point turn. Nia followed in her car.

Greene lived on the west side of town, close to the county line. They would arrive within thirty minutes.

In the mirror, the lake disappeared.

* * *

Raindrops clung to the windshield in silver beads, turning the road ahead into liquid ribbons as Nia trailed behind Eli’s cruiser. Thank goodness the precipitation had held off until they’d finished searching the woods.

The wipers droned back and forth, metronomic and steady, but her thoughts raced to an uneven rhythm. She had spent years chasing answers, pressing into dark places most people avoided, but something about Officer Greene’s murder unsettled her in a way she couldn’t yet define.

With one hand on the wheel, she tapped the Bluetooth button on her steering column and called home. The phone rang twice before Maya answered.

"Hey, Mom," Maya said, sounding as if she was in a hurry. Nia’s daughter needed to be at school soon.

"Hey, baby. Are you doing okay?"

"Yeah. I fed Luna and Madrid like you asked. They wanted out, but it’s gross outside. I made it quick."

"Good call not letting them play in the mud. I didn’t want them tracking grime all over the house."

Maya made a sound that was half-yawn, half-laugh. "Janet said she’d drive me to school. She made me lunch too. You owe her, like, a hundred coffees."

"Grandma Janet is a lifesaver. Tell her I said thank you."

"She knows what it’s like when you’re solving murders."

Maya’s teasing tone was light, but the comment lodged deep. Nia’s independence had always been her strength until recently, when it had begun to feel like a burden. She relied on Janet more than she wanted to admit, and the guilt dragged her down.

"You be good today, all right?"

Maya scoffed. "I’m always good. It’s the other kids you have to worry about."

Nia smiled despite herself. "I love you."

"Love you too."

The call disconnected, and the quiet inside the car returned with force, thicker than before.

Outside, the landscape blurred past, bare trees clutching at the gray sky, farmhouses hunched against the wind, their windows glowing. The further west she drove, the more isolated the houses became, dotting the fields like lonely sentinels. Yet ahead, the lights of Duskwood beckoned.

Greene’s murder.

A week ago, if she’d heard someone had dragged Joel Greene’s body from the lake, she might have assumed it was poetic justice. The officer had harassed her from the moment she’d first started working cases in Duskwood, going out of his way to discredit her, dismiss her, mock her.

Not to mention Greene had Chief Moretti’s ear, which meant he had power. Power to sway the department. Power to keep Nia locked out of the investigations.

And now he was dead.

She veered around a pothole.

Was she making a mistake, interjecting herself in another Duskwood PD murder case?

Eli wanted her help. He valued her instincts, though it caused friction with his colleagues. She could still hear Craig’s dismissal, the unmasked irritation in Jenkins’s tone.

This was different from the Cecilia Gray case. Officer Greene wasn’t an outsider who had gone missing, nor a wealthy vineyard owner kidnapped by a lunatic.

This was a cop.

And cops protected their own.

Nia wasn’t one of them.

A curtain of rain battered the windshield, causing her to turn the wipers on to full power. Ahead, Eli’s cruiser slowed. Hydroplaning in the middle of nowhere would leave them in a world of trouble.

Eli turned onto a farm-to-market road, the tires kicking up mist from the damp pavement. They were close now.

Whether or not the department wanted Nia’s involvement, she was part of the investigation.

At five minutes before eight, Nia pulled into the driveway of Officer Joel Greene’s house. The home was a single-story ranch with gray siding and a sloping roof patched in places with darker shingles. The front porch sagged, and the gutters overflowed with rotting leaves. If Greene had been fastidious about anything in his life, it certainly hadn’t been home maintenance.

Eli rounded the cruiser to the trunk and popped it open. "Suit up," he said over his shoulder. "We don’t know what we’re walking into."

Nia climbed out of her car and ducked her head, as if doing so would shield her from the rain. It felt cold enough to snow again and, honestly, snow was better than a bone-chilling downpour. The cold seeped through her jacket.

"You still have an extra suit?" she asked, eyeing the inside of the cruiser.

"Standard practice. Always good to have a second set." Eli reached into a sealed storage bin and pulled out a forensic suit, gloves, and boot covers. He handed them to her, then grabbed his own.

She held up the suit, giving it a once-over. "This just happens to be my size. That’s not a coincidence, is it?"

Eli didn’t look at her as he tugged off his jacket, preparing to step into his suit. “Come on. Stand on the porch so you don’t get soaked.”

She unfolded the crinkled white coverall and stepped into the suit, sliding her arms through the sleeves before zipping it up to her chin. Eli had already done the same, rolling his shoulders as if adjusting to the fit. He handed her a pair of latex gloves and boot covers.

"Gloves first," he instructed. "Then the boot covers."

Though she knew the protocol, she nodded, snapping the gloves over her wrists before bending down to fit the covers over her shoes. They were slightly loose, but they would do.

"Haven’t been inside Greene’s home in ages, but I suggest we start in the living room, then move through the house. Anything out of place, anything that looks like it doesn’t belong, we’ll document. No cross-contamination. Got it?" Eli reached for a mask and pulled it over his mouth.

"Got it," she said, adjusting the fit of her gloves.

"Now to figure out why someone wanted to kill Greene," he said.

The front door was unlocked, which Nia didn’t find surprising. Greene lived in the countryside because he hated people. Perhaps the man should have chosen a different vocation.

The wind threw rain at Nia’s face as she huddled against the weather. Graupel pinged her cheeks. The house stood in darkness before them, a monument to the life of a man who had made more enemies than friends.

Whatever secrets hid inside, they were about to find out.

6

Eli grabbed the doorknob and hesitated. "One last thing," he said, voice low against the wind. "Follow my lead. The killer might have been inside the house."

Nia pulled the mask up over her nose. "I remember the drill."

The door opened to a yawning darkness that carried a musty, stale scent. She smelled unwashed laundry and garbage from somewhere off to the left. Greene hadn't been here in at least a day. Probably longer.

Eli turned on the lights and swept through the living room first. The space was sparse, almost aggressively so. A couch dominated in the middle of the room, its cushions dented in places that suggested Greene had spent more time here than in his actual bedroom. The coffee table held two empty beer cans and a half-eaten sandwich fossilized on a plate. A television hung against the wall, the remote missing its back panel, the batteries held in place with a strip of electrical tape.

"Doesn't scream ‘pillar of the community,’ does it?" Nia said.

"This was Greene in a nutshell."

Eli moved toward the far wall, where a framed picture hung at an angle. It was an old department photo, taken at least a decade ago. Greene stood in the back row, his arms crossed over his chest, a sour expression on his face. Even back then, he hadn’t been the type to slap on a friendly smile when the photographer said ‘cheese.’ Nia recognized Chief Moretti, but Eli wasn’t in the picture. He hadn’t joined Duskwood PD until a few years later.

"Looks like Greene kept to himself," Eli observed. "Not much in the way of decorations. No family photos."

"No friends either." Nia searched the bookshelves. They were mostly empty, save for a few outdated police manuals and a stack of hunting magazines. One shelf held a row of VHS tapes, all labeled with handwritten dates.

Eli pulled one from the lineup, turning it in his gloved hands. "What do you think? Home videos?"

"Or Happy Days reruns."

“Unlikely.”

In the room’s corner, the recliner appeared lonely, its armrest torn and leaking foam. Beside it, a small desk held an outdated desktop computer. A coffee mug sat next to the keyboard; the liquid inside had congealed into something thick and unrecognizable.

"Greene wasn’t a guy who watched home movies," Eli said, placing the tape back in line with the others.

The house felt abandoned, as if the energy of the place had drained away the moment Greene had departed. There was a sadness to it, like a dog who missed its owner.

Eli hunched over the computer and tapped the keyboard. The monitor blinked to life, revealing a login screen. "Password protected. No surprise there."

"Think IT can crack the password?"

"Maybe. My guess is Greene spent most of his time playing solitaire." Eli turned away from the screen.

They entered the hallway, which smelled of ancient wood paneling. The floorboards, though worn, displayed no obvious signs of struggle. No overturned furniture, no hastily wiped bloodstains.

Eli took the lead, moving slowly. The walls were bare except for a framed hunting certificate from two decades ago, issued to Officer Joel Greene.

Nia glanced at the closed doors ahead. “If someone got the drop on Greene, why isn’t there any blood? He was stabbed in the back, but there’s nothing here. No struggle, no forced entry.”

“That suggests he left willingly or at gunpoint.”

“That makes sense. Greene trusted his killer or felt he had no choice.”

Greene had been a despicable man, but not a coward. He would have fought like hell unless something had convinced him otherwise.

They reached the first door. Eli nudged it open. The bedroom was unremarkable, revealing the stripped-down existence of a man who had never married or brought anyone home. A twin mattress lay unmade, sheets tangled. A gun safe stood in the corner, its steel door ajar. Eli stepped forward, shining his flashlight inside.

Empty.

“Interesting that the gun safe is empty,” Eli said. “Could be the killer used Greene’s weapons against him.”

“Or Greene grabbed a gun and tried to defend himself, but it was too late.”

“Again, I see nothing that suggests a battle took place inside the house.”

A nightstand held a half-burned candle. Inside the closet, Nia found stiff, starched uniforms and a dozen nearly identical off-duty shirts. The dresser’s top drawer was filled with loose change and an unopened letter.

Eli plucked it out, tilting it toward the light. He read aloud. “Joel Greene, consider this your final notice. We will not continue covering your payments. If you do not respond within ten days, legal action will commence—Sterling & Cross Debt Collections.”

“Well, well,” Nia said. “Officer Greene was broke.”

Eli slid the letter into an evidence bag. “And desperate men make enemies.”

They exited the bedroom and investigated the bathroom, the last unexplored space connected to the hallway. The door was shut. Eli removed his gun before entering the space.

Nia examined the cramped, utilitarian space. The mirror over the sink appeared stained from years of careless living. The counter held loose pills in an amber bottle.

Eli picked it up. “Oxycodone.”

“Prescription?”

He squinted at the label. “Prescribed to Joel Greene.”

“Was he in pain?”

“Must have been. I recall he had back issues. His weight didn’t help matters. Listen, I want to check around the house. If the killer was here, there might be footprints, and I can compare them to the ones we found in the woods.”

“You want me to stay inside alone?” Nia asked.

“No sense in both of us getting soaked.”

Eli disappeared around the corner. Then the front door opened and closed.

The house groaned from the wind as Nia waited by herself, shifting on her feet, reluctant to move around Greene’s domain. It felt as if the walls were closing in. She heard the muffled sound of Eli’s boots squelching through the mud as he searched for any sign of the killer’s approach.

Being alone in this house unsettled her more than she wanted to admit. She didn’t believe in ghosts, but some places carried the hatred of the people who lived there. This was one of them.

She returned to the bedroom and crouched to check inside the dresser. The drawers were half-open, revealing socks bundled in uneven balls, crumpled receipts, and loose bullets rolling around in the top compartment. It seemed Greene hadn’t cared about organization.

Nia walked back to the corridor, pausing in the doorway. Electricity shot up her spine, an irrational but persistent sensation that someone was behind her. She swung around, scanning the room.

Nothing is here, Carter. Get a grip.

Still, she rubbed the back of her arms to ward off the chill.

She wandered into the living room. Fast food wrappers lay crumpled in the wastebasket by the chair. Greene had lived like a man who didn’t expect or want company.

A gust of wind rattled the windows, and she tensed at the sound of shifting wood. A loose board groaned somewhere. The wind, she told herself.

She could hear Eli circling the property. He was thorough. If footprints existed, he would find them.

A thump came from behind her. She gasped and suddenly wished she’d brought her own firearm. Was someone inside?

Just as Nia was creeping toward the hallway to check, the front door whipped open. She nearly jumped out of her skin.

Eli stepped inside, rain dripping from the hood of his forensic suit. He peeled it back, shaking out his damp hair. His expression was grim.

“No footprints,” he said. “The ground is muddy, but I checked under the porch, near the gravel lining the drive. Nothing. No sign of forced entry either.”

“It’s possible the killer took him while the ground was frozen.”

“I considered that. Assuming our killer forced Greene to leave at gunpoint, if the earth was hard-packed, they wouldn’t have left tracks.” He studied her face. “You look like you just saw the dead rise from the grave.”

“I heard a noise before you came inside.”

“From where?”

"The hallway."

Eli didn’t wait. He stepped into the hall. Nia followed a step behind, ready for an intruder to burst out of hiding.

The first door on the right led to the depressing bathroom they had already searched. The bedroom where they found Greene’s overdue bills remained undisturbed, the closet door still ajar.

Eli moved to the last door—the spare bedroom. It was a narrow space, only large enough to hold a twin-sized bed and a wooden desk. Another closet waited in the corner.

He nodded at the door. “Stay behind me.”

“Be careful.”

She tensed as he placed a gloved hand on the door and swung it open.

Nothing.

A few old coats, a pair of boots and a cardboard box sat on the closet floor. No intruder.

Feeling Eli’s eyes on her, Nia let out a breath. “Go ahead, say it. I spooked myself.”

“You’ve been in enough tight situations to trust your instincts. I would never dismiss them.”

She blinked, surprised at the response. Eli crouched in front of the box. Nia sat beside him, watching as he pulled the box into the light. He removed the lid, revealing stacks of paperwork, old case files, and a bundle of envelopes, some yellowed with age.

Eli pulled one from the pile. The word WILL was scrawled in thick, blocky letters across the front.

“Greene had a will?” Nia asked, frowning. “Was he sick?”

“Not that I know of,” Eli said. “But cops think ahead. You never know when you might walk into trouble.”

She pictured Eli encountering a dangerous enemy and felt her blood pressure rise.

“Who is the beneficiary?”

Eli opened the envelope and pulled out a single-page document. His eyes scanned the text, and then his expression darkened.

“His sole beneficiary is a man named Richard Vance.”

“Richard Vance? Doesn’t ring a bell.”

He stared at the will as if the name meant something to him. Finally, he folded the document and slipped it into an evidence bag.

“I’ll run the name,” he said. “But I have a feeling we just found our first lead.”

7

Eli sealed the evidence bag, his expression pensive. Something about the name Richard Vance had struck a nerve in him.

Nia leaned back on her heels, thinking about the will and what Eli had said about police officers planning for worst-case scenarios.

“Do you keep a will, Eli?” she asked, worried that she was overstepping her bounds.

“I do.”

The firm set of his jaw made it obvious he didn’t wish to elaborate.

“Greene didn’t get along with his family, did he? I didn’t see a single family picture in this house.”

“Not really. His parents died years ago. He had a sister, though. Has, I should say.”

“What’s her name?”

“Margaret Langley. Lives somewhere in Treman Mills, last I heard.”

“Langley? Different last name. Married?”

Eli let out a dry chuckle. “No. She changed her name after she cut ties with Greene. They never got along. I don’t know the details, but it wasn’t your typical sibling rivalry. Greene didn’t talk about her, and she sure as hell didn’t talk about him.”

Nia considered that. “If they were estranged, it makes sense that she wouldn’t be listed in his will. But why leave everything to Richard Vance when you still have a living family member?”

“That’s the million-dollar question.” Eli stood, dusting off his gloves. “I’ll run Vance through the system and see what the system says. Regardless, we need to have a chat with this guy.”

“We? Chief Moretti won’t want me part of the interview process.”

“I’ll talk to Moretti. With Greene gone, there’s no one going behind your back inside the department.”

“Are you sure about that? Your partners weren’t thrilled to have me along on our hiking excursion.”

“Those guys aren’t so bad. It takes a lot of convincing to change people who are set in their ways. Give them time.”

“If you say so,” she said, unconvinced.

“So we’ll interview Richard Vance. Should we talk to him first?”

“I don’t think so. I want to track down Margaret Langley. Maybe she can tell us what kind of mess her brother was tangled in before he ended up in the lake. There has to be a reason they hated each other.”

Nia straightened, feeling her knees pop. The rain had let up, but the sky remained an unbroken battleship gray.

“Something isn’t adding up, Eli,” she said. “Greene lived like a pauper, but I doubt he had a few hundred thousand in stocks or bonds hidden in some unknown account.”

“I was just thinking the same thing. Maybe Greene wasn’t killed for money.”

“If it was for revenge, then his sister might be our top suspect. Regardless, I have to contact the sister and give the death notification.”

“When do you want to go?”

“Now.”

* * *

The rain slowed to a mist. Nia pulled into her driveway as Eli’s cruiser rolled in behind her, his headlights cutting through the gloom before turning off.

She sat in her car for a second, fingers drumming on the steering wheel. This case had her on edge. Joel Greene had plenty of enemies, but was Margaret Langley bitter enough to kill her own brother? And if so, why now?

The questions churned in her mind as she exited the vehicle and locked the doors. Luna and Madrid barked inside the house.

Eli joined her on the porch, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. “I’ll help with the dogs. Make it quick so we can hit the road.”

She unlocked the door and the dogs nearly bowled her over, tails wagging, bodies wriggling with excitement. “I know, I know,” Nia said, kneeling to scratch behind their ears. “I wasn’t even gone that long.”

Eli reached down, rubbing Madrid’s head, then scratching under Luna’s collar. He did it without thinking. It was second nature.

How natural it feels having Eli here.

He had been coming around at least once a week for dinner, easing into her home life. Not just with her, but with Maya. Two nights ago, she’d come downstairs to find them at the kitchen table while Eli helped Maya structure a report about modern police procedures.

Maya had become fascinated by law enforcement, and Nia worried that the admiration would turn into something more. That someday Maya might want to wear a badge.

“Lost in thought?” Eli asked.

She snapped out of it, standing. “Just wondering what kind of life Greene must have lived to push his own sister away.”

Eli studied her for a second. “We’d better get Luna and Madrid outside before they make messes.”

They rounded the house and waited until the dogs did their business. Neither animal needed a leash. Both came when called and never ran away.

As the dogs sniffed the damp grass, she glanced back toward Eli, watching him as he leaned against her porch railing. He fit into her life so easily.

With Eli’s help, Nia coaxed Luna and Madrid into the house, feeling sad that she was about to leave them alone again.

“Nia, we should hurry,” Eli said. “I want to talk to Margaret Langley before she hears the news some other way.”

In the driveway, Eli opened the passenger door for Nia. He was a gentleman, even when she was climbing into a police cruiser.

8

The road to Treman Mills stretched in a gray ribbon, wending through the rolling hills and pockets of an autumn-stripped forest. Eli turned on the wipers, which rasped against the glass, clearing the condensation only to have it creep back moments later.

Nia hated death notifications.

There were many things she could stomach in this line of work—searching crime scenes, uncovering murder suspects, facing down liars who thought they could fool her. But nothing felt as cruel as knocking on a stranger’s door and shattering their world with a few carefully measured words. Which made their forthcoming visit feel so strange. How would Margaret Langley react? If she truly hated Greene, she might not care. Heck, the woman might hold a parade.

Eli’s profile was cut against the pale light. He had a few days’ worth of stubble on his cheeks, and she realized, to her own surprise, that she liked this look on him.

He caught her staring. “Something on my face?”

“No,” she said quickly. “Just thinking.”

He only smiled. That was the thing about Eli—he never pushed her into anything she wasn’t ready for. Instead, he focused on the road, his hands loose but steady on the wheel.

Forcing her thoughts back to the case, Nia asked, “What do you know about the sister?”

“Not much. She’s about five years younger than Greene, which puts her in her early forties. She works at Treman Mills Public Library and has been there for over a decade. Lives alone, no spouse or kids. Changed her last name sometime during her twenties, right after she cut ties with Greene.”

“I wonder what happened,” she said.

“Depending on how she reacts to the death notification, we’ll ask. Margaret Langley has no criminal record, no history of restraining orders. But something went down between her and her brother. You don’t sever family ties and change your name without a reason.”

“Maybe he did something to hurt her.”

“Or maybe she was the one who did something to him,” Eli countered. “Greene could be a jerk wad, but we need to keep open minds.”

“Jerk wad is a very diplomatic expression.”

“I prefer not to curse about the dead.”

They sat with that thought as the cruiser sped toward their destination. Nia looked out at the hills rolling past, their contours softened by fog. Duskwood Lake lay on the other side. Somewhere in those distant woods, Joel Greene had taken his last breath.

Had Margaret Langley hated him enough to kill?

Eli turned onto the main road leading into Treman Mills. The town rose before them, the streets busy with mid-morning traffic. Nia took a breath, bracing herself. It was time to meet the woman who had spent her life running from Joel Greene.

Margaret Langley’s neighborhood lay on the east side of Treman Mills, a few miles from the railroad tracks, and several blocks from the city, where the blight had begun. Treman Mills had its share of problems, including the county’s highest crime rate.

The house was a neatly kept one-story home with white siding and blue shutters, a home that suggested order, normalcy, and an attempt at stability. A garden bed lined the front walk, though the flowers were long dead, strangled by the November’s unforgiving grip. The porch light, though unnecessary in the mid-morning sun, glowed.

Eli pulled into the driveway. Nia studied the home, noting the well-maintained lawn, the way the blinds were drawn tight over the windows. He led her onto the porch and rang the doorbell. A melodic chime sounded inside.

For a moment, there was no response. Then, the soft shuffle of approaching footsteps. The door cracked open, revealing a woman in her early forties, her blue eyes cautious beneath fine, silver-streaked brown hair pulled into a low bun. She was tall, her frame wiry but strong, and dressed in a soft gray sweater and dark jeans. She possessed a face that might have once been beautiful, before time and sorrow wore down its edges.

“Margaret Langley?” Eli asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m Officer Eli Mitchell with Duskwood PD.” He gestured to Nia. “This is Nia Carter, a private investigator working with us. May we come inside?”

Langley’s gaze jumped from Eli to Nia, and in that brief hesitation, Nia saw it—that flicker of knowing, of foreboding. Before a word had been spoken, Margaret Langley already understood why they were there.

She swallowed, then stepped back, opening the door wide enough for them to enter.

“I suppose it’s okay,” she said. “Come in.”

Margaret Langley led them into a modest living room. A bookshelf overflowed with hardcovers, and a knitted blanket was draped over the arm of a lounge chair. The scent of black tea lingered in the air, curling from a half-full mug on the coffee table.

Though she motioned for them to sit, neither Eli nor Nia moved. This was a conversation best had standing.

Margaret reached for her mug and took a long, slow drink. Her eyes rose to Eli’s. “This is about Joel.”

“I’m afraid so,” Eli said.

She exhaled through her nose and ran a hand over the back of her head, pressing against the knot of her bun. “What happened?”

Eli hesitated, giving her a beat to brace herself. “Your brother was found this morning in Duskwood Lake.” He softened his voice, though the words still landed like a hammer. “He’s dead.”

The woman’s expression didn’t shift in any dramatic way. No gasp, no immediate denial. Instead, she sat a little straighter, absorbing the information like someone who had expected bad news at some point in her life.

For a long moment, she said nothing. Then she picked up her tea again, her fingers wrapping tightly around the mug as she took another measured sip. She swallowed, set the mug down, and finally met Eli’s eyes.

“I suppose I should be surprised,” she said. “But I’m not.”

Nia studied her, reading between the lines. No grief. No panic. Just a strange, weary resignation.

“I realize this is a shock, but I need to ask you a few questions,” Eli said.

Langley’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Of course you do.”

Eli tilted his head slightly. “How long has it been since you last spoke to your brother?”

Her laugh was short and without humor. “Depends on what you mean by ‘spoke.’ I saw him across a parking lot about five years ago. He didn’t acknowledge me, and I didn’t acknowledge him. Before that, the last time we exchanged words was nearly twenty years ago.”

“So you had no contact.”

“That’s right.”

“When you realized we were here about your brother, what was your first assumption?”

She let out a breath. “That he got himself killed in the line of duty, or that he drank himself into a stupor and fell off his boat.”

Eli’s voice remained steady. “It was no accident. Someone murdered Joel.”

This time, she did react. Shock and disbelief crossed her features before she masked it again. But it had been there long enough for Nia to recognize it.

“Do you know who might have wanted your brother dead?” Eli asked.

She set down the mug with deliberate care and folded her hands in her lap. “No, I do not.”

“Can you tell me about your estrangement? Why did you cut ties with Joel?”

As if choosing her words, Langley studied him for a long moment. “I assume you did your research before coming here. You already know Joel and I didn’t get along.”

“I’d like to hear it from you.”

Langley looked at Nia, then turned her head back to Eli. “Am I a suspect?”

Eli held her stare, neither confirming nor denying. “Right now, we’re just gathering information.”

A dry smirk touched the corner of her lips. “Because I had the motive, right? Let’s not dance around the issue. I despised Joel, and I won’t pretend otherwise. He was a miserable human being who bullied people. We both know he used his badge as a weapon. And if you have to ask, yes, he treated me like garbage from the moment we were old enough to talk.” She tilted her head. “But hating someone and murdering them are two very different things.”

“What exactly caused the rift between you two? Was there one specific incident?”

Langley inhaled and looked away, her fingers twitching on her knee.

“Our father died when I was sixteen. Car accident. Joel was already an adult by then, and instead of stepping up as a brother, he used it as an excuse to control everything. He ran the house like a drill sergeant. He decided what I did, where I went, and who I talked to. The man was a tyrant.” She scoffed. “And when I told him I wanted to graduate high school early and go to college, he talked our mother into making sure I had no money, no support. Joel went to my teachers and told them I was troubled. He manipulated our mother into keeping me on a short leash. I left home as soon as I could, changed my name, and never looked back.”

Nia had known Greene was a tyrant on the force, but she hadn’t considered what kind of brother he had been.

Eli remained expressionless, absorbing every word. “Did you ever fear for your safety?”

“Not in the way you’re thinking. Joel wasn’t a man who threw punches. He was the kind who chipped away at you until you had nothing left.”

“When was the last time you heard anything about him?”

“A few months ago, I read an article in the paper that mentioned his name. Some arrest of note in Duskwood.”

“Okay,” Eli said. “Where is your mother now?”

“Dead. I didn’t have any contact with my mother after I moved out. Though a part of me believes the troubles at home weren’t her fault, she allowed Joel to take over as the de facto leader, and I’ll never feel comfortable about that.”

“Are you aware Joel had a will?”

“No. Why should I care? I’m obviously not a part of it.”

“Do you know a man named Richard Vance?”

“Who? Sorry, but that name is unfamiliar. Was he Joel’s attorney?”

“No. He’s a beneficiary.”

Langley didn’t reply. She only pressed her lips together and looked down at her hands.

“Ms. Langley, I need to ask: Where were you last night? Specifically, between eight p.m. and eight a.m.?”

“I was here, at home. Alone.”

“No one can verify your whereabouts?”

“No. Unless my cat counts.” She gestured vaguely to an armchair, where a gray tabby curled into a ball, oblivious to the conversation.

Nia noted the subtle flicker of frustration in Langley’s eyes. The woman wasn’t just annoyed by the question; she was insulted.

Eli made a note. “Did you leave at any point? Run errands or take a drive?”

Langley’s irritation deepened. “I work at a library and don’t have a night life. I came home after my shift, made a cup of tea, and read until I fell asleep. That’s it. In fact, I’m due to be at the library in three hours, so I’m pressed for time.”

Eli glanced at Nia, signaling she could ask a question.

“Do you own a vehicle?” Nia asked.

“Of course. It’s parked outside.” Langley crossed her arms. “But I didn’t take any midnight joyrides to Duskwood, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“And you haven’t been in contact with Joel in years, correct?”

“That’s right.”

“No phone calls? Emails? Any third-party communication?”

“I told you. No.”

“You seem pretty sure of that,” said Eli.

She let out another humorless laugh. “If Joel had wanted to talk to me, it wouldn’t have been a friendly chat. It would have been a demand, a warning, or some passive-aggressive nonsense about how I abandoned the family. If he reached out, I would have ignored him.”

“Did Joel have enemies?”

“Besides me?” Langley asked with a raised brow.

Eli didn’t react.

“Joel was a small-town cop with a big ego. He relished control, and when he didn’t have it, he made people miserable. He must have made plenty of enemies in Duskwood. You would know. Look, I get that you have to check every box. But I didn’t kill my brother. If you’re looking for suspects, I’d suggest starting with the people he actually spent time with.”

Eli studied Langley, then closed his notepad. “All right, Margaret. We appreciate your cooperation.”

Langley rolled her eyes. “Sure you do.”

She reached for her tea again, signaling that the conversation was over.

9

The trip back to Duskwood took longer than expected. A traffic jam on the interstate delayed Nia and Eli for twenty minutes. Pockets of ice clung to the trees, bending the limbs earthward. Eli drove slowly, worried the rain was freezing. The worst of the precipitation had passed, but the aftermath left the landscape soaked and glittering, the world still trembling from autumn’s wrath.

Eli drove in silence as he fiddled with the radio. Nia looked out the passenger window, her thoughts stuck on Officer Joel Greene’s murder.

“Langley wasn’t lying about hating her brother,” Eli finally said. “That much was obvious.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean she murdered him. If she was our killer, I feel like she would have been less reactive, less annoyed with us being there. Margaret Langley’s hatred was old and stale. She’d buried it a long time ago.”

“She didn’t have an alibi, though.”

“That’s the one thing that bothers me. No alibi means no way to confirm she wasn’t involved.” Nia glanced at him. “Do you classify her as a suspect?”

Eli braked when the traffic slowed again. “Not yet. But I also don’t believe in coincidence. She has no alibi during the time of the murder, and revenge is a motive.”

“Don’t assume the worst of people.” She winked at him. “Even if you’re usually right.”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “I don’t assume the worst. I assume what’s logical.”

Resting her elbow on the door as she watched the passing trees, Nia shrugged. “What’s logical about Joel Greene making a man named Richard Vance his beneficiary?”

“That’s our next interview. Vance must have been important to Greene. Important enough to inherit whatever scraps Greene left behind.”

“Perhaps he wanted Greene dead so he could claim the money.”

“Yeah. That’s an angle we’ll dig into. What would you like to do about dinner?” Eli asked, shifting the topic.

“Dinner?”

Eli sighed when he caught sight of flashing emergency lights up the highway. There had been an accident. “I was asking if you wanted me to come over this afternoon or tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh, right.” Nia’s heart beat a little faster. “You’re assuming you’re invited.”

“I’m always invited,” he said, smirking.

She narrowed her eyes at him with a smirk of her own. “Maya would love for you to come over when you finish work. But if this case occupies you all day, tomorrow might be better.”

“Your call. Just know I make a mean pot roast if you ever want to switch things up and have me cook.”

“Your pot beats mine? Challenge accepted.”

Eli had been coming over more frequently. What started as casual dinners had turned into once-a-week traditions.

Maya needed a father. Eli had never tried to take that role, not officially. But he was always there when Maya needed someone to talk to. Steady. Protective. Patient. Heck, Maya confided in Eli more than she did in Nia.

And that scared the heck out of Nia.

She’d spent years protecting herself and Maya from people who might leave, people who might disappoint them. Allowing Eli to be a father figure was a risk. A massive one. And yet, every time he walked through her front door a part of her felt like she could breathe. Loneliness could be suffocating.

* * *

Nia dropped her keys on the counter after Eli’s cruiser pulled away. The house was silent, save for the dogs padding across the floor. It was already past noon, and she only had two hours before she had to pick up Maya from school. Two hours to catch up on work, tidy the kitchen, and wrangle her two overexcited dogs.

Madrid ran over first, his tail wagging lazily as he pressed his nose against her leg. Luna, always the more energetic of the two, skidded across the hardwood as she rushed to greet Nia.

"Yeah, yeah, I missed you too," Nia said, scratching behind their ears before gesturing for them to follow her to the office.

A clutter of open case files, legal pads, and a computer on its last legs took up the desk space. She sank into the chair, pushed aside an empty soda can, and booted up her email. Five cases waited in her inbox, two of which she had started last week and one she’d been avoiding because she knew it was going to be a nightmare.

She clicked the file labeled: R. Calloway—Employee Background Check.

Calloway was a local business owner who had recently fired one of his managers, claiming he was stealing from the register. Now Calloway was looking to replace the guy, but didn’t trust his hiring instincts anymore. He wanted Nia to run a deep background check on his top candidate before making an offer. Simple enough.

She scrolled through the candidate’s information, checking his credit history, employment verification, and searching for criminal records. No glaring red flags. The guy had an old DUI from his early twenties, but nothing that would scream thief or liability.

As she compiled the report, her thoughts drifted to the rest of the day. Pick up Maya before three. Cook or let Eli work his magic? Definitely put Eli to the test. She wanted to find out if that pot roast was half as delectable as he claimed.

She needed to clean. God forbid Eli saw the state of the laundry room.

Madrid let out a contented huff as he curled by her feet. Luna lost interest and wandered off, probably to stare longingly out the window at the squirrels.

Her phone buzzed with an email notification of another case request. A local woman suspected her husband of cheating. Fantastic. Nia hated these cases. They were messy, uncomfortable, and rarely ended with someone getting the closure they were looking for.

Still, business was business.

After sending her usual Let's set up a consultation message, she got back to work on the Calloway report. As she compiled the information, she wondered about Officer Joel Greene’s savings. No chance the man had been rich. Yet he’d possessed enough money to attract someone’s attention. After more than two decades on the force, Greene was at the top of the pay scale—proof that his salary was based on longevity, not merit. Roaches lived a long time too.

She chided herself for thinking ill of the dead. It was up to her and Eli to catch Greene’s killer. How ironic it would be if, after months of Greene trying to keep Nia away from police work, she solved his murder?

Maybe the motive wasn’t money. Greene had made so many enemies.

The first hour flew past. When she glanced at the clock, she couldn’t believe she was almost out of time.

An hour left until I have to pick up Maya.

The house wasn’t in terrible shape, but with two dogs, it was never spotless. She grabbed a broom and ran it over the floor, cleared off the kitchen counter, and straightened up the living room. Just enough to make sure Eli didn’t walk in and think she was a closet hoarder. Then again, was it really important what Eli thought?

Yes, it was.

Madrid followed her from room to room, while Luna dashed through, carrying a stolen sock from Maya’s room. By the time Nia finished, she had just enough time to change into something a little less PI-like. She no longer looked like someone who spent the day staring at background checks.

As she washed her hands in the sink, she caught her reflection in the window. This is becoming a routine, she realized. Eli coming over, Maya looking forward to his visits.

She dried her hands and assessed her reflection.

Am I doing right by Maya?

Shaking off the thought, she grabbed her keys. It was time to pick up her daughter.

10

Inside the Duskwood Police Department, the heating system groaned through the vents, pushing out air that did little to cut the bite of November cold seeping through the drafty windows.

Eli sat at his desk, reading a copy of Joel Greene’s will. Across from him, Officer Brad Jenkins leaned back in his chair, arms folded, his face a map of skepticism. The desk lamp cast a pool of light across the clutter of case files, half-drained Styrofoam cups, and a radio that muttered in the background.

“You’re telling me Greene had a will?” Jenkins asked. “Heck, I didn’t even think he had a checking account, let alone something worth leaving behind.”

“Neither did I.” Eli tossed the document on the desk. “But Greene had one, and he left everything to a guy named Richard Vance.”

“Vance? That name doesn’t ring a bell. Who is he?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. Running his name now.” Eli pushed the mouse, waiting for the system to churn out something useful. “Margaret Langley, Greene’s sister, wasn’t in the will.”

Jenkins snorted. “That doesn’t surprise me. They despised each other.”

“You knew how bad things were?”

“Everyone did. Greene wanted nothing to do with his sister and called her ungrateful. Actually, he used more colorful language, but I went to church yesterday. God is passing judgment.”

The system beeped. Eli looked at the screen, reading the information. “Richard Vance, fifty-three years old, last known residence is over in Elmira. Nothing jumps out. No priors, no connections to Greene.”

Leaning forward, Jenkins peered at the screen. “Weird. Greene was a secretive guy.”

“You think he was into something shady?”

“That’s a gigantic leap, Eli. We’re going from Greene acting like a jerk to him being a dirty cop. Better have proof before you take that path.”

“I know,” Eli said. “Moretti gave me the go-ahead to work with Nia. She impressed the chief during the last investigation, so that bought us some time. But we’re on a short leash.”

Jenkins smirked. “Moretti probably figured you’d involve Nia anyway. At least like this he gets to pretend he’s in charge.”

Eli chuckled, but the humor faded as he turned back to the will. The paper felt heavier than it should have. What was Greene hiding? Had he really been worth killing?

“Did Greene have money we didn’t know about? Or enemies?”

“I doubt he had money.” Jenkins scratched his temple. “But the guy lived like he was allergic to spending. If you save for long enough, who knows? And as for enemies, the man ticked off half the town, not to mention his fellow officers. And a certain PI you have eyes for.”

“Easy, Cupid.” Eli ran a hand through his hair. Gosh, it was thinning. “Someone wanted him gone.”

“And whoever it was, they went through a lot of trouble. Dumping him in Duskwood Lake? Good grief.”

“The killer figured Greene would sink to the bottom. After the lake froze, he wouldn’t emerge until spring or summer.”

“And by then, the murderer would be long gone,” Jenkins said, finishing Eli’s thought.

Eli agreed.

* * *

Nia pulled into the school parking lot as the last bell rang. Kids poured out of the double doors in scattered clusters, their backpacks bouncing as they made their way to the bus loop. She spotted Maya on the steps, standing with her friend Brianna, laughing at something on the other girl’s phone.

Maya glanced up, saw Nia’s car, and waved. She said something to Brianna before jogging over, her dark ponytail swinging behind her. She slid into the passenger seat and shoved her bag between her feet.

“Hey, kid,” Nia said. “How was school?”

Maya let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine. Boring. Mr. Ross assigned a project on climate change, and now I have to work with Isaac, who literally cannot function without being on social media every two seconds.”

“Maybe you’ll inspire him to pay attention.”

“Doubt it. Anyway, did you know the vending machine is finally working again? I got peanut M&M’s before lunch. Best part of my day.”

Nia worried about Maya, especially after the bullying her daughter had endured during the fall. The cruel texts, the emails, the physical threats.

Maya had assured her things had gotten better, and Nia had done everything she could to make sure of it, meeting with teachers and tracking down the parents of the worst offenders. She wasn’t a mom who let things slide.

“You’re not having any problems with anyone?” Nia said, keeping her voice casual.

“Nope. The jerks from last semester leave me alone. And I have Brianna now. We have this ongoing bet about who can get the best deal on thrift store clothes.”

“Goodwill is for people who need it, honey.”

“Goodwill is for everyone, Mom. People burn through clothes so quickly. It’s embarrassing the way our society consumes fast fashion.”

“Can’t argue with you about that.”

“So, is Eli coming over?” Maya asked.

The question was innocent, but Nia knew what it meant. Maya missed Eli.

“He says he will make dinner.”

Maya brightened. “Oh, good. What are we eating?”

“Eli keeps talking about some ‘famous’ pot roast.” Nia made air quotes.

“Well, I mean, we haven’t actually tasted it yet. What if it’s, like, cop food? Overcooked and sad.”

Nia laughed. “You can be the judge.”

They pulled into the driveway. Luna and Madrid barked through the front window, their hips shaking like Elvis’s.

Maya unbuckled and turned to Nia. “You don’t have to look so nervous. I like it when he’s here.”

“Yes, I know,” Nia said quietly. “I do too.”

The girl gave her a long look, then smiled. “Good. Because if his pot roast sucks, we’re ordering pizza.”

With that, Maya hopped out and ran to the house. Nia sat for a second, staring at the steering wheel.

Maya liked Eli being around. And truth be told, so did Nia.

11

At 3:30, Nia was rinsing the cutting board when she heard Maya call from the hallway.

“Eli’s here!”

She wiped her hands on a dish towel and set it aside, listening as the front door opened. Luna and Madrid barked in greeting, nails clicking on the hardwood.

“Hey, kiddo,” Eli said. “You finish that history paper?”

“Yeah, but I’ve got math next. I figured I’d let you and Mom cook while I finish my homework.”

“Oh, is that what you figured?”

“I’ll be in my room. Call when you need me to set the table.”

Maya’s footsteps bounded down the hallway, and Nia turned just as Eli entered the kitchen. He carried two brown paper grocery bags and swung a cooler by the handle.

“Did you bring the entire store?” she asked.

“Gotta do pot roast right.” He set the bags on the counter and unzipped the cooler. Inside, nestled in a bed of ice packs, was a thick, marbled chuck roast wrapped in butcher paper.

Nia’s mouth watered. But boy, that was a lot of food. “I thought we were making dinner, not hosting a dinner party.”

“Excellent pot roast requires the best ingredients.” He reached into the grocery bag, pulling out red potatoes, a bundle of fresh thyme, a container of beef stock, and a head of garlic. “You have onions, right?”

She nodded. “Pantry.”

“Perfect.”

As he began laying out ingredients, she leaned against the counter. “What’s the latest on the investigation?”

He unwrapped the roast and set it on the cutting board. “Moretti gave us the official thumbs up to work together, but I’m supposed to exercise discretion. Whatever that means.”

“It means he doesn’t want me solving the case before his officers do.”

Eli raised a thumb. “No doubt. But it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Or the last.” Nia rinsed the sink as he seasoned the meat with salt and pepper. “Any luck reaching Richard Vance?”

He shook his head. “Called twice and got no answer. I left messages, but nothing yet. If he doesn’t call back by tomorrow, I’ll drive to Elmira and knock on his door.”

Elmira wasn’t a far drive, but Nia didn’t like the idea of Eli going alone. Not when they had no idea who Vance was or what his relationship had been with Officer Greene.

“Are you going solo?” she asked.

Reading her thoughts, he looked at her. “Not if you wanna come.”

She shrugged. “I like a good road trip.”

Eli pulled out a cast-iron Dutch oven and set it on the stove. He turned the burner to medium-high, letting the heavy iron heat evenly. He reached into the bag of groceries he’d brought and pulled out a few large carrots and a bundle of fresh rosemary.

“Give me the cutting board,” he said.

Nia slid one across the counter. “So, this pot roast—does it live up to the hype, or is it one of those things where everyone’s too polite to tell you it’s just okay?”

“Trust me, nonbeliever.”

He peeled the onion, slicing it into thick wedges. The carrots followed, cut into hefty chunks that would withstand the long braise. Then he added a few cloves of garlic to the pile and turned back to the Dutch oven.

The moment he laid the seasoned roast into the hot iron, the kitchen was filled with the sharp sizzle of meat meeting metal. A golden crust formed as he seared each side, locking in the flavor. He turned the roast with a pair of tongs, making sure every edge got the same treatment.

Maya wandered into the kitchen, drawn by the scent. “That smells insane,” she said.

“I thought you had homework to finish,” Nia said.

“How long until it’s done?”

Eli glanced at the clock. “Three, maybe four hours.”

The teen groaned. “I might die before then.”

“Try to hold on,” Eli said. “I promise we’ll eat before seven. We’ll make some mashed potatoes later.”

Maya eyed the pile of vegetables on the counter. “I don’t see anything green. Mom always makes me eat something green.”

Reaching into his bag, Eli pulled out a head of broccoli. “I’m prepared.”

Though Maya made a face, she didn’t argue. “I’ll be in my room. If the broccoli disappears between now and seven, I won’t tell anyone.”

Eli watched her go before tossing the onions, carrots, and garlic into the pot once the meat was seared. He de-glazed with a splash of red wine, scraping up the browned bits at the bottom of the pan. Then he added beef broth, a sprig of rosemary, and a few bay leaves before covering the pot with a tight-fitting lid.

“Now we wait,” he said, setting the oven to 300 degrees and sliding the pot inside.

“You don’t strike me as a guy who enjoys waiting,” Nia said.

“I don’t,” Eli admitted. “But good things take time.”

Their eyes met, and her pulse quickened. Nia broke the stare and reached for the bottle of wine.

“Since we have time, I vote we open this now.”

He agreed. “I like the way you think.”

As the minutes passed, Nia took another sip of wine, letting the heat unfurl in her chest, smooth and velvety with a little bite at the end.

Eli swirled his glass, watching her over the rim as he drank. “Are you always this quiet in the presence of pot roast, or is the wine getting to you?”

“Maybe I’m just enjoying the moment.”

Luna and Madrid padded into the kitchen, their noses twitching, drawn by the heady scent of seared meat and roasted garlic. Madrid sat patiently at Nia’s feet, lifting his dark eyes to hers with a pleading expression only a dog could muster. Luna whined, her tail sweeping across the floor like a broom collecting dust.

“Look at these con artists,” Eli said, crouching to pet each dog. “They’ve got this routine down to an art.”

“Don’t encourage them.”

Eli broke a piece off the crusted end of the roast where it had cooled. He flicked it toward Madrid, who snatched it mid-air, chewing with delighted ferocity.

“Eli.”

“What? I’m establishing trust.” He tossed another tiny piece to Luna, who swallowed it so fast she might have inhaled it. “Besides, good dogs deserve good things.”

Nia shook her head but said nothing. The wine had softened the tension in her muscles, blurred the edges of her thoughts. She watched Eli as he rested against the counter, broad shoulders relaxed, eyes glinting with something unreadable.

It had been a long time since she’d allowed herself this kind of ease. That stubbled look Eli was sporting took her breath away. The attraction was undeniable, but she didn’t need to act on it. She wasn’t sure where their relationship stood, and her daughter was down the hall.

But her feelings were getting harder to ignore.

His gaze still on her, Eli sipped his wine. “You’ve got that look again.”

“What look?”

“The one that says you’re overthinking.”

She huffed a laugh. “I always think too hard.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

The kitchen smelled of rosemary and garlic, of rich broth and slow-burning heat. Luna and Madrid curled up on the floor, content with their spoils. The wine bottle would soon be half-empty, and they had the entire evening together.

Before she could finish the wine, Nia set her glass on the counter; before the warmth in her stomach turned into something reckless.

“I should check on Maya,” she said, stepping back.

Eli didn’t move, didn’t press. He just nodded, watching her go.

She could feel his eyes on her long after she’d left the kitchen.

12

The savory aroma of slow-braised pot roast and roasted garlic had made Maya eager for dinner, and she came to set the table.

Nia was just about to remove the Dutch oven when her phone rang.

Janet Smith’s name appeared on the screen.

“Hey, Janet.”

“Darling, there’s a car outside your house.” Janet’s voice was calm but edged with something wary. “Been there a good five minutes now. Not a neighbor, not a visitor. They’re just sitting on the shoulder.”

Nia stiffened, her fingers tightening around the oven mitt in her hand. “Can you see who’s inside?”

“No. The brights are in my eyes, but they haven’t moved. At first I thought it was a delivery person. I don’t like it.”

Neither did Nia.

“Stay put, Janet,” she said, crossing the living room to the front window. “I’ll check it out.”

Outside, the tires squealed, the sharp screech cutting through the quiet. Nia pulled back the curtain just in time to see glowing taillights vanishing around the bend.

“They’re gone,” Janet said, as if she’d seen it too. “The person took off the second I called you.”

“Come over, Janet. I don’t want you alone in the house.”

“I can fend for myself, dear.”

“Yes, you can. But Eli made enough food for an army. You’d be doing me a favor by joining us for dinner. It’s pot roast.”

“Already grabbing my cane,” Janet said. “I’ll be there in two minutes.”

Nia hung up and turned to find Eli standing in the kitchen doorway, his body taut with readiness.

“What’s going on?” Eli asked.

She jerked her chin toward the window. “Somebody was parked outside for several minutes. Janet spotted them. They sped off before I could see.”

“Janet’s okay?”

“She’s coming over now.”

“Stay inside,” he said, pulling the front door open and stepping onto the porch. His eyes swept the street, but he wasn’t carrying a sidearm. The cold air rushed in, carrying with it the scent of damp leaves and distant wood smoke.

Nia followed him to the door. She scanned the street, seeing nothing but porch lights and a lot of darkness.

Whoever had been outside was gone.

Eli stepped onto the road, examining the shoulder for tire tracks. He shook his head.

“They didn’t leave tracks,” Eli said.

She didn’t want to assume the worst, but it seemed awfully coincidental that a stranger had been watching her house hours after they investigated Officer Greene’s murder.

Her fingers curled around the doorframe, unease tightening in her chest.

A moment later, Janet appeared at the end of the walkway, cane in hand, her floral dress swaying in the breeze. She didn’t look frightened—more irritated, like a woman who had just been interrupted in the middle of a good book.

“You’ll freeze in that dress,” Nia said.

Janet waved her away. “November doesn’t bother me. Snow might cover the ground, but it’s summer in here.” She touched her chest.

“Let me help you,” Eli said, hooking elbows with Janet.

“Nosy old bat saves the day,” Janet quipped, stepping onto the porch. “Now, are you going to tell me what on earth is going on?”

Nia forced a smile, but her gut told her this wasn’t a random visitor. Someone knew she was investigating the Greene murder.

* * *

Nia stood at the sink, rinsing the plates under warm water, steam rising from the basin. Maya dried them beside her; the girl’s usual chatter was subdued. The presence of the strange car still lingered like a shadow in the corner of the kitchen, an unease that refused to be scrubbed away.

The pot roast had been good—better than good, if Nia was honest. Eli cooked a mean meal. Though she’d lost her appetite after the scare outside, the meal had won her over.

At the dining table, Eli reclined in his chair, phone pressed to his ear. Janet sat across from him, sipping the last of her tea.

“Yeah,” Eli said, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Just have someone do a drive-by every few hours. If they see anything, they can call me.”

A pause. His mouth twitched in something close to frustration.

“Got it. Thanks.”

He ended the call and tossed his phone on the table.

“What did your department say?” Nia asked over her shoulder.

“Our patrol is stretched thin tonight. But they’ll send someone by overnight.”

Nia dried her hands on a towel. Nothing would come of the report. She hadn’t even identified the make and model.

Maya must have sensed the same because she frowned. “So, basically, if something happens, we’re on our own.”

“No one is on their own, Maya,” Eli said. “We don’t even know if the person wanted to cause trouble. Could have been a lost driver.”

Maya didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t argue. She excused herself to finish her homework, leaving Nia alone in the kitchen with the sink still running, the soapy water swirling down the drain as if their safety were slipping away before she could catch it.

Behind her, Janet set her cup down with a soft clink.

“Well,” the woman said, her eyes twinkling with something suspiciously close to amusement. “It seems to me that a certain police officer might consider staying the night. That would solve the issue and keep everyone safe.”

Nia turned, leveling her with a look. “Janet.”

“What?” Janet lifted a delicate hand. “I’m simply stating the obvious. It’s not as if Eli hasn’t spent the night before. No need to feel embarrassed.”

“That was because a killer was loose in Duskwood,” Nia said, her face growing hot.

Janet arched a single white brow. “Was it? A killer is loose in Duskwood again, or so I hear.”

To his credit, Eli didn’t say a word. He just sat there, watching Nia with an unreadable expression, waiting for her to decide.

A part of her wished he would stay.

But that was like opening a door she wasn’t ready to walk through.

The house suddenly felt chilly. The walls seemed too thin. And the thought of another vehicle rolling by in the middle of the night made her skin crawl.

Nia swallowed.

“If you want to take my bed,” she said, keeping her voice neutral, “I’ll crash on the couch.”

“I’ll stay, but there’s no way I’m kicking you out of your bed.” He blushed, realizing what he’d said. “I mean, the couch is mine.”

Pushing back from the table with a satisfied sigh, Janet smiled knowingly. “Good. Now that the situation is settled, I’m going home.”

“Wait,” Nia said. “You just said it wasn’t safe for us. And you intend to stay alone?”

“Please, darling. If someone wants to intimidate you, they won’t waste time on little ole me. Besides,” she added, slipping on her coat, “I have my cane.”

Eli looked at Janet. “Deadly weapon?”

Janet winked. “You have no idea.”

With that, Janet stepped out into the cold, leaving behind the scent of peppermint tea and mischief. Eli rushed over to walk her home.

A few minutes later, he returned and locked the door. Then he turned to Nia with his hands in his pockets, posture loose. Not pressing, not assuming. Just waiting.

“So,” he said, glancing toward the couch. “I assume there’s an extra blanket somewhere?”

Nia grabbed a blanket and a pillow from the closet. “Don’t snore, Mitchell.”

A slow grin spread across his face. “No promises.”

13

The clock on Nia’s nightstand read 8:12 p.m.

She tugged at her hair. Exhaustion settled into her bones, but she remained alert. If the stranger showed up again tonight, she wanted to be ready.

Just as she turned off the bedside lamp, she heard voices down the hall. Maya and Eli were talking.

Nia frowned, sliding off the bed. She padded down the hallway, lit by the ambient glow of the living room lamp. Reaching Maya’s room, she peered inside.

Eli sat at Maya’s desk, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, one arm propped against the table as he jabbed a thumb at a notebook spread open in front of them. Maya was curled up on a rolling chair, a pillow hugged to her chest, listening intently as he explained something.

“See?” Eli said, scribbling an equation. “It’s about knowing which function to use. This one’s sine, because we’re dealing with the opposite and hypotenuse.”

Maya made a face. “Yeah, but I’ll still probably screw up the test.”

“You won’t.” Eli leaned back in the chair. “It’s like riding a bike, except with numbers, if that makes sense. And fewer scraped knees.”

Maya snorted. “You haven’t seen me ride a bike.”

“Point taken.”

Nia leaned against the doorframe, watching them.

Something warm stirred in her chest, but it was tangled with other sensations. Guilt because she hadn’t even realized Maya needed help with her homework. She’d been too caught up worrying about strangers in the dark and whether Janet was safe. Nia should have been the one to help Maya, not Eli.

Eli was patient and encouraging, everything she wasn’t. He wasn’t working with Maya because someone had asked him to; he was doing it because he wanted to. Because he cared.

Nia had seen it before, especially over the last few months. The way Eli always asked about Maya’s day. How he remembered her favorite foods, how he never dismissed her thoughts, how he always made time for her.

She knew Maya saw it too. If Maya expected Eli to be the person who helped with her math homework, who stayed for dinner, who watched over them when things got dangerous, how long before the girl wanted him to be her father?

She couldn’t let Maya get attached to a relationship that might not last. In the past, she’d seen Eli’s other side—the side that put work above everything else and forced her out of the Cecilia Gray investigation.

He did it to keep me safe.

No matter how many times she told herself that, the thought wouldn’t stick.

Before she could dwell on it any longer, Eli glanced up and caught her watching.

His mouth twitched in amusement. “Are you spying on us, Mom?”

Maya looked over too, grinning. “We’re busted.”

“I was just checking on you,” Nia said, questioning Maya with her eyes. The girl shrugged, as if she didn’t know what the issue was.

Eli yawned and stretched. “Maya is a natural trig student. She just needed a little push in the right direction.”

Maya didn’t appear convinced. Nia crossed her arms, battling to remain an overprotective mother instead of a woman with needs this man could fill. If she allowed him to.

“I didn’t realize you were a math expert,” Nia said.

“Officer by day, tutor by night,” Eli said.

Maya elbowed him. “More like math nerd.”

He shot her a playful glare. “You wound me, Maya.”

Amused despite herself, Nia shook her head. Eli was good for Maya. She couldn’t deny the obvious. But that didn’t mean he’d always be there when the girl needed him.

Rubbing her eyes in the glow of her desk lamp, Maya yawned.

“All right, kid,” Eli said. “You’re about two minutes from face-planting into that textbook.”

Maya groaned. “But I still have⁠—”

“Nope.” He shut the notebook and stuffed it into the girl’s backpack. “You’re done for the night.”

“That’s not how studying works.”

“It is when you need sleep.” He rested his elbows on his knees. “Listen, I know trig is kicking your butt, but you’re not gonna ace the test if you’re half asleep in class tomorrow.”

“I hate it when you’re right.”

Eli smiled. “Then you must hate me a lot.”

Maya rose from the chair. “Fine, fine. I’ll get ready for bed.”

“Good call.” He stood, ruffling her curls as he passed by. “Goodnight, Maya.”

She swatted at his hand but was already fighting another yawn. “Night, nerd.”

On his way out of the room, Eli turned off the light and eased the door shut. Nia was waiting for him when he turned around.

He arched a brow. “What?”

“You’re full of surprises, Officer Mitchell.”

“You mean because I successfully wrangled a teenager into bed before midnight? Yeah, I’m kinda impressed with myself too.”

“You’re good with her.”

He shrugged, playing off her compliment. “Maya is easier than most teens. You need to know when to push and when to back off.”

“And you have experience being a parent?”

“Not exactly, but I owned a parakeet when I was twelve.”

“That doesn’t count,” Nia said.

“Tell that to Mr. Beekles.”

Nia studied him for a second longer than necessary. “I need to take out Luna and Madrid.”

Eli rolled a knot out of his shoulders. “I’ve got it.”

“They’re my responsibility.”

“You’re stubborn, Nia Carter. You know that?”

“Thank you for noticing.”

“Fine,” he said. “But I’m coming with you.”

“Eli, I said I’d handle it.” She gave him a look.

“Humor me.”

Nia ran a hand through her curls. She knew why he was insisting. The driver. The possibility that someone involved in Officer Greene’s murder knew they were on the case. He wouldn’t say it outright, but he wasn’t about to let her walk into the backyard alone.

And she knew he was right.

“Okay, I appreciate the backup.”

The moment she cracked open the door, Luna and Madrid bolted past her, paws thudding against the ground, tails wagging as they bounded into the yard.

Nia stepped into the November night. A few weeks remained until Thanksgiving, yet it felt like January. Upstate New York could play cruel tricks. Eli followed Nia, hands in his pockets, looking along the perimeter of the fence that separated her yard from Janet’s gardens.

Nia exhaled, watching her breath curl in the cold. “See? Nothing to worry about.”

Luna and Madrid sniffed through patches of ice-coated grass. The air was sharp, carrying the scent of wood smoke from a neighbor’s chimney.

Eli wasn’t a man who admitted he was worried. But the rigidity of his shoulders, the way he checked the same corners of the yard twice, told Nia everything she needed to know. They might not be alone in the night.

She shivered and tucked her fingers under her sleeves. “So let’s think this through. Who do you think the driver was?”

“Two obvious suspects. Margaret Langley or Richard Vance.”

“Langley says she cut ties with her brother, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t want revenge. Maybe she was worried we’d find something about her past.”

“Could be. It sounds like Greene made her life a living hell. She had a clear motive to see him suffer.”

Nia had to agree. Margaret Langley had seemed frigid and sharp-edged, sharpened by a tragic life. But was she angry enough to kill? When they interviewed her, she had made it clear how little she cared about Greene’s fate. Plus, the woman struck Nia as intelligent. If Langley had something to hide, she might have sent a lawyer to tell Nia and Eli to back off.

Which left them with the other suspect.

“Richard Vance,” she said. “Who we still haven’t been able to reach.”

“He hasn’t returned my messages.”

“Convenient.”

Luna’s collar jingled as she nosed through the bushes.

It made no sense that someone would murder Greene out of greed. As far as Nia knew, the officer had no real estate holdings beside his home, no stocks and bonds, nothing of value. Yet he’d written an ironclad will, leaving whatever he owned to a man no one in the department had ever heard of.

And now Vance wasn’t answering his phone.

Eli puffed out a breath. “If I don’t hear from him by morning, we’ll drive to Elmira.”

“There was nothing interesting in Vance’s background check?”

“Nothing that jumped out. No arrest record, no outstanding warrants. He’s got a driver’s license, registered at his address in Elmira. No known aliases.”

“That’s it?”

“There’s more,” Eli said. “He was in the system for a name change about twelve years ago. No criminal reason—just a legal request. Before that, he was Richard Vaughn.”

Nia’s eyes snapped to his. “People don’t just change their names for fun.”

“No, they don’t. And his financials are weird. No current employment, no assets, but he owns a home in an upscale neighborhood.”

“How does that work?”

“Good question.”

They stood in contemplation as the night darkened. Luna and Madrid trotted back to them, ready to go inside. Even dogs got sick of the cold after a while.

“And now he surfaces as the sole beneficiary of a cop who didn’t seem to own anything worth inheriting. That doesn’t sound suspicious at all.”

The longer she thought about it, the more uneasy she felt. Either Vance had been very close to Officer Greene—close enough to be gifted everything in his will—or Vance had some leverage over Greene. Maybe something dark enough that Greene felt he had no choice but to leave Vance his estate.

“We’ll get answers tomorrow.”

Nia looked protectively at Maya’s bedroom window, then at Janet’s house, which appeared lonely under a blanket of clouds.

Eli followed her gaze. “If the driver returns, I’ll take care of it.”

14

Nia woke with a start, the edges of a dream slipping away before she could grasp them.

She blinked at the dim morning light filtering through the blinds, her bedside clock glowing. 5:30 a.m.

She had slept. And not just a restless, half-aware sleep. A deep, uninterrupted one.

Considering the previous night’s events, she should have been tossing and turning, jolting awake at every creak the house made. Yet she hadn’t.

Because Eli was here. Having him in the house had quieted her nerves. God help her if she came to depend on his presence. She couldn’t ask him to shoulder that much responsibility. Besides, she enjoyed her independence. Yes, juggling private investigations with being a single parent came with challenges. But she’d been on her own for long enough to know she could handle it.

Nia pushed off the covers, grabbed her robe, and headed toward the bathroom, planning to take a quick shower before Maya woke. Once the teenager commandeered the bathroom, Nia would never get in there.

Halfway down the hall, she heard the clink of a pan in the kitchen. What in the heck?

She turned the corner and found Eli already up, standing at the stove in a gray T-shirt and jeans, a spatula in one hand and a frying pan in the other. The smell of butter and eggs filled the kitchen.

He glanced over his shoulder at her entrance. “Morning.”

“You don’t sleep late, do you?”

Eli shrugged, flipping what looked like an omelet. “Never got in the habit. Call me an early riser. I figured I’d get breakfast going while you wake up Maya.”

“Eli, you don’t have to cook for me.”

He turned and rested a hip against the counter. “I know. I want to.”

An argument formed on her face, and he held up a hand. “Before you argue, this isn’t about me stepping in on your turf. All I’m saying is you don’t have to do everything alone.”

“I’m not used to people doing things for me.”

“Oh, really?” he asked, turning back to the pan. “You should try accepting help once in a while. It won’t kill you.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate his help. She just wasn’t used to favors coming without a catch.

Stop it. He’s just making breakfast.

“Thank you, Eli.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“But I’m making the coffee.”

“It had better not be that flavored junk,” he said.

“You’re a purist, I take it?”

“When it comes to coffee, yes.”

“Well, you haven’t tried this coffee.”

She held up a bag with Bananas Foster written across the front.

“Oh, no. I’ll pass, thank you very much.”

“This is a local blend,” Nia said. “I met the owners at the Binghamton farmer’s market. If you don’t at least try it, I’ll tell them Officer Eli Mitchell is a coffee snob.”

“You’re not going to say no, are you?”

“Try it now. Thank me after.”

“If you say so.”

He slid a golden omelet onto a plate before grabbing another handful of eggs. “I wanted to get a head start anyhow. If we want to be in Elmira by nine, we’ve got to eat, get Maya ready for school, and hit the road.”

Nia poured water into the coffeemaker. “Still no word from Vance?”

“Still nothing,” Eli said, sprinkling cheese over the sizzling eggs.

As the coffee brewed, she made herself useful. Pulling back the curtain at the front window, she studied the road. No fresh tire tracks had cut through the thin layer of overnight snow. Maybe last night’s stranger had been a lost driver.

She let the curtain fall back into place.

Eli was still at the stove when she passed by the kitchen again. He didn’t look up, but his voice followed her. “Nobody outside?”

“You scared them away, Eli.”

“I have that effect on people.”

She made her way toward the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the water heat before stepping in. The steam wrapped around her, releasing the tension from her shoulders. A few minutes to reset. That’s all she needed.

By the time she emerged, dressed and ready for another day, the house smelled like a hotel breakfast buffet. She stopped in front of Maya’s door and knocked before pushing it open.

To her surprise, Maya was wide awake, sitting cross-legged on her bed and flipping through her trigonometry notes.

“Did I wake up in the right house?”

Maya twirled a pencil between her fingers. “I figured I’d look over my notes before the test.”

“That’s a big shift from last night,” Nia noted, stepping inside.

Maya shrugged, but there was an ease to her expression that hadn’t been there before. “Eli actually explained things in a way that made sense. I think I’ve got it now.”

“I’m happy for you.”

Maya sniffed the air. “And don’t tell him this, but the omelet smells super good.”

“Yes, we don’t want to stroke his ego. Get moving. School won’t wait.”

15

The drive to Elmira took longer than Nia and Eli would have preferred. Last night’s weather had left a few inches of snow on the macadam. Along the highway, farmhouse chimneys puffed out lazy curls of smoke.

Nia sipped her coffee—the Bananas Foster blend she’d forced Eli to try, though he’d grumbled about it the entire time. Now, though, he took another sip without a single complaint, eyes focused on the road.

“Go on,” she teased. “Admit you like it.”

Eli scoffed. “It’s drinkable.”

“I knew you’d love that blend.”

Route 13 stretched ahead, leading them south through the Finger Lakes region. The rolling hills flattened out the closer they got to Elmira, and the landscape became more industrial, with small factories, auto shops, and aging strip malls dotting the roadside.

“So, Greene and Vance,” Eli said, shifting gears back to business. “How do you suppose they fit together?”

Nia watched a train crawl across the Chemung River as they entered the city limits. “We know Greene wasn’t rich, so why leave everything to Vance? Maybe they worked together?”

“Already checked,” Eli said. “They didn’t. Vance’s records are murky. His neighborhood is no joke, yet I can’t figure out where his money is coming from.”

Nia glanced at the abandoned buildings that lined portions of Clemens Center Parkway as they passed through downtown Elmira. The city had its history, once a booming manufacturing hub, now a place of quiet decay mixed with pockets of revitalization.

“Greene must have owed Vance something,” Nia said. “A debt. A favor.”

“Blackmail?”

“That’s one consideration,” Nia said. “If Greene didn’t want a secret getting out, leaving Vance his estate could’ve been part of the deal.”

“But what could Vance have over him?”

Nia didn’t have an answer.

They turned onto Maple Avenue, passing Eldridge Park, the once grand amusement park that had faded with time. The Ferris wheel slumbered against the winter sky, a relic of Elmira’s past.

Eli sighed. “You ever get the feeling we’re missing something obvious?”

The neighborhoods shifted as they approached West Elmira, where old Victorian houses with wraparound porches sat beside mid-century ranches, their driveways lined with evergreens. The houses here were nicer. Not extravagant, but comfortable.

As they turned onto Ridgewood Drive, where Richard Vance’s house was located, the car slowed.

“Looks normal enough,” Nia said, studying the row of houses. Well-maintained lawns, American flags on porches, an SUV warming up in a driveway. Nothing about this neighborhood screamed murder mystery.

Eli pulled up to the curb in front of a two-story house with white siding and blue shutters. A black sedan was parked in the driveway.

He pocketed the keys. “Ready to meet the elusive Richard Vance?”

Nia looked at the house, her gut already telling her this wasn’t going to be as simple as knocking on the door.

“Let’s see what Vance has to say.”

The chime of the doorbell echoed inside the house. Nia stood beside Eli, hands in her coat pockets, watching the frosted glass window beside the door for movement.

A few seconds passed. Then, the heavy thunk of a deadbolt sliding back. The door opened.

Richard Vance was an imposing man.

Tall—easily 6’3”—with broad shoulders that strained against a faded flannel shirt, he was in his mid-thirties but appeared older. His hair was short and silver, and his black eyes burned holes into Nia. He took them both in with a single glance, his expression unreadable.

“Whatever you're selling, I’m not interested.”

Eli held up his badge. “Not selling anything. Officer Eli Mitchell, Duskwood Police Department.”

“You’re out of your jurisdiction. Who’s this?”

“This is Nia Carter, a private investigator helping our department. We need to talk.”

Vance didn’t move. “About what?”

“Officer Joel Greene,” Nia said.

Nia watched closely, waiting for a reaction. A flinch, or a tightening of the jaw. Anything.

“Mind if we come in?” Eli asked.

“I do, actually.” Vance leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “You got a warrant?”

“No reason for a warrant, Mr. Vance.”

“Then we talk outside. Hope you don’t mind the cold.”

Eli adjusted his stance. “You were named as the sole beneficiary of Officer Joel Greene’s will. We’re trying to understand why.”

Vance shrugged. “That’s between me and Greene.”

“He was murdered.”

The man’s expression didn’t change. No remorse. That sent a small chill through Nia.

Eli tilted his head. “You don’t seem shocked.”

“Cops make enemies. It happens. I’ll wager you know all about that, Officer Mitchell.”

“That’s all you’ve got to say?”

A long pause. “Yeah.”

“When was the last time you spoke to Joel Greene?” Nia asked.

Vance’s lips pressed together, as if he was weighing his answer. “Years ago. I don’t remember.”

“You’re the sole beneficiary in his will, and you don’t remember?” Eli pressed.

Again, Vance shrugged. “Sue me. I didn’t make it a point to keep up with Greene.”

Eli exchanged a glance with Nia. “Where were you two nights ago, Mr. Vance?”

“Home,” Vance said without hesitation.

“Anyone who can confirm that?”

“Nope.”

Vance’s jaw had twitched, but he didn’t rattle easily. If anything, he looked like a man who’d expected this conversation.

“I’ve been trying to contact you since yesterday, Mr. Vance. Did you receive my messages?”

“Not that I recall.”

“Where were you yesterday?”

“Visiting friends, not that it’s any of your business. Next time, send an Elmira cop with a warrant.”

“Did Greene owe you money?” Eli asked.

A muscle ticked in Vance’s cheek.

“No, he didn’t. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m a busy man.”

“Are you currently employed, Mr. Vance?”

“I’m sure you ran a background check. You cops can’t keep your noses out of people’s business. Unless you have any more questions⁠—”

“This is a nice neighborhood. Mind if we look around the yard?”

Vance puffed out his chest. “Still no warrant, Officer. That would be trespassing.”

Eli held his gaze for a beat longer, then nodded. “We’ll be in touch.”

Without a word, Vance just stepped back and shut the door.

The deadbolt clicked.

“Well, that was fun,” Nia said.

“He’s hiding something.” Eli turned toward the cruiser.

Nia followed, glancing at the house. A face peered between the curtains.

“What a creep.”

16

The county coroner’s office always set Nia on edge. She’d spent too much time visiting the coroner while she was a police officer in New York City.

Wearing protective gear, she trailed Eli into the laboratory. Lisa Stone stood before the stainless-steel examination table, her blond hair pulled back, dark circles under her sharp eyes. The medical examiner didn’t look up when Nia and Eli entered. She was too busy peeling off a pair of latex gloves, which she dropped into a biohazard bin.

“You’re right on time,” Lisa said, her voice carrying the exhaustion of someone who’d been working too many hours on too little sleep.

“Didn’t realize we were on a schedule.”

Lisa nodded at the table. Officer Joel Greene lay beneath a white sheet, the edges tucked neatly over his shoulders.

Nia took a step closer, her stomach tightening despite the fact that she’d seen more than her fair share of corpses. Greene’s skin was paler than before, the early signs of decomposition setting in. His left shoulder blade, the site of the knife wound, lay exposed, the tissue carefully examined, stitched, and labeled with markers.

Lisa exhaled, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’ve got your results.”

“Let’s hear it,” Eli said.

She pulled a clipboard from the counter and flipped through the pages. “Preliminary findings confirm what we suspected. Officer Greene was murdered. The official cause of death is exsanguination. He bled out from a single stab wound to the back.”

“One wound? No hesitation marks?”

“No. Whoever did this wasn’t sloppy. The knife entered just beneath the left scapula, severing the intercostal arteries near the ribcage. Deep, precise, and lethal. He would have lost consciousness in minutes.”

“Are we sure Greene was dead long before he hit the water?” Nia asked.

“Positive. Minimal water in the lungs, no signs of active drowning. If he’d gone into the lake alive, even unconscious, his body would have inhaled water. That didn’t happen. Officer Greene was already gone before he hit the water. The data tells me he died six to ten hours before we found him.”

“We’re looking at a dump job,” Eli said.

“Toxicology is still pending, but based on early tests, I don’t believe I’ll find drugs or alcohol in his system. He wasn’t impaired when he died.”

Nia was already piecing the timeline together. “So Greene was stabbed somewhere else, then dumped in the lake. No defensive wounds?”

“None. No bruising, no signs of a fight. Either he never saw the killer coming—or he knew his murderer.”

The words settled like a heavy weight in the room.

Nia’s thoughts flashed to Richard Vance. The man had barely reacted to Greene’s death. It would take a stone-cold murderer to knife a man in the back, especially a man who’d put you in his will. Who was Richard Vance?

“What about the knife?” Eli asked. “Anything from the wound pattern?”

Lisa pulled up an autopsy diagram. “Best guess? A single-edged blade, approximately four to five inches long. Something like a tactical knife or a fixed-blade hunting knife. Given the angle of entry, the killer was likely right-handed.”

“Any prints lifted from Greene’s clothing?”

“Too much time in the water. The fibers were saturated, no viable prints left. But I did find one thing.”

Nia and Eli both perked up.

Lisa grabbed an evidence bag from a tray beside the table. Inside was a fragment of something dark, almost metallic, no bigger than a fingernail.

“What is that?” Nia asked.

The ME handed the bag to Eli. “Fragment of a glove. Specifically, a nitrile or latex-coated work glove. The kind used in industrial settings, mechanics’ shops, and crime scenes. I found it embedded in the wound.”

Eli studied the fragment, his expression darkening. “Our killer was careful, but not careful enough.”

“Most killers make mistakes.”

He turned the evidence bag over in his fingers before sealing it. “Appreciate this, Lisa. You’re making my job easier.”

“You say that now, but if you don’t catch this guy soon, I’m the one who’ll be getting the midnight calls from Chief Moretti.”

“It won’t come to that. I’ll keep you updated.”

Lisa nodded, already reaching for another report on her desk. “Good luck.”

Nia and Eli made their way out of the coroner’s office and climbed into Eli’s cruiser; the interior still held the heat from the drive over.

As Eli turned out of the parking lot, Nia could see his mind spinning through the possibilities.

She stared out the window, watching the streets roll past. “What did you think of the glove fragment?”

“Like Lisa said, it came from a glove used in industrial settings.”

“And?”

Eli glanced at her. “You have something to say?”

She met his eyes. “It’s the kind of glove worn at crime scenes.”

“Come on, Nia. You think our killer’s a cop?”

“We can’t rule it out.”

“Listen to yourself. You know how many people use gloves like that? Mechanics. Lab workers. Hell, even construction crews.”

“I know,” she admitted. “But you have to admit—if the killer is a police officer, it explains a few things.”

“Like what?”

“Like how Greene didn’t put up a fight,” Nia said. “How he let his killer get close enough to stab him. How whoever did it knew where to dump the body without getting caught. A police officer would know about the lake freezing and trapping Greene under the ice.”

“Any fisher would know the same. Anyway, Greene had plenty of enemies.”

“Sure. Greene also crossed a lot of officers in the Duskwood PD.”

That landed. Eli’s expression darkened.

“Think about it,” Nia said. “We know Greene had enemies. The killer might be someone he screwed over, someone he blackmailed, or someone who was hiding a secret.”

“Unless you know about a police officer Greene blackmailed, you’re reaching.”

“Let’s say the killer was another cop. Who could influence the investigation? A Duskwood PD officer.”

“Duskwood PD isn’t corrupt,” Eli said.

“Not every cop is clean.”

He pressed the accelerator and whipped the cruiser around a corner. “I don’t like where this is going.”

“Neither do I. But we need to look at Greene’s old cases. If he ticked off someone with a badge, then this isn’t just a murder.”

“It’s a cover-up.”

And neither of them liked what that meant.

17

As Eli’s cruiser headed down the road, Nia turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door.

She didn’t watch him go. She didn’t need to.

Nia had felt the shift between them and noticed the way his tone cooled after she suggested the killer might be his colleague.

It wasn’t the first time Eli had shut down on her, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. He was loyal to his badge, and the idea that someone within the Duskwood Police Department murdered one of their own didn’t sit well with him.

Her eyes immediately went to the snow-covered road. Except for Eli’s cruiser, no vehicles had passed since the snow had started again.

She sighed, locking the door behind her and dropping her keys on the table. The previous night, she’d seen the best of Eli. This was the moodiness she didn’t want around Maya.

And if Eli couldn’t keep his emotions in check, she must break the news to Maya that Eli wasn’t reliable.

Madrid and Luna padded up to her, nudging her thigh with their snouts. They sensed she was upset. She crouched to pet the dogs.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get some work done.”

The dogs scampered behind to the office, where she turned on the desk lamp and settled into her chair. She had ninety minutes before she needed to pick up Maya. That gave her time to dig.

Though she was staring at a backlog of PI cases, her thoughts kept circling back to Richard Vance. She cracked her knuckles and pulled up her background check tools.

Eli had run Vance through the police database, but that only showed official records.

Nia was about to take a deeper dive.

She typed his name.

Then, on a hunch, she added his former name: Richard Vaughn.

She clicked the search button and waited. Background checks weren’t magic, but they could pull together enough pieces to complete a puzzle.

The system churned through public records, financial statements, and past addresses. As Nia skimmed the data, a timeline of Richard Vance’s life unfolded in front of her.

Born: Richard Vaughn.

Name legally changed twelve years ago. No criminal record. A few gaps in his financial history, but nothing that screamed criminal activity.

But something didn’t sit right.

She clicked on past addresses. Vance had lived in small towns across New York State. One of his earliest recorded addresses, from when he was a child, was in the same neighborhood where Greene had grown up.

Coincidence? Doubtful.

Still, all it told her was Greene and Vance might have been close friends. But would Greene leave his inheritance to a childhood buddy?

Next, Nia opened Greene’s family records. Joel and Margaret’s father, Gerald Greene, was a well-respected but deeply flawed man, known for his community work but also disgraced for an affair with a co-worker.

Nia leaned back in her chair, staring at the screen.

So Gerald Greene wasn’t a nice guy. Perhaps his mistress had killed him.

Died: October 13, twenty years ago.

Cause of death: Motor vehicle accident.

That wasn’t unusual. Accidents happened. But something about the timing nagged at Nia.

She leaned forward, reading the details.

Gerald’s accident report was still in the county records. A late-night crash had occurred on a rural road outside Duskwood. The car had veered off the road, flipped, and crashed into a tree.

No signs of braking.

That made her wonder.

She opened the full report, scrolling through the finer details. The vehicle had been a Lincoln Town Car, well-maintained. No mechanical failures noted in the official report. No external damage prior to the crash.

But there was an overlooked notation in the officer’s statement.

Notable: Unusual wear pattern on front left tire, but no indication of foul play. Likely caused by uneven alignment or previous damage.

Unusual wear pattern.

There were ways to sabotage a car that wouldn’t immediately scream murder. Some were crude—cut brake lines, tampered fuel systems. A trained mechanic or investigator would catch those instantly.

But a slow leak in a tire?

A gradual, deliberate loss of air pressure, just enough to throw off the driver’s control at high speed, could cause a car to spin out without setting off alarm bells.

Especially if it happened on a curve at night.

Nia needed to talk to the woman Gerald Greene had cheated with.

But this wasn’t her investigation. She would need Eli by her side.

18

Eli pulled up a chair and fell into the seat. At his desk in the Duskwood Sheriff’s Department, he tapped an unsteady rhythm with his foot.

His foul mood hadn’t abated since the drive back. Nia thought Greene’s killer could be a cop. The idea crawled under his skin and festered there, like a parasite that sapped his trust in the badge.

More than anything, the possibility irritated the hell out of him because he couldn’t completely dismiss it.

He ran a hand through his hair, staring at the case files in front of him.

Nia was right more times than he wanted to admit. She had a way of seeing things others overlooked, picking at the loose threads until the story unraveled. If he’d listened to her years ago about Cecilia Gray, they never would have had a falling out.

But Nia was also biased. She didn’t trust the Duskwood PD, and why would she? She wasn’t from this town and hadn’t grown up with these officers. Nor had she spent years working beside them, knowing their families, trusting them to have her back.

For her, cops were just another variable, just as capable of being guilty as anyone else. Oh, the irony in her once walking the beat for the NYPD.

Eli couldn’t stop clashing with Nia. Every time he thought they had everything figured out, she dropped a bombshell. Despite some misgivings, he wanted to believe in his department. Nia? She didn’t trust Duskwood PD and never would.

He massaged the tension from his forehead. She was wrong this time. Greene’s killer wasn’t a cop.

At the neighboring desk, Jenkins slurped from a lukewarm cup of coffee, watching Eli over the rim as if he had witnessed this scene too many times.

Eli tried to ignore Jenkins. It didn’t work.

“All right, just spit it out,” said Jenkins.

Eli frowned. “Spit what out?”

“Come on, brother. You’re about two seconds from putting a hole through the floor with all the leg drumming. Something is eating you.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Right. And I’m the mayor of Duskwood.” He set aside his coffee. “Let me guess: Nia Carter?”

Eli grunted.

“So that’s it, isn’t it? What is with you two?”

“You know, we can’t go five minutes without clashing about something.”

“No kidding. You two have been butting heads since the first Gray investigation. What is it this time?”

“You won’t like it,” Eli said.

“Try me.”

“Nia is convinced Greene’s killer was a cop.”

“What?” Jenkins’ smile faltered.

“You heard me.”

“You’re not buying that theory, are you?”

“No,” Eli said. “But she thinks it’s possible.”

Jenkins studied him. “And that’s why you’re angry at her?”

“She’s always doing things like this. Dropping some bombshell theory that makes me question everything, then acting like she’s just following the evidence.”

“Isn’t that her job?”

“But there is no evidence. All she has is a theory. And she doesn’t trust the department, Brad. She never will.” Eli sighed.

Jenkins was quiet for a moment, then said, “Okay. But let’s be honest here—how many times has she been right?”

Eli hesitated.

“That’s what I thought,” Jenkins said.

“Don’t celebrate. If Nia is right, one of our colleagues murdered Greene.”

“Pump the brakes. Start at the beginning and tell me what Nia has.”

“It’s something Lisa Stone found during the autopsy. There was a black fragment that could have come from a nitrile glove. I stressed that lots of industries utilize nitrile gloves, not just criminal investigators.”

“Nitrile gloves, eh? Well, that’s a problem. But you’re correct that it doesn’t prove the killer works in law enforcement.”

“That’s what I tried to tell Nia. But once she gets an idea in her head, she won’t stop running with it.”

“Now what? Are you and Nia on the outs again? This is turning into a monthly soap opera.”

“I wouldn’t say we’re on the outs,” said Eli. “But it would be best if I gave her space and stayed away for a while.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Both of you need to get over yourselves. It’s always the same. You fight, she ticks you off, you go silent, and then you end up working together again anyway.”

Eli stared at the desk. “She’s impossible.”

Jenkins grinned. “Nah. You just hate that she’s usually right.”

“You done?”

“Not quite.” Jenkins tossed the cup into the garbage. “Are you gonna keep brooding here, or will you act like a grown-up and go to her?”

Jenkins wasn’t wrong. Eli could allow this disagreement to fester. That was what he always did. And look where it had gotten him.

It was time to be an adult. After work, he would show up at her house. If she let him, he might even cook dinner again. Act like nothing ever happened. Show her he was a changed man, not the control freak he’d been seven years ago.

“Anyhow,” Eli said, “a cop didn’t kill Greene, despite the evidence Lisa uncovered. One little fragment isn’t much to go on. We’re spinning our wheels.”

“And by we, you mean you. Moretti is keeping me busy. This investigation is all yours, bucko. Tell me about your two top suspects.”

“Margaret Langley doesn’t strike me as a killer. She was angry at Greene, but when we talked to her, she didn’t have that—” He searched for the right word. “That killer edge.”

“You watch too many thriller movies. Plenty of killers don’t look the part.”

“Please. You really think Langley offed her brother and dragged him onto a boat?”

“I think you don’t know squat yet,” Jenkins said. “You have a nitrile glove fragment and a whole lot of assumptions.”

“Right.”

“Your other suspect?”

“Richard Vance.”

“He’s a shady one.”

“Most people get twitchy when you tell them someone they were close to was a murder victim. Vance acted like he didn’t care.”

“Could mean he’s guilty,” Jenkins said. “He obviously has a reason for keeping his mouth shut.”

Was Vance guilty? Did he want Greene’s money that badly?

Jenkins stretched, cracking his neck. “We’ve been doing this long enough to know we can’t lock ourselves into a suspect too soon. It clouds everything else.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“The evidence should do the talking. You have the crime scene report. Find out where that glove fragment came from.”

Eli shifted his jaw. “Believe me, I will.”

19

Maya sat beside Nia in the passenger seat, scrolling through something on her phone. There were so many things to do. Nia needed to take out the dogs, cook dinner, then help Maya with her homework before she worked on the backlog of investigations that demanded her attention.

They were still a few minutes from the house when Maya suddenly sat straight, eyes wide.

As they turned the corner and approached their home on the outskirts of Duskwood, Maya pointed ahead. “Eli’s truck is here.”

Nia’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

Sure enough, Eli’s vehicle sat on one side of the driveway, giving her room to pull up beside the walkway.

Why was he here?

She parked and wondered about what was happening. He hadn’t texted or called.

“You didn’t say Eli was coming over,” Maya said, unbuckling.

“No, I didn’t.”

Because she hadn’t expected to see him for a week. Or a month. Or whatever. Not until Eli got over their argument.

It wasn’t an argument, just a disagreement. And besides, I’m the one who posited the theory that a police officer killed Joel Greene.

Darn her conscience. It always announced its presence at the most inopportune times.

Nia shut off the engine and stepped out of the car. The only light shining inside the house came from the office, where she’d worked before rushing off to pick up Maya. Madrid and Luna weren’t barking in the window. That was unusual.

“Stay here,” Nia told Maya. “I just want to check on things.”

Maya made a face but didn’t argue.

With her arms folded against the chill, Nia walked around the side of the house, boots crunching against a fresh layer of graupel. She slowed as she approached the backyard.

Eli stood near the tree line, hands in his pockets, watching Luna and Madrid race each other across the grass. The dogs barked, tails wagging, not even noticing her.

Eli turned at the sound of her footsteps. “Hey, Nia.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Hope you don’t mind, but I used the extra key you gave me.”

She didn’t reply.

“It didn’t feel right going inside without permission, but I figured they needed to go out. I didn’t want them to be cooped up too long.”

Nia stared.

No mention of their argument. No cold-shouldered silence or passive-aggressive remarks.

He was acting like nothing had happened, as if this was just another normal day.

“You came here to take out my dogs?”

Eli shrugged. “Dogs gotta pee, Carter. Well, obviously, I came to say hello to you and Maya. But I wanted to stay outside until you arrived. I’m not invading your privacy, okay?”

“Never said you were.”

He was up to something. But what?

“So that’s it?” she asked. “You took care of my dogs, waited for me to get home, and figured we’d pick up from before Lisa Stone’s report?”

“Is there a reason we shouldn’t?”

She exhaled. No, there was no reason they shouldn’t. He seemed to be testing the waters, feeling out whether she still had her guard up.

Footsteps made Nia swing around. She found Maya shivering in the cold.

“Mom, can we go inside? I’m freezing.” Maya pulled her coat tighter around her, giving Eli a quick glance. “Hi, Eli.”

“Hey, kiddo,” said Eli.

Nia couldn’t disagree with her daughter. “Yeah, get inside before we turn into icicles.”

Eli led them in through the back door, with Luna and Madrid scampering around their heels.

“Are you cooking tonight?” Eli asked.

“I cook for my daughter every night,” Nia said, knowing it wasn’t entirely true. The job often forced her to ask Janet to care for Maya. “Why do you ask?”

“I was thinking of trying out a new recipe. Figured I could make dinner and save you a little work.”

Nia arched a brow. “Didn’t you cook dinner last night?”

“Come on, Carter. I make a mean Cajun pasta. Say yes. You know Maya is hungry.”

She gave him a long, skeptical look. “Are you feeling okay, Eli?”

“Yeah, why?”

“No reason. Guess you seem…different today.”

In the kitchen, Nia watched Eli unpack a cooler of groceries he must have picked up on his way over. It still felt odd—this sudden ease between them. But, much as she wanted to question his motivations, she also knew when to quit while she was ahead.

She swallowed her pride. “Thank you, Eli.”

He paused, glancing at her. “For what?”

“For taking care of Luna and Madrid. And for cooking.” The words felt alien, like something she wasn’t used to saying out loud.

Eli didn’t react. He went back to work slicing bell peppers. “It’s no big deal.”

Just dinner. Sure.

“Do you mind if I get some work done while you cook?”

“Go for it. I’ve got things handled in here.”

With four investigations to complete by the end of the month, she was up against the calendar. After taking a seat in the office, she turned on the computer monitor. There were cold cases that needed sorting and reports to follow up on. Plus, she’d been meaning to look deeper into Gerald Greene’s accident. What would Eli say about the uneven wear on the tire treads?

After five minutes, she realized she wasn’t concentrating. She could hear Eli and Maya, along with the clatter of pans and something hitting the skillet and sizzling.

“I aced my trig test today,” Maya announced. “Like, actually aced it.”

Nia’s fingers froze on the keyboard. She’d forgotten to ask Maya how the test went. Dropping her face into her hands, Nia wanted to cry.

“Are you serious?” Eli asked. “You said trig was impossible.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not impossible when you have a half-decent tutor.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Maya laughed, and there was something in that sound—light and unburdened, as if the girl finally felt free.

The girl trusted Eli. She enjoyed having him in the house.

Why did Nia keep sticking her foot in her mouth? Setting aside the work for later, she made her way to the kitchen.

“Mom, Eli’s cooking skills are legit,” Maya said.

“He’s not just a pot roast expert?” asked Nia, washing a pan in the sink.

“It’s like having Gordon Ramsey in our kitchen.”

“Except I don’t yell at people,” Eli remarked.

Nia rinsed the pan and set it in the dish drainer. “I want to see if this Cajun pasta lives up to the hype.”

“Hope you’re ready to be impressed.”

20

After dinner, a wind that was far too frigid for November rocked the little house on the edge of Duskwood. Cajun spices lingered in the air. Maya had retreated to her bedroom to do her homework, leaving Nia and Eli alone in the kitchen.

Nia stood on tiptoe and placed the dishes in the cupboard, watching as Eli wiped down the stovetop. Eli wasn’t a guy who disappeared after supper. He actually stayed and cleaned up.

She shouldn’t have blurted that Greene’s killer might have been from Eli’s department. The possibility existed, but there wasn’t enough proof to jump to that conclusion.

“I should have waited before making assumptions about the glove fragment,” she said, rushing out the words before she could clam up.

Eli didn’t look up. “You were following the evidence.”

“That’s…understanding of you,” she said carefully.

“Sometimes you push theories too early.”

She stiffened, but he held up a hand.

“And I’m always too late to the party,” Eli said.

“So, what, we balance each other?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Something like that.”

Grabbing a glass of water, she took a sip. “It’s because officers wear nitrile gloves at crime scenes. I got ahead of myself.”

“A hundred other professions wear them too. We can’t jump to conclusions. But it doesn’t mean you’re wrong.”

“I found something interesting today.”

“Here, sit,” Eli said, pulling out a chair for her at the kitchen table. “Tell me.”

She sank into the seat, thankful to be off her feet. “I was looking into Gerald Greene’s accident report. There was a notation in the officer’s statement about an unusual wear pattern on the front left tire.”

“Tire wear, eh?”

“Yeah. The officer wrote it off as previous damage or uneven alignment, but it made me think. What if it wasn’t?”

Eli scratched his chin. “You think someone tampered with Gerald Greene’s car?”

“I don’t know yet,” Nia said. “Remember, I’m trying not to read too much into the evidence. But it’s not a bad way to make an accident appear natural. Slow deflation of a tire, especially at high speed? A driver might lose control.”

He thought about that for a moment. “And this was back when Joel and his sister were teens.”

“Long time, I know. But if Gerald’s death wasn’t an accident, then maybe Joel’s murder wasn’t a random killing.”

“We might be reaching.”

“I’m aware.”

“Then there’s that factoid you dug up about Richard Vance changing his name to Vaughn for several years. Thanks for sending me that tidbit.”

“Of course,” she said.

“I’m still not sure what to do with the info. It will be interesting to see how Vance reacts when I question him about it. Whatever Vance is up to, it must be shady.”

If someone had sabotaged Gerald Greene’s car, that meant his death wasn’t just some tragic accident. Had the same killer targeted Joel Greene years later?

Eli exhaled. “All right, let’s take this step by step.”

“I figured you’d say that.”

He pulled out his notebook and clicked his pen. “First question—who wrote the accident report?”

Nia accessed the notes on her phone and scrolled through the document. “Officer Don Harrelson.”

“Harrelson retired, what—ten years ago?”

“I believe so. Could be worth tracking him down to see if he remembers anything.”

“Doubtful he will, but it’s a start. We should also pull the full case file. Maybe there’s something in the photographs or mechanical inspection.”

As he scribbled another observation, she thought it was strange seeing him take her ideas seriously.

“There’s something else.”

“More?”

She pulled up another document. “Joel Greene and Richard Vance grew up in the same town.”

“Wait, are you sure?”

Nia turned the screen toward him. “Vance, long before he became Richard Vaughn, lived a few streets over from Joel and Margaret Greene when they were kids.”

“So they knew each other.”

“Small town,” Nia said. “It would be a stretch to think they didn’t. And I don’t buy the idea that Greene left his estate to some random guy he barely knew.”

Eli nodded slowly, processing. “But what’s the link?”

“That’s what we have to figure out.”

“If Greene and Vance were connected as kids, that means this goes back further than we thought. And if Gerald Greene’s accident was actually a murder?”

“Then someone’s been covering things up for a long time.”

“We need to find out what Gerald was involved in before he died.”

“And we need to talk to Richard Vance again,” said Nia.

“Think he’ll be more cooperative this time?”

“Not if we play it nice.”

“Good. I hate playing nice.”

“You know, Margaret Langley said her mother moved to Geneva. If anyone had a reason to kill Gerald, it was her. He humiliated her with the affair.”

“Kate Greene,” Eli said, writing another note. “We’ll pay her a visit.”

“And we should find the woman Gerald Greene had the affair with.”

“Yeah, but we don’t have her name on record. She’s not part of the official reports.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t find her.”

“Correct. Small towns have long memories. Someone out there remembers her name. We’ll split up the work. You take the digital trail. I’ll talk to some old-timers who might recall the affair.”

The clock told her that the afternoon was slipping away, and her case files weren’t going to organize themselves. “Eli, it’s wonderful that you cooked dinner for us. But I really need to get some work done. My PI cases pay the bills.”

“You want help?”

“What?”

“I’ll help,” he said. “Give me a case. I’ll take some notes and show you why police officers are so darn good at their jobs.”

“Don’t forget, I worked for the NYPD.”

“Please, you never let me forget.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You actually want to help me catch up?”

“Why not?” He slid back in his chair. “Look, Carter, I’m here. You’re busy. You could use a second pair of eyes. This way, I get to keep an eye on you.”

“Ah. You think I need help.”

“Maybe not. But I happen to be very good at finding things other people miss.”

Nia studied him for a moment. This was new.

Helpful Eli. Understanding Eli. Not picking-a-fight Eli.

“Okay, Eli. But it might be a long night.”

He rose from his seat. “Just the way I like it.”

21

Eli drove north along Route 414, the crisp morning air rolling through the vents. Even with the heater running, the cruiser couldn’t keep up with the early winter snap. Seneca Falls stretched out ahead, a town that clung to its historical roots. Downtown, brick buildings lined the streets, and signs proudly proclaimed Seneca Falls as the Birthplace of Women’s Rights.

But Eli was here for a scandal buried in the past.

Gerald Greene had worked in Seneca Falls before his death. Somewhere in this town, a woman had been involved with him—someone who might know why he died.

Eli slowed as he crossed the bridge over the Cayuga-Seneca Canal, the water still and dark under the clouds. He checked the address he’d pulled last night for Greene’s old workplace.

Or what used to be his workplace.

He stopped in a vacant lot, dead weeds breaking through cracked pavement where a manufacturing building once stood. The signpost at the front was rusted and empty, as if time had erased everything that had been here.

A dead end.

He checked his phone. Nia hadn’t texted. She was probably dropping off Maya at school before she got back to work on her PI cases.

Looking around, his eyes landed on a diner just down the road. Granato’s.

Eli turned the cruiser around and drove down the road. Outside the diner, the scents of bacon and coffee met him as he exited the cruiser.

The bell above the door jingled. Early-morning conversation hummed from the booths.

A few heads turned to glance at him, some wary and some curious. Small towns always spotted a new face.

Eli wore his uniform, which raised a few eyebrows. He’d called ahead to the Seneca Falls PD and ensured he wasn’t stepping on anyone’s toes.

At the counter, he slid onto a stool. The server, a woman in her sixties with short gray hair and a tired smile, came over with a pot of coffee.

“Morning, hon,” she said, pouring a cup without asking. “I’m Sharon. What can I get you?”

“Uh, maybe something hot to drink.”

She eyed his badge. “You’re not a Seneca Falls officer.”

“No, I’m from Duskwood.”

“Collaborating on an investigation?”

“Just passing through.”

“Nobody just passes through Seneca Falls. What brings you to Granato’s?”

Eli took a sip of coffee, letting the heat settle in his chest before answering.

“You ever hear the name Gerald Greene?”

The woman stopped for a beat. “Sure. He used to work down the road at that factory. Gerald died in a car crash, what, twenty-five years ago?”

“That’s the one. Do you remember him well?”

“I remember when his affair was the talk of the town.”

Bingo.

“Yeah?”

“Lots of gossipers visit Granato’s. It’s the way things are.”

“You wouldn’t happen to remember this woman’s name, would you?”

She set a napkin and silverware before him. It appeared he was staying for breakfast.

“She isn’t in trouble, is she?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Typical response from a police officer.” She gave him a disarming grin. “Don’t worry. I’m just playing with you. The woman’s name was Lenore Carlyle.”

The name struck a chord, though Eli wasn’t sure why.

“She worked at the factory?” he asked.

“Young, pretty, real sweet thing. Much too young for Gerald, but he liked ’em that way. But she made a mistake. Greene had a wife and two kids. You don’t mess around with someone’s family.”

“When did the affair occur?”

“Oh, I suppose ten or fifteen years before the car accident.”

“So we’re talking a good thirty-five or forty years ago.”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

Eli kept his expression neutral. “What happened to Lenore Carlyle? Is she still in Seneca Falls?”

“As I recall, Lenore left town after Gerald died. She moved south, I think. But you know how it is. People drift back home eventually.”

“Back home?”

“Yes. She’s in Duskwood now. Has been for four or five years.”

Eli swallowed. Duskwood. Eli sat back, his mind spinning.

Had Lenore Carlyle killed Gerald Greene, then returned years later to kill his son?

Armed with new information, Eli ate a quick breakfast and got on the road.

He picked up his phone and hit Nia’s number. It rang twice before she answered.

“I thought you didn’t start work until ten,” she said.

“Went in early. And I just left Seneca Falls.”

That got her attention. “Oh?”

“I found out who Gerald Greene had an affair with,” he said, shifting gears as he passed a slow-moving farm truck. “Her name was Lenore Carlyle. The affair caused some drama in town. After Gerald died, Lenore left and headed south.”

“How far south?”

“According to the records I dug up, she lived outside of Roanoke, Virginia, for a bit. Then she moved back home. Guess where home is?”

There was a second of silence.

“You’re about to tell me she lives in Duskwood, aren’t you?”

“Nailed it.”

“All right, give me a second.”

Eli heard the clicking of a keyboard on Nia’s end. He could picture her sitting at the desk, eyes scanning the screen as she dug for details.

A few moments later, she spoke. “Found her. Lenore Carlyle, fifty-six years old. Looks like she’s been living in Duskwood for a while now. She owns a house on Sycamore Drive.”

“That’s only a few miles from Joel Greene’s place.”

“And the plot thickens.”

Eli turned onto the road leading back into town. “We need to talk to her.”

“Agreed,” Nia said. “Give me half an hour to get ready.”

“I’ll call ahead and set up the interview.”

“See you soon.”

Eli ended the call.

Had Lenore Carlyle murdered Gerald and Joel Greene?

22

Lenore Carlyle’s house on Sycamore Drive was a ranch home with blue siding and a few Thanksgiving decorations on the porch. A wind chime swayed, turning the late-morning breeze into a hypnotic melody.

Beside Eli, Nia surveyed the house. Lenore Carlyle was shooting up their suspect list.

Eli turned off the police radio and pocketed his keys. “I’ll start the interview. But if she’s not responding well to me⁠—”

“Then I’ll take the lead,” Nia said. “You think she has a problem with male authority figures?”

“Can’t blame her if she does. Gerald Greene wasn’t the model boyfriend.”

“Fair enough. I’ll monitor the atmosphere and jump in when needed.”

They exited the cruiser as a salt truck rumbled past, spraying grit across the road.

Eli knocked. A few moments passed before the door opened.

Lenore Carlyle stood in the doorway, mid-fifties, lean, with graying brown hair pulled into a no-nonsense bun. She wore an auburn sweater with a pair of glasses perched low on her nose. Her sharp brown eyes appeared guarded and unreadable.

“Can I help you?” Lenore asked.

Eli flashed his badge. “Officer Eli Mitchell, Duskwood Police Department. This is Nia Carter, a private investigator. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Lenore’s fingers tightened on the edge of the door. “About what?”

“About Gerald Greene. May we come in?”

Something crossed Lenore’s face—not quite fear, but more like shock. After a moment, she stepped aside. “Make it quick. I have plans today.”

Inside, the house was small but orderly, smelling faintly of lavender and old books. A corner television played the news with the sound muted.

Lenore folded her arms, standing instead of sitting. “Go ahead. Ask me anything. I have nothing to hide.”

“You moved from Seneca Falls some time ago. Why?”

“Because it didn’t feel like home anymore.”

“Why didn’t it feel like home?”

“I think you know.”

The woman glared daggers at Eli. He looked at Nia, silently passing her the baton.

Nia softened her stance, keeping her voice neutral. “Ms. Carlyle, we know you were involved with Gerald Greene when you lived in Seneca Falls.”

“That was ages ago, and I made a mistake. What of it?”

“We’re investigating whether Gerald’s accident was…more than an accident.”

Eli watched Lenore closely, reading every micro expression. She didn’t flinch.

“He drove off the road at night.”

“Yes, that’s what the police report says.”

“You think I killed him,” Lenore said flatly.

Nia shook her head. “We think someone might have.”

For the first time, something shifted in Lenore’s expression. Resignation?

“I didn’t kill Gerald.”

“But you weren’t sorry when he died,” Eli noted.

“No. I wasn’t.”

Silence lingered between them, thick with things unsaid.

Lenore pulled a loose thread from her sweater. “Gerald Greene ruined my life. But I didn’t kill him.”

“Can you tell us about your relationship?”

She let out a bitter laugh. “What’s to tell? I was young, stupid, and in love with the wrong man. He told me what I wanted to hear, that he’d leave his wife, and that we’d have a future together.” She shook her head. “It was all a lie.”

“How did it end?”

“His wife found out. He cut me off after that. As if I’d never existed.”

“And that was the last contact you had with him?”

“It was.”

“Help me understand why you moved to Duskwood years later,” Eli said. “Where his son lived.”

Lenore’s eyes darkened. “I didn’t move here because of Joel Greene.”

“Then why did you?”

“My father was sick. He needed someone to care for him. I wasn’t about to let him die alone in a nursing home.”

“Did you ever run into Joel Greene?” Nia asked.

“He was a cop. Hard to miss him.”

“That’s not an answer,” Eli said.

“I saw him around town a few times. That’s all.”

Nia exchanged a look with Eli. Lenore was holding back.

“Where were you two nights ago between eight p.m. and eight a.m.?”

“At home. I had to work the early shift the next morning, so I went to bed early.”

“Anyone who can confirm that?”

“You think I have an airtight alibi? I live alone. No, no one can confirm it.”

“But if we checked security cameras, maybe someone saw you coming or going?” Eli asked.

“Go ahead and check. You won’t find anything because I didn’t leave my house.”

“Did you know Joel Greene personally?”

“No,” she said, “and I didn’t wish to know him.”

Eli flipped to a fresh page in his notebook, tapping his pen against the paper as Nia studied Lenore. Her answers were too careful, too rehearsed.

“Did you own a car around the time that Gerald Greene died?” he asked.

Lenore narrowed her eyes. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Just covering all our bases,” Eli said casually. “Did you own a vehicle around the time of Gerald Greene’s death?”

“Yes, of course I did. A Honda Civic.”

“What color?”

“Red.”

Eli jotted it down. “Do you still own it?”

“It barely lasted five years. I drive a Subaru now.”

Nia chimed in. “How often did you see Gerald before he died?”

“It was over between us before his accident.” Lenore’s fingers curled around the hem of her sweater. “I hadn’t spoken to him in years.”

“Are you sure about that?” Eli asked. “Seneca Falls is a small town.”

“I wanted nothing to do with Gerald. Yes, I’m sure I never spoke to him.”

“Did you ever want to get back at Gerald?”

“Why would I?”

“Because he made a fool of you,” Nia said. “Because Gerald led you on for months before you realized he was married. Then he left you with nothing and went back to his family, pretending you didn’t exist. If that happened to me, I would have been furious.”

Lenore’s nostrils flared. “I moved on.”

“Where were you the night Gerald died?” Eli asked.

“I was on a double shift at the hospital.”

“Can anyone confirm that?”

“Check my employment records. It should all be there. But I fail to see why you want to know my whereabouts after all this time. The police didn’t even talk to me after Gerald’s accident.”

“We’re just doing our jobs.”

“Well, I don’t care what you think of me. Gerald Greene is no longer my concern. I won’t let him occupy my headspace rent free.”

“You don’t seem too interested in proving your innocence,” Eli said.

“I don’t need to prove anything. You came to my house, accused me of murder, and now you expect me to dredge up the past? I don’t think so.”

“Nobody accused you of murder, Ms. Carlyle.”

“You’re here, aren’t you? Now that Joel Greene is dead, you need to blame someone, even though I didn’t know the man. So you pin the murder on somebody his father dated a lifetime ago.”

“I find it curious that you live in the same town as Joel Greene did.”

“Duskwood is my hometown, not Joel Greene’s. If he didn’t want to share the road with me, he never should have left Seneca Falls. This conversation is over.”

Eli closed his notebook. Nia didn’t blame him for giving up. They weren’t getting anything else from Lenore Carlyle. Not today.

In the cruiser, Eli sat behind the wheel and watched the windows, as if expecting Lenore might emerge and confess she was a killer.

“What are we waiting for?” Nia asked.

“I don’t know. Something doesn’t feel right.”

After a minute, Eli shook his head in frustration and pulled off the curb. They weren’t halfway down the block when a woman with red curls waved them down. Eli braked, causing Nia to jerk forward.

“What’s this about?” Eli muttered.

He lowered the window and let the vehicle idle as the woman approached. She cast glances left and right, as if worried someone was watching.

“You’re investigating that police officer’s murder, aren’t you?” the woman asked.

“Do you know something about Joel Greene’s death?”

“Maybe.” The red-haired woman hesitated, chewing her lip as she ensured there was no one approaching. “I’m Bernadette Herringshaw. My house is that one.”

She pointed to a yellow cottage across the street.

“Officer Mitchell, and this PI Nia Carter. Perhaps we should go somewhere and speak.”

Bernadette didn’t seem to hear Eli. “Oh Lord, I worried it would come to this. What did Lenore tell you?”

“Are you a friend of Lenore Carlyle?”

“We grew up together in Duskwood. That damn Gerald Greene and the way he treated her…I don’t blame Lenore for making the choice she did. She had to.”

“What choice?” Nia asked.

Bernadette gave them a shocked stare. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“Know what? Mrs. Herringshaw?” Eli asked.

Suddenly, Bernadette’s eyes jumped to Lenore Carlyle’s house. The curtain parted.

“I can’t talk now,” Bernadette said.

“Are you in danger?”

“Me? Um, no. I don’t think so.”

“You rushed out to tell us something. If you want us to catch Officer Greene’s killer, now is the time.”

“I can’t…not until…”

Without another word, Bernadette shot across the street and ran into the house. Even from inside the cruiser, Nia could hear the bolt slam home.

23

On the way to the police department, Nia cycled through the interview with Lenore Carlyle. There had been brief flashes of anger whenever Gerald’s and Joel’s names came up. That told her that Lenore still harbored resentment for the way Gerald had treated her.

The police radio squawked about a speeder running a red light in downtown Duskwood.

“What did you think of Lenore Carlyle?” Nia asked.

“She’s probably lying about some things,” Eli said. “I can’t imagine she never ran into Gerald Greene after the breakup. And I’d bet good money she had contact with Joel too. She just doesn’t want to admit it.”

“Agreed. But Lenore has every right to be angry over the way the affair ended. She became an outcast in Seneca Falls. Does that make her a killer?”

“It gives her a motive—anger at Gerald for leading her on, at Joel for being the living reminder of how the father humiliated her.”

“True,” Nia said. “But do you really think she sabotaged Gerald’s car and caused him to crash?”

Eli mulled that over. “Lenore works in the healthcare industry. She’s intelligent enough to cause an accident without leaving obvious signs. And it’s possible she came back to Duskwood for revenge.”

“Revenge against Joel?”

“Maybe. With Gerald in the grave, Joel became the last outlet for her fury.”

“That’s assuming a lot.”

“I know. But you mentioned crime scene investigators wearing nitrile gloves.”

“And?”

“What professions utilize similar handwear?”

“Mechanics, forensics, law enforcement, construction. There are dozens of possibilities.”

“One of those is healthcare. And Lenore’s a nurse. She has easy access to those gloves.”

Nia recalled how calm Lenore had been. “Doesn’t mean she stabbed Joel Greene.”

Duskwood’s modest skyline came into view—low buildings, a few scattered houses, and a traffic light at the intersection of Main and First.

“No,” Eli agreed. “But it’s another piece of the puzzle.”

“You believe the glove fragment Lisa found on Greene’s body came from Lenore?”

“I’m not saying she definitely killed him, but it’s plausible. We know she hated Gerald Greene.”

“But not Gerald’s son.”

“As far as we know. We’ll have to find evidence that she crossed paths with Joel. I bet she had contact with him before the murder.”

“When we get back to the station, call the hospital and check if Lenore’s old alibi holds up,” Nia said.

“I also want to talk to the retired officer who wrote up Gerald’s accident report.”

“Don Harrelson.”

“Correct.”

Eli stopped the cruiser behind the police station and pulled the keys from the ignition. “Right. If everything checks out, we’ll move her down the suspect list. But something tells me she came back to Duskwood to hunt Joel Greene.”

“Or she moved home for her sick mother, just like she said.”

When they opened their doors, the wind rushed in.

“We still have Margaret Langley and Richard Vance as prime suspects.”

“Lenore Carlyle doesn’t strike me as timid,” Nia said. “But she’s smart. Would she commit a murder and risk her freedom? Maybe someone did the deed for her.”

“Like who?”

“Vance?”

Eli grimaced. “Does Lenore even know Richard Vance?”

“Vance and Lenore grew up in town with Joel and Margaret. Anything is possible.”

In the bullpen, phones rang and officers hustled past. A copier spat reports. Ever since Officer Greene’s murder, it appeared everyone was moving with lead in their boots.

“Mitchell. My office, now.”

Eli cringed at the sound of Chief Moretti’s voice.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Eli said.

“Is he permanently angry?” asked Nia.

“On a good day, yes. Hang out at my desk. I won’t be long.”

“Forget it. I’m coming with you.”

“Nia, you don’t need to deal with Moretti.”

“I’m part of this investigation, aren’t I? And I dealt with rougher chiefs in New York.”

“I suppose you did.”

She followed Eli to the chief’s office. A small plaque on the door read Chief A. Moretti, and from the sound of muffled voices inside, he was already in a conversation with someone. A moment later, the door opened, and a flustered-looking officer ducked out, muttering a quick greeting to Eli.

Eli rapped his knuckles on the doorframe. “You called me, Chief?”

Moretti looked up from a stack of files on his desk. He waved them inside. “Close the door.”

The room felt cramped, half the desk covered in newspaper clippings about Greene’s murder, the other buried under more folders. Moretti gestured for them to sit, though his eyes lingered on Nia for a moment longer than they did on Eli.

“So,” Moretti said, rubbing his eyes. “Tell me we’re close to a break. The press is crawling all over us. Every few minutes the phone rings with someone demanding details about Greene’s murder.”

“We’ve made progress, sir,” Eli said. “We have a few suspects—Margaret Langley, Richard Vance, and now Lenore Carlyle.”

Moretti’s scowl deepened. “I’m well aware, Mitchell. I need an arrest.” He looked pointedly at Nia. “And if I had my way, you’d have a proper partner.”

“I’m just assisting where I can, Chief,” Nia said. “Your department is short-staffed, and I’m happy to help however I can.”

The chief drummed his fingers on the desk. “Every time a cop goes down, the media swarms like vultures, looking for corruption, cover-ups, anything that sells more copies. They don’t care that one of our own died. All that matters is the story.”

Nia thought about Rachel Foster, the journalist who had helped Nia and Eli catch a killer during August.

“Sir, we’re making the best use of our resources,” Eli said. “Never forget that Nia worked with the NYPD. She’s a valuable component of this investigation.”

Moretti didn’t look convinced, but he appeared too tired for a debate. “I’m not thrilled about a PI stepping in on an official murder investigation. Carter, as long as you’re assisting Mitchell, you follow protocol. Mitchell runs the case, not you.”

“I understand,” Nia said.

“Keep me updated, Eli.” Moretti rummaged through a stack of folders until he produced one marked with Gerald Greene’s name. “I figured you’d want this, so I pulled some strings and got the Seneca Falls PD to send me Gerald Greene’s case file. I want our murder investigation closed.”

“We could use more boots on the ground,” Eli said.

“Tough luck. We’re stretched thin thanks to budget cuts. Do your jobs. If you so much as sniff a lead, tell me. I won’t have the media turning this investigation into a circus.”

“Yes, sir.”

Nia shifted her chair forward. “We were already following up on Gerald Greene’s death, which might not have been an accident.”

Moretti’s brow furrowed. “You think father and son were both murdered? By the same person?”

“We’re unsure,” Eli admitted. “But there’s a possibility. We’ll know more once we speak to a retired officer who handled Gerald Greene’s accident report. I also need to verify some alibis.”

“Fine. But finish the job. Dismissed.” Moretti waved them off, already picking up his phone to make a call.

24

Nia was still flustered from the meeting with Moretti when Eli pressed the speaker button on his desk phone. She pulled her chair closer so she could listen in. The dial tone buzzed then clicked as the call connected.

A generic hospital greeting played. “Thank you for calling Seneca Falls Medical Center…”

This was followed by a maze of automated options. Eli tapped through them with impatience, finally landing on the extension for Personnel Records.

The line rang twice before a harried worker answered. “Personnel Records. How can I help you?”

Eli coughed into his hand. “This is Eli Mitchell with the Duskwood Police Department. I’m looking for employment records related to a Ms. Lenore Carlyle.”

A pause. They could practically hear the woman on the other end frowning. “Twenty years is quite a span, Officer Mitchell. Are we talking about full work records, schedules, performance reviews? And do you have a warrant?”

He glanced at Nia, who offered a shrug. “We’re only interested in her schedule for a certain night. I can give you the date. All I need is confirmation that she was on shift. Do you have that sort of information on file?”

The voice on the line became guarded. “We keep records, yes. But we don’t hand them over without a court order. This is confidential personnel information.”

“Ma’am, we’re investigating a possible homicide. Ms. Carlyle might be a key witness. We just need to verify her whereabouts.”

“Lenore is one of our finest employees. If you’re suggesting she’s involved in something criminal, you are way off base.”

Eli held up a hand, even though the person on the phone couldn’t see it. “We’re not accusing Ms. Carlyle of anything. We only need to confirm her shift around the time of a particular incident.”

“And you said this was twenty years ago?”

“Yes,” Eli said, trying to keep his frustration out of his tone. He read the date. “We realize that’s a long time ago, but any records you can find—schedules, timesheets—would be extremely helpful.”

“I see. Well, I’m afraid we don’t have an immediate way to access records that old. Everything has been moved to offsite storage for archival. It will take time to locate the records, if they even exist anymore.”

“How long will that take? Can you give me an estimate?”

“Not soon,” the woman said. “I’ll have to put in a request and have someone comb the old archives, then see if the data is still intact. Might take weeks. In the meantime, I suggest you procure a court order. My administrator won’t sign off on the information without something official.”

“I’ll get that for you.”

Nia shared Eli’s frustration. Still, it wasn’t the woman’s fault. Finding work schedules from that long ago might be impossible.

“If you could at least flag the request as urgent, we’d appreciate it,” Eli said. “The Duskwood Police Department will be in your debt.”

“We’ll reach out if we locate anything useful.”

“Thank you for your time, ma’am.”

“Sure,” came the curt reply. “Have a good day.”

The line went dead.

“So much for a quick confirmation,” Nia said.

Eli pushed the phone across the desk, his shoulders sagging. “We don’t have time to wait.”

“Next?”

“Don Harrelson, if we can reach him. Here goes nothing.”

Eli punched the number for the Seneca Falls Police Department into the desk phone. He switched his phone to speaker again.

After two rings, a young-sounding officer answered. “Seneca Falls PD.”

“This is Officer Eli Mitchell at the Duskwood Police Department,” Eli said. “I’m looking for a retired officer named Don Harrelson. He handled a vehicle accident case two decades ago, and we’d like to speak with him.”

Nia hoped they wouldn’t get another round of bureaucratic dodging.

“Don Harrelson. Yes, he was way before my time, but I’ve heard the name. Let me see if I can find his contact info or pass you to someone who might know him.”

Eli nodded to Nia, mouthing, “At least they’re not giving us the runaround—yet.”

“It’s good to know Officer Harrelson is still alive,” Nia said.

A few moments of muffled conversation followed. Finally, a second voice came on the line, deeper and older-sounding.

“Officer Martindale here. I understand you’re looking for Don Harrelson?”

“That’s right,” Eli said. “I realize he retired some time ago, but we’re working on a case that ties back to an accident he investigated. We’d really appreciate a chance to ask him a few questions.”

Martin grunted. “Yeah, Don’s been out of the game for a while. Good guy, but he doesn’t keep a cell. I have a landline for him. And an address.”

Nia flashed Eli a triumphant smile.

“That would be fantastic,” Eli said. “We can drive out and see him in person.”

“Don’t be surprised if he’s out fishing or at the Legion Hall. He’s not one to sit at home. You got a pen?”

“Ready,” Eli confirmed, notepad in hand.

Martin rattled off the phone number and an address, which Nia recognized as close to the canal. “Tell Don I sent you, and he might not slam the door in your face.”

Eli shared a laugh with the officer. “Will do. Thanks, Officer Martin.”

“Good luck.”

“Seems like we’re actually getting somewhere,” Eli said.

He steered the cruiser toward Seneca Falls, the late afternoon sun dipping behind the gray clouds.

Nia peered at the clock. “Crap. I need to call Maya.”

“Sorry, Nia. I lost track of time. Is she out of school already?”

“She will be in twenty minutes,” Nia said, pressing the call button. “I should have arranged a ride.”

“Want me to turn the cruiser around?”

“Much as Maya would get a kick out of riding in a police vehicle again, we really need to speak with Harrelson.”

“Hey, Mom,” Maya answered.

“Hey, sweetie. I’m sorry, but I’m running late. Again. Eli and I are almost at Seneca Falls. Would it be okay if I called Janet to pick you up?”

“Mom, Grandma Janet has a life. I’m pretty sure she has her gardening club or something. Don’t worry. I’ll just take the bus.”

Nia closed her eyes, guilt pooling in her chest. “Are you sure? I told you I would be there.”

“It’s totally fine.”

“I’m sorry, Maya,” Nia said. “It seems like I keep apologizing. I promise I’ll make it up to you. It might be a late afternoon for me and Eli, just so you know.”

“We have leftover pasta at home, right?”

“A little. I’m not sure if it’s enough.”

“I’ll make do.”

Maya always needed to make do. When would Nia put her daughter first?

“We’ll hurry back,” Nia said. “I love you, Maya.”

When the call ended, Nia let her hand fall to her lap, the phone clutched between her fingers. “I swear, I’m always making her take care of herself.”

Eli looked across the cab. “You’re doing your best, Nia.”

Through a haze of tears, Nia watched a patch of farmland pass. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

“Tell you what—when we get back, I’ll whip up some burgers.”

“You want to do dinner again?”

“Why not? After a long day, we’ll all be starving. Dinner doesn’t have to be fancy.”

She felt the corners of her mouth tugging upward. “I appreciate the gesture, Eli.”

A road sign pointed the way to their destination. He cranked the wheel.

“I enjoy cooking. Regardless, we’re just talking burgers. I can grill in my sleep, Nia Carter.”

“All right, Eli. I’m not gonna say no.”

The sky grew darker at each passing mile. With the solstice next month, the days kept getting shorter. If November was this frigid, what would December bring? Nia wished they could skip winter and go straight to spring.

Eli steered the cruiser down a narrow, tree-lined street that paralleled the Cayuga-Seneca Canal. Rows of modest houses stood along the bank, each with tiny yards leading to the canal’s edge. The place had a quiet, lived-in charm, though most of the properties looked as if they could use a fresh coat of paint.

Nia read the house numbers. “This should be it,” she said, pointing at a single-story white clapboard house with a porch swing and a few faded wind chimes.

A breeze off the canal carried the scent of gasoline from a passing boat as they parked and followed a narrow gravel pathway. Nia couldn’t imagine how cold it felt on the water.

A moment after they knocked on the door, it cracked open to reveal an older man, mid-sixties, with a hint of a stoop and a spark in his eyes. His hair was more white than black, and he wore a flannel shirt open over a T-shirt that advertised a fishing derby.

“Officer Don Harrelson?” Eli asked, holding up his badge. “I’m Officer Eli Mitchell from Duskwood. This is Nia Carter, a private investigator working with us. Officer Martin gave us your address.”

Harrelson looked them up and down. “Martin called ahead and let me know. Come on in before we let all the heat out.”

He swung the door open and led them into a living room where the walls were lined with photographs of fishing trips, family gatherings, and commendations from his days on the force. A TV played in the corner, muted to a newscast from the New York Stock Exchange.

“Have a seat,” Harrelson offered, gesturing to a worn couch. He settled into an armchair across from them. “So what’s this about? Officer Martin mentioned an old accident?”

Eli removed a copy of Gerald Greene’s accident report. “Yes, sir. Gerald Greene’s single-car crash. You were the responding officer.”

“Gerald Greene,” he repeated as if turning the name over in his mind. “Long time ago. Surprised anyone is still asking questions about a guy who lost control of his vehicle.”

“We’re investigating a possible link between Gerald Greene’s death and a more recent case,” Nia said. “We came across your report—specifically, a notation you made about uneven tire wear.”

Eli flipped the page, pointing to the line in question. “Right here. You mentioned an unusual wear pattern on the front left tire, but no official signs of foul play. Do you recall why you wrote that down?”

Harrelson squinted at the paper, then sat back, scratching at the stubble on his chin. “Sort of. The scene was a mess—car was flipped and pinned against a tree. Skid marks on the road. The tire…yeah, I noticed something odd. Couldn’t put my finger on it. Didn’t look like normal wear.”

“Did you suspect sabotage?” Eli asked.

“Not enough to make a case of it. I was on the force long enough to see all kinds of strange tire damage from potholes and curb strikes.”

“But you weren’t convinced it was accidental.”

“Convinced is a strong word, Officer Mitchell. How many times are you a hundred percent certain?”

“Not often.”

“There you go,” Harrelson said. “No, I wasn’t convinced it was an accident. Still, I didn’t have evidence to prove otherwise. Higher-ups wanted it closed, and everything pointed to Greene losing control on a curve.”

“So it’s possible something caused the tire to lose pressure or traction, and that led to the crash?” Nia asked.

Harrelson pressed his lips together. “I brought the idea up to my sergeant. Told him we should get a more thorough look at the car. But back then, the department was underfunded. We chalked it up to an unfortunate accident. No sense in wasting resources. But I made a note, just in case more evidence surfaced.”

“That might be now,” Eli said.

“Wouldn’t that be something?” Harrelson gave a tired smile. “Like I said, it’s been fifteen years. I filed my report, raised my concerns, then moved on to the next call. But I recall Greene had a family. Teenage kids and a wife, if memory serves. Town gossip said he wasn’t the best husband.”

“Anyone with a motive to take him out?”

“Not that I recall. There was a woman linked to him. Can’t remember her name, but she lived here for a few decades.”

“Lenore Carlyle?”

“That’s her,” Harrelson said, snapping his fingers. “She’s the one Gerald Greene ran around with.”

“But your department never suspected she might hold a grudge against Greene?”

“They’d broken up a long time before the accident. No reason to believe she’d suddenly decide to take him out.”

Outside, a boat engine revved along the canal.

“Is there anything else you remember?” Nia asked.

“Not really.” Harrelson’s gaze sharpened with curiosity. “You think someone murdered Gerald Greene, don’t you?”

“We don’t know.”

“Well, if you find the truth, let me know. I always hated leaving a case open-ended.”

“We will, Mr. Harrelson,” Eli said.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why the sudden interest?”

“Did you hear about the murdered police officer in Duskwood?”

“Sure. Word spreads fast around these parts. But…” Harrelson’s eyes became distant. “Officer Greene. I’d heard the name on the news, but hadn’t thought much about it. This Officer Greene. Was he related to Gerald Greene?”

“His son.”

“I’ll be damned.”

Now Harrelson’s eyes took on a haunted look. He was processing the information, suddenly aware that two murders might have occurred because of something that had happened in Seneca Falls.

“It might be a coincidence,” Eli said.

“Yeah, and I’m the King of Sheba. I missed it, didn’t I?”

“No, sir. You did your job.”

“Doesn’t sound like I did a very good job.” The retired officer rose from his seat and led them to the door. “Listen, there was something else about that tire. I never put it in my official notes because I couldn’t prove it. But it still bugged me.”

“Go on,” said Nia.

Harrelson pressed his lips together, as though torn between professional caution and a need for the truth. “That tire wear I mentioned? It wasn’t just on the tread. I remember finding a sliver along the inside sidewall, away from the driver’s line of sight.”

“A slash?”

“The mark was so subtle, it could have occurred when Greene hit an obstacle. Heck, even the accident could have caused it.”

“Did you confirm a leaky tire?”

“Leaky?” Harrelson chuckled without mirth. “The front tires blew on impact. You can’t imagine what we went through just to verify the uneven wear. There were pieces of tire lodged in the culvert and strewn across the field. It was a veritable jigsaw puzzle. But yeah. That sliver marking. Almost like someone scored the tire with a blade. I’ve seen plenty of blowouts from curbs. This was different. A cut from the inside, where the tire meets the rim. It would have been enough to cause a slow leak, or a blowout at high speed.”

Nia felt a sudden certainty. “That sounds like sabotage.”

“Maybe.”

A solemn hush fell. That single detail was the missing puzzle piece Eli and Nia needed. Someone had tampered with Gerald Greene’s car.

Nia rested a hand on the former officer’s shoulder. “You didn’t miss anything. You saw the clues and brought it to your superiors. That’s what an investigator does.”

Harrelson managed a half-smile, though his eyes remained shadowed. “That man’s son ended up paying the price. And he was an officer like us. I hope you two can close this investigation once and for all.”

“We will,” Eli said. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with us.”

Outside, Nia and Eli stood on the porch, bracing themselves against November’s chill.

They were chasing whispers from two decades ago, but now they had confirmation that Gerald Greene’s death wasn’t an accident.

25

Nia set the last of the dishes on the drying rack, leaning back against the counter with a tired moan. The tantalizing scent of grilled burgers lingered, making her stomach grumble even though she was already full.

Eli worked beside her, towel in hand, as he wiped the countertop. Maya stacked the plates in the cupboard and hummed under her breath.

“Seriously,” Nia said, glancing Eli’s way, “those were the best burgers I’ve ever eaten.”

Eli raised his palms in pretend modesty. “I’ll take the compliment, but you might be overselling my work.”

“Nope.” Maya shut the dishwasher. “They were awesome. You should open a burger joint.”

“No thanks.” Eli laughed. “One job at a time. I’m not like your mom here. She can juggle a half-dozen jobs at once.”

Nia dried her hands and turned to her daughter. “Hey, so tomorrow I promise I’ll pick you up from school on time.”

Maya’s forehead creased. Then she burst into laughter. “Mom, tomorrow is Saturday. No school.”

Replaying her mental schedule, Nia frowned. She hadn’t even registered what day it was.

“Oh.” She felt heat rise to her cheeks. “Right. Saturday. I guess I’m a tad distracted.”

“You’re working too hard,” Maya said.

Eli gave Nia a sympathetic look. “You really didn’t know tomorrow was Saturday?”

“Hey, I’ve been juggling three different PI cases, helping you with the Greene investigation, and making sure Maya doesn’t starve.” Nia felt embarrassed. “Sometimes the days blend together.”

“I’ll take a lazy Saturday, thanks,” Maya said. “No school, no early alarm.”

“So would I. Except there are no Saturdays when you’re working on multiple investigations.”

Maya shut the dishwasher with a bump of her hip. “Thanks for dinner, you guys. I’m gonna hop online for a bit, if that’s okay.”

“Go ahead, Maya. You deserve the downtime.”

As the teen headed to her room, Eli looked at Nia as if she’d grown a third arm.

“I can’t believe I completely lost track of the days,” Nia said.

“You’re busy playing detective. It happens to me all the time. Try working shifts.”

“Been there, done that.”

“Not going back?”

“Never. I enjoy working as a PI and setting my own hours. Plus, I don’t have a chief, and I don’t deal with office politics.”

“Maybe I should become a PI too,” Eli said.

“You’ll never stop being a police officer. It’s in your blood.”

Nia took a seat at the kitchen table under the soft pool of light. Eli uncorked another bottle of red wine, something local from the Finger Lakes region. This wine was rich and full-bodied, if the label was to be believed. Nia didn’t care. She just wanted to relax.

He poured two glasses, and she lifted hers in a silent toast. Their eyes met, and for a moment the weight of the investigation gave way to an easy familiarity.

Eli took a sip, then set his glass down, fingers curling around the stem. “So,” he began, voice subdued, “it appears someone sabotaged Gerald Greene’s car.”

“Sure looks that way. That cut in the tire sidewall makes me believe the killer knew what she was doing.”

“Or he.”

“It was murder. Plain and simple. And we know who held a grudge against Gerald Greene.”

“And Joel?” Eli asked. “We’re assuming the same person followed him all these years, waiting for the chance to take him out?”

Nia let the tart flavor of the wine roll over her tongue before answering. “It’s a stretch, but hate festers. Maybe Joel figured out the truth about his father’s death. Maybe he confronted the person responsible. Or threatened to expose the killer.”

Eli looked down at his glass, as if the answer lay on the bottom. “In that case, we need to verify Lenore Carlyle’s whereabouts on the night of the crash. In the morning, I’ll call Bernadette Herringshaw and find out what she wanted to tell us.”

“Maybe you should call her now.”

“It’s getting late, but I suppose I should.”

He removed his phone and dialed the number. Earlier, they’d found Bernadette’s phone number online. Several seconds later, Eli set down the phone.

“She’s not answering,” Eli said. “I’ll try again in an hour.”

The idea of two murders tied to the same killer made Nia’s skin prickle. And the killer might live in Duskwood, driving the same streets she drove, passing her daughter’s school on the way to work.

“Everyone in town wants answers,” she said.

Eli took another sip, then reached across the table to brush his fingertips across the back of her hand. “Hey,” he added in a softer tone, “for now, let’s just⁠—”

His phone buzzed against the tabletop.

Glancing at the caller ID, he picked up. “Mitchell here.”

Nia watched his expression change. His shoulders tightened, the lines on his forehead deepening. Try as she might, she couldn’t overhear the conversation.

He stood with the phone pressed to his ear. “Okay, where? And the victim?”

Her stomach knotted.

“Yeah,” Eli said. “I’ll be right there.”

He ended the call and stared at her with an urgency that made the hairs on her arms stand on end.

“Eli, what happened?”

“There was another murder.”

26

Across the clearing, the rotating red-and-blue lights from the police department vehicles cut swaths of color through the fog. The moon hung low, its muted glow struggling to pierce the dense canopy of pine and oak that blocked any view of the sky. Already, an unnerving hush had descended on these woods near Duskwood Lake, as though every living thing sensed the need for safety.

Several uniformed officers stood at the wood’s edge, their postures tense.

Eli acknowledged his colleagues as he approached, then made his way to Brad Jenkins, who was waiting at the entrance to a narrow footpath. Jenkins, lantern in hand, gave him a grim nod. Something in Jenkins’ eyes told Eli this scene was worse than most.

“Where is the victim?” Eli asked.

Jenkins jerked his head down the trail. “A quarter mile in. You’ll want a flashlight.”

Eli reached into his jacket, pulling out a slim torch. As they started down the path, the undergrowth tugged at his ankles, the ice and snow giving way beneath his boots. The air smelled of moss and rot, the forest’s primal exhalation.

With more officers trailing them, Eli followed Jenkins into the woods, the narrow beam of his flashlight cutting across slick tree trunks. Each time the light bobbed, grotesque shadows danced on the bark, as if alive and lurching at them.

Nia was home with Maya. She’d wanted to accompany him, but he told her to take care of her daughter. Maya deserved a mother, and Eli wasn’t about to leave the teen girl home alone, especially with a killer in Duskwood.

“We found her just before dusk,” Jenkins said at last. “A fisherman saw footprints in the snow and decided to take a look.” He paused as the path widened, revealing a small opening in the brush. “We haven’t confirmed her identity,” Jenkins went on. “But she has auburn hair and appears to be in her fifties. No wallet on her.”

Eli’s pulse thrummed. “Is the ME here?”

“Not yet,” Jenkins replied. “She’s on her way. You know how the roads can get. Her assistants arrived five minutes ago and are setting up shop. Figured I’d call you since you’re⁠—”

“Already leading the Greene investigation,” Eli finished for him, shining his flashlight into the clearing.

“There’s nothing linking this woman to Greene.”

“Not yet, Jenkins.”

Several officers stood in a semicircle around a figure on the ground, their expressions hollow under the floodlights set up by the forensic team.

As he approached, the knot in Eli’s stomach tightened. He knew who it was even before the full beam of light revealed the crumpled form in the moss and leaves.

“Not her,” Eli said.

The woman lay face down, arms askew. Mud and pine needles clung to the back of her coat, which was dark enough to hide the worst of the stains. Her hair was matted with earth. A shoe was missing.

Eli crouched beside her, swallowing hard. With a gloved hand, he brushed aside a few locks to see her face. Though paled by death, the features were unmistakable.

Bernadette Herringshaw. Lenore Carlyle’s friend. The same woman who had hurried away from them, too frightened to talk.

Jenkins spoke in a near-whisper. “You know her?”

Words failed him for a moment, so Eli only nodded. There was an ache in his chest and a quiet rage at the senselessness of it all. He rose, turning his flashlight off out of respect for the forensic team, which moved in with their flood of camera flashes. Lisa Stone had arrived and joined them.

“Bernadette Herringshaw. She was Lenore Carlyle’s friend,” Eli said. “We saw her after the interview. She wanted to talk to us but hurried away when something spooked her.”

“And now she’s dead.”

Eli studied the clearing, spotting one set of footprints in the snow. The darkness of the woods was vast, swallowing evidence in its damp maw. Someone had carried Bernadette to this location and dumped the body.

He exhaled, forcing himself to stay calm. Another murder tied to the Greene investigation. And once more, the silence of these woods offered no answers, only shadows stretching like dark omens among the trees.

He turned back to the officers. “Nobody leaves until we sweep this area of the forest. I want to know who did this.”

Guilt and desperation churned inside him. This woman had tried to tell them something. She had possessed the key to the mystery, only to be silenced before she could tell her story.

Eli clenched his jaw. Had Lenore Carlyle murdered her friend?

He stepped away from Jenkins and the other officers and walked to where Lisa Stone kneeled beside the body. She spread a tarp on the snow and carefully laid Bernadette’s remains on it for a preliminary assessment. The glare of a portable floodlight made the scene look almost surreal.

Lisa glanced up at Eli’s approach. “Had a feeling I’d see you here.” She switched on a penlight, its beam glinting over Bernadette’s pale features.

“What have you got so far?”

The ME gently lifted the back of Bernadette’s coat. The material was stiff, partially frozen by the ice, revealing a small, clean-edged tear in the fabric. “From my initial look, it’s one stab wound to the back. Sharp, single-edged blade, maybe four or five inches long, similar to what we saw with Officer Greene.”

“Any sign of a struggle?”

“Not that I can see. No defensive wounds on her hands or arms. Whoever did this caught her by surprise or overpowered her before she could fight back.” Lisa shifted on her knees. “There’s very little blood here, which suggests⁠—”

“—she was killed somewhere else.”

“As before. This was a dump site.” She adjusted Bernadette’s head, checking the set of her jaw and the way rigor mortis had begun to stiffen her limbs. “The temperature dropped after the sun went down, which affected onset. But I’m estimating she died about three to five hours ago. Rigor is in an early stage, but it’s definitely set in enough to place her death well before she arrived in the forest. Do you have an ID?”

“Bernadette Herrningshaw. She lived down the road from one of our suspects.”

“I suggest you move that suspect to the top of the list.”

“Without question.”

Officer Greene’s autopsy flashed through his mind.

Lisa rose and stripped off her latex gloves. “You’ll want to compare my findings to Greene’s file. I’ll do a full examination once I get her on the table, but from what I’m seeing now, this is a carbon copy.”

Eli clenched his fists at his sides and looked down at Bernadette’s still form. She’d known something vital about Joel Greene. He was sure of it. Now the truth would never come out.

“Thank you, Lisa,” Eli said. “Keep me posted on anything else you find.”

She gathered her tools. “I’ll call you as soon as I have something.”

As Eli stepped away, he felt the night closing in. Another life extinguished. And somewhere in Duskwood, a killer walked free.

27

Eli stepped away from the officers combing the crime scene and retreated to a quiet stretch of snowy underbrush. Beams from the portable floodlights danced through the trees, illuminating the shifting fog. When he was alone, he called Nia.

She answered before the phone rang. “Eli?”

He took a deep breath. “We found another body in the woods near Duskwood Lake. It’s Bernadette Herringshaw.”

Nia took a second to respond. “The woman who tried to talk to us. Not a coincidence.”

“Yes,” Eli said. “Dead from a single stab wound to the back, just like Officer Greene. The murderer killed her elsewhere and dumped the body in the woods.”

“She might have known something about Lenore, Richard Vance, and Gerald Greene’s accident. I feel horrible. We could have helped her.”

Making sure no officers were within earshot, Eli said, “We have to consider the possibility that Lenore killed her. Bernadette was about to reveal something.”

“Lenore sure had motive,” Nia admitted. “Bernadette knew something about the first murder. Maybe Lenore wanted to keep her quiet.”

“But what if someone was following us while we interviewed Lenore, watching to see who we talked to, who might be a threat?”

“Meaning the killer isn’t necessarily Lenore, but someone who wants to shut up anyone who might expose them?”

“I hope I’m wrong,” Eli said. He looked back at the array of flashing lights and dark silhouettes. “And here’s a thought I hate entertaining: Everyone in the department knew we interviewed Lenore. Anyone with access to the case files, the logs, or just the grapevine knew who we were talking to and could have followed us. They would have seen Bernadette approach the cruiser.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“That you might have been right about a police officer killing Greene.” Eli lowered his voice when Officers Craig and Anderson passed. “I’m only saying it’s possible. If someone is covering their tracks from inside, it would explain a lot. And as you know, Joel Greene made a lot of enemies.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Nia said, surprising him. “I know you’re suspicious, and I get it. But right now, we need evidence. Let’s not accuse a police officer until we’re both certain.”

“Agreed.”

“What about Lenore Carlyle? Neither of us trusted her.”

“We need confirmation of Lenore’s whereabouts, not just on the night of Joel Greene’s murder, but also for Gerald Greene’s accident. And now she’ll need an alibi for tonight.”

“Lenore has skeletons in her closet. Who’s to say that story about her moving back to Duskwood for her mother isn’t another fabrication?”

A swirl of anxiety circled through Eli’s gut. “All right. I’ll hold down the scene and figure out where our killer entered the forest. Don’t count on me before midnight.”

“You’re coming back here?”

Eli squared his shoulders. “I’m not about to leave you and Maya alone. Not until we catch this maniac.”

“Okay, Eli. I’ll leave on the porch light.”

“And I’ll do my best not to wake you.”

“Don’t worry about that. It means a lot that you’re thinking of Maya.”

“And you, Nia,” Eli said.

“I’m not afraid.”

“Well, perhaps you should be.”

The call ended. Jenkins questioned Eli with his eyes, and Eli waved him over.

“Was that Nia?” Jenkins asked.

“Yeah. I kept her home with Maya.”

“Probably a wise decision. Are you ready to move?”

“I’m ready.”

Eli clipped the flashlight to his belt. “Let’s split up. We’ll circle back in about fifteen minutes, see what each of us finds.”

Jenkins gestured toward the tree line, where one of the other officers was laying out reflective markers. “I’ll head north. How about you take a sweep to the east?”

“Sure.”

They set off, each taking a different route through the woods. The other officers fanned out in small groups, their lights blinking like distant fireflies against the gloom.

Eli’s boots crunched on a thin crust of snow then sank into muddy patches where the ground had thawed earlier in the day. Voices called findings back and forth.

He scanned the ground. In some spots, the footprints disappeared altogether as the snow gave way to bare earth. Then, fifty yards later, they reappeared on another patch of snowpack, leaving a ghostly trail of partial impressions. He could make out one distinct set, likely belonging to a single person carrying a heavy load. Bernadette’s body, he thought grimly.

Every step raised a question that itched at the back of his mind. Could the killer really be one of them? He thought of Jenkins, who had always been a straight shooter. No way. Anderson was having money issues. Nope.

He dismissed both possibilities, but the doubt still nagged.

I’ve seen good officers snap under pressure.

He pushed the thought aside, knowing he had no evidence to back his suspicion. Until he did, he couldn’t drag the officers into his wild theories. Besides, Nia had planted the seed in his mind, and he’d allowed it to grow without pulling it out from the roots.

Eventually, he met Jenkins near a pine tree with a bark scarred from lightning.

Jenkins crouched beside a set of footprints that continued through the woods. “Looks like they head toward the road.”

“Right,” Eli said. In the distance, Route 542 snaked through the forest.

The tracks vanished on firmer ground. They took pictures and kept in touch with the other officers via their radios. Everyone agreed the killer had parked along Route 542, carried Bernadette into the woods, and slipped away unnoticed.

“We can keep searching, but I doubt we’ll find a big arrow pointing to the killer,” Jenkins said. “It might be time to backtrack to the station and check the traffic cams.”

“You won’t find a camera out this far.”

“No, but there’s only one road in Duskwood that leads to 542.”

“Kensington Lane,” Eli said.

“Correct. There are two cameras between Main and Kensington.”

“Then I guess we know what we have to do.”

28

Despite the late hour, Eli’s mind buzzed with lingering frustration as he returned to Nia’s house. The traffic cameras on Kensington had shown nothing, no sign of Lenore Carlyle’s vehicle, and no suspicious car that might point him to Bernadette’s killer. The work at the station had been a bust.

Eli slipped the key into the lock, turning it as quietly as possible before pushing open the door. He braced himself for Luna and Madrid’s barking, but it never came. Nia slept with a box fan in her bedroom, preferring the white noise. The sound must have masked his entry.

The living room lights were off, but the kitchen lamp revealed enough for him to navigate his way to the couch without crashing into an end table.

He set his keys on the counter and looked down the hallway. Maya’s bedroom door was shut. Good. Then he toed off his boots and dropped on the couch, yanking a folded blanket from the armrest. The cushions sagged under him, and a weary moan escaped his lips.

Before he closed his eyes, he glimpsed movement in the hallway. Nia appeared wearing a worn T-shirt and sweatpants, her hair pulled back. She paused at the threshold.

“Did you just get in?” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Eli said. “We got nothing from the traffic cameras. It’s like the killer knew where they were.”

“And he probably did.”

“Or she.”

“Yes. How is Maya?”

“Safe,” Nia said. “I checked on her an hour ago. She’s curled up with her phone under the covers, but I let her be. The girl needs sleep, and I won’t fight that battle tonight.”

He wasn’t sure when he’d started feeling responsible for Maya’s wellbeing, but the concern felt natural now.

“And Janet?”

“Snoring away next door. Probably dreaming about her garden club or that historical romance book she’s engrossed in. I offered her the guest room, but you know Janet.”

“Independent as always. I’m relieved everyone is safe. The last thing we need is more people at risk. I’m positive Lenore Carlyle held out on us. Should we go over the interview notes again?”

Nia dropped on the couch beside him, the cushions dipping. “We’re both wiped, Eli. We’ve been pushing ourselves all day and half the night. Let’s table the investigation until morning. There’s nothing else we can do tonight.”

He wanted to protest. His thoughts churned with half-formed ideas—maybe they’d missed a camera angle, or perhaps they could stake out Lenore’s house. The rational side of his brain knew she was right. His muscles ached from another hike through the forest.

“You’re right,” he said at last, giving in. “We’ll pick it up tomorrow.”

She patted the blanket. “Get some rest. I’m heading back to bed. You sure you don’t want to trade spots?”

“Like I told you last time, your bed belongs to you. And I like the couch.”

“Okay, Eli Mitchell. Sleep well.”

“You too.”

He took her hand and gave it a light squeeze before letting go. “Thanks, Nia.”

She managed an uncomfortable smile. Neither knew where their relationship stood. Was it time to become more than friends? He wanted to, but he respected her independence. Not to mention he couldn’t picture himself as a father. Heck, he would never be Maya’s father. The poor girl would never know her true parents, and he wasn’t fit to raise a teenager.

Eli sank back on the couch and tugged the blanket over his head. All he wanted to do was sleep.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about Bernadette Herringshaw.

* * *

Nia stirred as the pale dawn filtered through the blinds in her bedroom. She yawned, half-remembering the discussion with Eli in the living room. She slipped out of bed, the floor chilly beneath her bare feet.

With a soft click of her tongue, she summoned Luna and Madrid, who crawled out from under the blankets like meerkats emerging from their holes. Nia opened her door, not wanting to wake Maya, and followed the hallway to the living room.

A blanket covered Eli’s body from head to toe, though a tuft of his hair peeked out. He must have sensed her approach because he shifted, pushing himself upright and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Morning,” she said, stopping a few feet away.

Eli shook away the last vestiges of sleep. “Hey there.”

“You don’t look like you slept at all.”

His expression was distant, as though he hadn’t returned from a nightmare. “Couldn’t sleep much. Been thinking.”

Nia tucked a stray curl behind her ear. She wasn’t sure how to tread through this unfamiliar territory—Eli in her living room at dawn, the lines of their relationship blurry at best. But one thing was certain: She was getting used to him being here.

“I was about to make coffee,” she said. “I still have that Bananas Foster blend from the farmer’s market.”

He gave a small, tired smile. “Yeah, why not? I’ll take any coffee this morning.”

“Oh, so you’re not complaining about the flavored stuff anymore?”

Letting the blanket fall, he swung his legs over the side of the couch. “Figured I’d give it a second chance. Just so you know, I need something strong. Two scoops this time.”

“I knew you’d come around. Just admit you like the Bananas Foster.”

“Am I on trial, Your Honor?”

They moved into the kitchen, Luna and Madrid trailing after them in hopes of breakfast handouts. Nia busied herself with the kettle and filter, scooping aromatic grounds into the coffeemaker. The comforting burble of water filled the space.

Eli rested his hip against the counter, arms folded, looking down at the dogs. “I’m still stuck on last night,” he said. “The cameras on Kensington should have caught Lenore Carlyle.”

“She’s high on my suspect list, but carrying a body through the woods takes strength.”

“Lenore looked pretty tough to me.”

“But do you really believe Lenore hauled a dead body through the woods, especially in this weather?”

He didn’t know what to think. “Perhaps she had help. There was only one set of tracks, so Lenore didn’t force Bernadette to walk at gunpoint. If Lenore did it, I’m at a loss.”

The coffeemaker hissed, and a rich scent drifted into the air. Nia pulled two mugs from the cabinet and set them beside the machine.

“If Lenore is innocent, she should have an alibi for last night.”

“I need to find out where she was last night. She could have borrowed someone else’s car, or she hugged the shoulder to avoid the cameras.”

“I guess we’ll have to talk to her again.” Nia filled the mugs and handed one to Eli. “At the very least, we need to know how close she was to Bernadette.”

Eli took a sip of coffee, nodding in approval. “We’ll find out, one way or another.”

“Are you nodding because you agree with me or you love the coffee?”

“Give me a break.”

They fell quiet for a moment, just the two of them sharing a coffee while Luna and Madrid sniffed around the kitchen. The comfortable companionship reminded Nia of how normal this could be—standing in the kitchen with someone who felt like he belonged, discussing daily plans over breakfast.

She cleared her throat. “Thanks for watching over us last night.”

Eli’s tired eyes crinkled in a smile. “Anytime, Carter.” He gave Luna a quick pat. “I can’t have my partner in danger.”

“Temporary partner,” she reminded him.

“Are you sure? We keep winding up together on these murder cases.”

“I suppose we do.”

“Is that a problem?”

No, it wasn’t. Not in the least.

29

Nia put away the breakfast dishes while Eli pressed his phone to his ear. He’d tried Lenore Carlyle’s number twice this morning, and each time it went straight to voicemail. Now he was trying the hospital to see if Lenore had shown up for her shift.

He gave Nia a shrug, keeping the phone to his ear. “This is Officer Eli Mitchell calling again. I’m looking for Lenore Carlyle. Is she working today?”

Someone on the other end sounded too muffled for Nia to make out what they said.

Eli frowned. “Yes, I understand you can’t disclose confidential schedule information. We’ve been over this. I just need to know if she’s in today… Fine.” He huffed, rolling his eyes at Nia.

Nia mouthed, “Same person?”

He nodded. “No, I don’t have a court order. Listen, this is potentially a matter of life and death. Wait⁠—”

His expression darkened as the line went dead. Eli lowered the phone, tapping it against his thigh in frustration. “She hung up on me.”

“They’re not stonewalling you. Maybe Lenore isn’t there. Regardless, the hospital is strict about privacy. They’d rather ignore you than risk a lawsuit.”

“We don’t know where Lenore is. She might be at work, or she could have fled Duskwood after murdering Bernadette.”

“You’ll find her, Eli. Either way, you can’t focus all your energy on one person. We have other suspects—Margaret Langley, for one.”

“Margaret hated her brother, but why would she kill her own father or take out Bernadette? Does she even know who Bernadette is?”

“People have hidden secrets. What about Richard Vance?”

“Yeah, I keep meaning to pay that creep a second visit. Even if I can’t pin a murder charge on him, I guarantee he’s up to something. A house that nice with no employment? That raises all sorts of flags.”

Eli turned away from the counter and paced. Madrid and Luna watched him from their spot by their food bowls.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Only that I have three suspects, and not a shred of evidence to prove anyone is a killer.”

Nia sighed. “Start by finding out why Joel Greene left his inheritance to Vance.”

“As if he’ll ever tell us.”

“Okay. Find a connection between Greene and Vance. In the meantime, corner Margaret Langley and find out if she held out on us during the interview.”

“She’s local, so it won’t take long to track her down. If I sense she’s holding back, I’ll turn up the pressure.”

“Be respectful, Eli,” Nia said. “Even though Margaret held a grudge against Joel, he was still her brother. We all process grief in different ways.”

At nine o’clock, Nia stood by the front window, phone in hand, watching as Maya grabbed her backpack and slipped into her coat. The teen’s eyebrows knit in concern.

“Mom, what’s the story?” Maya asked. “You only make me go to Grandma Janet’s house when something serious is going on.”

Nia struggled to hide her worry. She couldn’t allow Maya to stay alone. And truth be told, she didn’t like Janet being by herself with a murderer at large.

“We have a situation in town,” Nia said. “Someone dangerous is in Duskwood. It’s nothing for you to panic over, but I’d feel better if you weren’t alone.”

Maya tugged at the strap of her backpack. “Every time you swear it’s nothing for me to worry about, you and Eli catch a psychopath.”

“Humor me, Maya. Keep Janet company for a while. We won’t be gone long.”

“Okay.” Maya studied her mother for a moment. “If you’re running late, let me know.”

“I will,” Nia promised.

Nia and Eli walked Maya to the door and watched her until Janet opened the door and guided the girl inside.

Eli’s phone rang.

“Yeah, Jenkins? Bernadette Herringshaw, right.” Eli grabbed a notepad from the table. “Fifty-five, unmarried. We knew that part.” His pen scribbled. “Worked as a homecare aide for a while, a volunteer at the community center. Crocheting club. Local genealogical society.” He paused, brow furrowing. “Genealogy group? Where do they meet?”

Another pause. Eli nudged Nia with his elbow. “The Duskwood Library?”

Margaret Langley worked at the library.

“Thanks, Jenkins. That’s interesting. Yeah, keep me posted if anything turns up on those traffic cam recordings.”

“Genealogy group at the library?” Nia asked.

“According to Jenkins, Bernadette was big into local history and met weekly at the library with some genealogy club. Jenkins doesn’t know if Margaret Langley worked during the meeting times, but it’s possible she crossed paths with Bernadette.”

“So Bernadette and Margaret could have known each other,” Nia said. “We already suspect Bernadette knew something about the Greene family. Maybe she discovered something in those records, and Margaret found out.”

“And murdered Bernadette.”

“Seems like a stretch.”

“But it’s a lead, and this is one more than we had a minute ago.”

At the police station, it took a few minutes to sign forms before Eli secured a department cruiser. Nia leaned against a pillar in the garage bay, waiting as he checked the vehicle’s mileage and lights. When he was done, he jogged over.

“Got what we need,” he said. “Ready to rediscover your love of reading?”

The police radio squawked in the background as they drove off, heading for the Duskwood Public Library. A short while later, they arrived outside a stone building with faded banners advertising a children’s reading hour and a community bake sale. Despite the humdrum appearance, it was a crucial hub for local information.

The lobby smelled of a cleaning solvent. A librarian’s desk sat near the front, and there, arranging a stack of returned books, was Margaret Langley.

Tall, angular, with her hair pulled back into a severe bun, Langley looked up and scowled. “Oh. It’s you two. What can I do for you, Officer Mitchell?”

Nia offered a smile, sensing Margaret’s disapproval.

“We have a few more questions about Joel,” Eli said. “And maybe some about local history.”

“I’ve already told you everything.”

“New information surfaced. We were hoping you could help clarify what it means.”

Margaret glanced at the clock on the wall, as though calculating how fast she could get rid of them. “Fine. I’m on duty, but I’ve got five minutes. Follow me.”

The way she moved betrayed her reluctance, yet there was a flicker in her eyes—like she knew this conversation was inevitable. Margaret led them to an alcove near the non-fiction section, away from a handful of patrons milling about. A quiet nook lay between rows of history books and encyclopedias. She crossed her arms as soon as she stopped.

“Well?” she asked. “The five minutes are ticking away.”

Eli straightened. “Ms. Langley, we’d like to revisit some events from when you were sixteen. Specifically around the time of your father’s accident.”

“My father died in a car crash. It was a tragedy. We’ve been over this.”

“We understand,” Eli pressed, “but we’ve come across information suggesting the crash might not have been accidental.”

Margaret’s eyes locked on his, revealing her shock before she masked her emotions. “That’s absurd. If there were anything suspicious, the police would have uncovered it years ago.”

“The officer in charge of the investigation found something interesting. He believes someone deflated your father’s tire, just enough to cause a wreck if he took a curve too fast.”

“Then why didn’t the police say something twenty-five years ago? Don’t you people know how to do your jobs?”

“I know it’s difficult to talk about,” Nia said, “but the fact remains that your father was cheating on your mother. That must have caused your family a lot of pain.”

“My father wasn’t perfect, and neither was my mother. But that doesn’t mean he deserved to die.”

“Where were you last evening, Ms. Langley?” Eli asked. “We’re investigating a separate incident, and we need to confirm alibis.”

Margaret drew back. “First you imply my father was murdered, and now you accuse me of… what? What exactly happened last night?”

Choosing his words carefully, Eli said, “A woman named Bernadette Herringshaw was found dead in the woods. We believe she had information about your brother’s murder, and perhaps even knew what happened to your father.”

Margaret’s throat worked as she swallowed. “And you think I—” She stopped short, the color draining from her face. “You’re unbelievable. I was here last night, working a late shift until closing. Then I went home. Feel free to check the library’s schedule. Now, is that all?”

“What about Lenore Carlyle? We’ve learned she and your father had an affair. Did you ever speak to Lenore after his death?”

Margaret barked a disbelieving laugh. “I don’t know anyone named Lenore Carlyle. If she’s the woman my father cheated with, then I’m sure she wouldn’t come forward and introduce herself to me.”

“You’ve seen her,” Nia said.

“How is that possible?”

“Lenore Carlyle lives in Duskwood, and Bernadette Herringshaw attended the genealogy club that meets at the library.”

A long time passed as Margaret appeared to work through the implications in her head.

“This library?”

“Yes, but you knew that,” Eli said.

“I didn’t.”

“You’re withholding information. It would be better for you if you told us the truth now.”

Margaret’s nostrils flared. “So you come to my workplace and ambush me with accusations? I lost my father, I lost my brother—whom I hated, yes, but still. This is harassment.”

“Ms. Langley,” Nia said. “I remember what it was like to be sixteen. It’s a tough age, and you grew up dealing with your father’s betrayal. He was lying to your mother, and you had a front-row seat to the turmoil.”

“Don’t you dare talk to me about teenage angst. You have no idea what I went through back then. Everywhere I went, people judged me because of my father.”

Eli stepped forward, palms up in a calming gesture. “We’re not accusing you of anything. But we need to know what you remember. Whatever your father did, he died because of his infidelity. And it’s possible the same person took their vengeance against Joel.”

“Twenty years later? That’s preposterous.” Margaret’s lip curled, and she let out a trembling breath. “I’m not answering any more questions without a lawyer present. Get out. Both of you. Until you return with a warrant, I refuse to speak with you.”

“Ms. Langley, please,” Nia said. “You might be in danger too.”

“I told you to get out. I mean it.”

Her words echoed through the alcove. No one replied.

Finally, Eli nodded. “Understood, Ms. Langley. We’ll follow up through official channels.”

Margaret glared at Eli and Nia before turning on her heel and marching back to the front desk.

30

“Did you really mean what you said about Margaret possibly being in danger?” Eli asked Nia.

The interior of the cruiser was still cold from the short drive over. He’d turned on the heater, but the fan only wheezed, as if reluctant to fight a losing battle against winter.

Outside, Duskwood stretched in sad silhouettes under a low, leaden sky that felt like a funeral shroud. Weathered houses, bare lawns and a scattering of storefronts blurred past the windows. This town held secrets. It always had.

Nia stared ahead, hands clasped in her lap. “Maybe. I wanted her to trust me and open up. And I think the killer held grudges against Gerald and Joel Greene.”

Eli tapped the brakes, navigating around a pothole that yawned in the middle of the street. “And Margaret had a right to hate both. She despised her father for what he did, and she hated Joel for the way he ran the household. If you ask me, Margaret was lying about not knowing Bernadette Herringshaw.”

“She can claim ignorance all she wants, but I don’t believe it. She knew more than she was letting on.”

“There’s no way we can confront her about the accident until we get a warrant.”

They passed an abandoned lot where tangles of dead vines clung to a rusted fence. The lot seemed to watch them go, the stiff stems tapping in the breeze as if trying to gain Nia’s attention.

“She must have talked to Bernadette,” Eli said. “Even if she isn’t lying about not knowing the woman. They obviously crossed paths during the genealogy meetings. For all we know, Margaret could be in the killer’s crosshairs, just as her brother was.”

The seatbelt cut into Nia’s coat, and she adjusted it. “And if Margaret is involved, she might be helping the killer cover their tracks. Or she’s the killer herself.” She hesitated before adding, “But that doesn’t sound right to my ears.”

“Lenore Carlyle had every reason to hurt Gerald Greene, even years after the affair ended. And we know how Margaret felt about her father and brother. It’s not inconceivable that Margaret might partner with Lenore.”

A chill that had nothing to do with the temperature crawled down the back of Nia’s neck. “We have too many suspects, and not a shred of evidence to tie any of them to the murders. Why is that? A fourth person we haven’t considered?”

“I don’t know, Nia,” Eli said. “God. Moretti will have my head if I don’t solve these murders soon.”

“And he’ll never allow me to work with you again.”

They turned down a lonely stretch of road a mile from Nia’s house, the twin beams from the headlights revealing cracked asphalt. Even hours before sunset, the countryside appeared stuck in a perpetual midnight. Trees bowed forward on either side, forming a crooked tunnel.

Eli pointed at the trees. “Too much snow and ice. A few of these trees are bound to fall. And when they do, they’ll take the power lines with them.”

“Are you saying I should install a woodstove?”

“It wouldn’t hurt. Should I call a retailer?”

“Eli, you do enough for us.”

“I’m only making a suggestion.”

The heater coughed once, then spat a tepid breath that barely warmed the cabin.

“What’s our next move?” Eli asked. “Margaret shut us out, and now she’ll hide behind a lawyer. Richard Vance remains a phantom, and the hospital won’t confirm Lenore Carlyle’s alibis. That leaves us chasing our tails. Call me Madrid.”

“That makes me Luna.”

A single crow took flight from the trees, its ragged caw echoing across the snowy expanse. Eli pressed the gas, the cruiser engine rumbling as though eager to outrun the nightmare spreading across Duskwood.

Nia’s phone vibrated. Maya’s name appeared on the screen. She opened the text and read.

Still at Janet’s. We’re watching some old movie. Is everything okay?

Nia typed a reply.

“Was that Maya?” Eli asked.

“Yeah. She’s still at Janet’s house.”

“At least they’re safe.”

“And that buys us a little time.”

“Oh? You don’t want me to drop you off at the house?”

“Not yet,” she said.

As he took the next turn, the cruiser’s tires crunched over scattered gravel where the road had recently been patched. “Do you have a plan?”

“I’m thinking we should pay another visit to Richard Vance. Even if he won’t talk, we might learn more by watching him. Run a little surveillance and see what secrets shake loose.”

“That’s a worthy idea. He won’t answer if we knock. Heck, the guy refuses to take my calls.”

“We already know he isn’t employed yet lives in a wealthy neighborhood. That’s suspicious.”

“Maybe Joel Greene isn’t the only person who left Vance money.”

“Hmm. I want to follow this guy and see who he’s meeting, where he goes, how he spends his days. We know he’s lying about something. Not to mention he changed his name for several years. This guy practically has a spotlight pointing at him, telling us he’s a suspect.”

“Surveillance might be our only option. It’s a bit of a drive to Elmira, and we won’t arrive before sunset. How long do you want to leave Maya and Janet’s house?”

“If we’re back by nine, we’re okay.”

Nia realized she’d said we again, assuming Eli would stay with them. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Okay, that’s a good plan. Let’s go. Maybe we’ll get lucky and catch him attending Murderer’s Anonymous.”

Nia snickered. A breath later, a black shadow enveloped her thoughts. Vance could very well be their killer, and they were about to run surveillance on him.

Eli made a U-turn and headed toward Route 13, which would take them south. He flipped on the high beams, illuminating the centerline and the ragged shoulders where November’s wear and tear had chewed away the asphalt.

The clock read 7:00 when they arrived in Richard Vance’s neighborhood.

“Looks like he’s home,” Nia said, peering out the window at the rows of almost identical houses. Each stood behind a small yard, tidy fences, and a single car in most driveways. A light shone in Vance’s living room window.

Shutting off the headlights, Eli coasted down the quiet suburban lane. “Then we’re in luck.”

They inched closer to the house. The driveway held a black sedan near the garage. The porch light burned a fiery line across the walkway.

Eli searched the street for a spot to conceal the cruiser so they wouldn’t stick out like a neon sign. A few houses down, a short row of shrubs and a malfunctioning streetlamp provided partial cover. Across from that was a house under renovation, its yard filled with scattered plywood and an overstuffed dumpster. Perfect camouflage for a short-stay stakeout.

The cruiser nestled into the shadow beside the dumpster, partially hidden by piles of scrap wood and debris. They had a diagonal view of Vance’s driveway and the front of his house.

“We’ll sit for a while and monitor his comings and goings,” Eli said.

Nia powered off the dashboard light and glanced around. The neighborhood was still. It was too cold for anyone to venture outside.

Eli retrieved a pair of binoculars from the center console. “One advantage to a suburban stakeout—plenty of cover. One disadvantage—neighbors with prying eyes.”

Just as he spoke, Nia looked at the house to their right, where a curtain twitched in a second-story window. For now, no one seemed too curious, and she hoped it stayed that way.

“At least we don’t have to worry about someone calling the police.”

“Yeah, it would be weird to call the cops on the cops.”

Nia smirked, but her muscles remained stiff. A TV played inside the Vance residence. A silhouette moved behind the glass. For the next ten minutes, that was the only sign of life inside the home.

Time edged on in a slow crawl. Nia shifted in her seat, the cruiser’s interior growing colder as the darkness deepened. Every few minutes, a car rolled past. A neighbor returned from work, and a pizza delivery vehicle stopped down the street.

Eli lowered the binoculars. “Unless Vance leaves the house, we won’t learn much by staring at his front door. For that matter, I haven’t seen him pass the window in a long time.”

“Maybe he went to bed,” Nia offered. “He could be a boring guy who goes to sleep at nine.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Or he knows we’re watching him.”

That possibility gave Nia the goosebumps. She wondered if this was a fool’s errand—running surveillance in a quiet neighborhood on someone who might not be their murderer. In the meantime, the real psychopath might be stalking Duskwood and choosing his next target.

Finally, the light turned off in Vance’s living room. Darkness. The house looked like any other suburban home.

Eli drew a breath, rubbing his hands together. “It appears he’s calling it a night. Maybe we should too. We’ll freeze if we sit here much longer.”

Nia kept her eyes pinned to the house, expecting something to happen. “Wait a little longer.”

“You’re not cold?”

“I’m freezing, but we didn’t drive all the way to Elmira to give up so soon.”

And so they waited, time pooling around them in the spreading night.

31

The cold felt bone deep by the time Eli decided they’d waited long enough. Richard Vance was inside the house with the lights off. They had wasted their time.

As Nia buckled her seatbelt, the drone of a motor rumbled across the street. Eli stiffened.

Nia jerked her chin toward Vance’s house. The garage door was sliding open, its edges cutting a rectangle of light across the blacktop driveway. A figure stepped out, tall and cautious. Even from a distance, there was no mistaking Richard Vance.

The suspect made a slow circle, studying the suburban lane. Then he stared at the dumpster. Nia held her breath, forcing her body to remain absolutely still. Eli’s hand hovered over the keys in the ignition.

Backlit by the garage light, his gaze lingering on the very spot where they were parked, Vance didn’t move.

He knows, she thought with a prickle of unease. He sees us.

Vance disappeared into the garage, reemerged with his keys, and climbed into his sedan.

The brake lights burned like twin embers. The car reversed onto the street. Its headlights swept across the dumpster and the woodpile that concealed them. Nia gripped the edge of the seat, willing herself not to flinch.

The sedan rolled down the block, the noise from its engine fading.

Eli turned the key in the cruiser’s ignition. “Just a little longer,” he said. “Let him pass that stop sign.”

A few agonizing seconds ticked by. Nia half expected Vance’s sedan to reverse, or for the suspect to roar back at them. But the car continued into the night.

At last, Eli guided the cruiser from behind the dumpster, staying dark, headlights off. “All right. Let’s see where he’s going. But I’ll feel awfully stupid if he stops at the grocery store for bread and a gallon of milk.”

Ahead, the sedan’s beams formed perpendicular lines.

“He’s turning right,” she said. “Don’t get too close.”

“I won’t.”

Eli took the corner a full block behind, close enough to follow Vance’s taillights. They rolled past neat rows of cookie-cutter houses and into Elmira’s industrial side. Old warehouses, cracked parking lots, and a few all-night convenience stores bordered Vance’s suburban paradise.

The sedan took another right, heading for the outskirts of the city. Nia sat forward as the road widened. Strip malls gave way to open land, and the lights in the mirrors grew faint.

Eli hung back and divided his attention between Vance and his speedometer. “I can’t drop too far behind or we’ll lose him. But if we ride his bumper, he’ll recognize us.”

“You’re doing fine.” She pivoted in her seat and glanced behind them. She worried about an ambush. What if Vance knew who was following him and had someone waiting to take them out? Yet she saw nothing but the country road. Just a two-lane route stretching into the unknown.

They followed the sedan past a row of shuttered diners, then a rickety sign that read Speed Limit 45 with letters half-erased by time. Vance’s brake lights flared crimson against the empty fields. Instead of stopping, the suspect increased his speed, though he seemed careful about staying below the limit.

Eventually, city lights dwindled. They found themselves on a rural strip of roadway, flanked by forest on one side and rolling farmland on the other. A bare orchard broke the monotony.

“Where the heck is he going?” Eli asked.

Nia craned her neck. “Not to the store. I haven’t seen commerce since we left the city.”

Eli maintained his distance, resisting the urge to speed up whenever Vance disappeared over a hill. A pair of headlights moved past in the opposing lane as some lone driver headed back to Elmira. Otherwise, Nia and Eli were alone with a suspected killer.

After another fifteen minutes, the sedan’s brake lights flared again. Vance signaled left, turning down a narrow side road. Eli slowed, letting several seconds pass before he followed suit. The pavement gave way to gravel. With the cruiser’s headlights doused, it was difficult to see where they were going.

Nia’s pulse thudded in her ears.

Eli grimaced. “We’re pushing our luck. He’ll see us.”

“Stay with him for a little longer.”

In the distance, faint shapes of barns or silos loomed against the sky, ghostly outlines that became tangible when the cruiser drew closer.

The gravel road wound deeper into the countryside before dead-ending at a weather-beaten warehouse, its corrugated metal walls standing stark under a string of overhead lights. A battered sign hung crookedly near the entrance—Fletcher’s Grain & Feed, though the letters had faded to near illegibility.

From the cover of night, Eli and Nia watched as Richard Vance’s sedan stopped. The headlights cut off, leaving only the lights hanging from a dancing wire over the structure. Three other vehicles sat parked in the makeshift lot—two nondescript SUVs and a BMW.

Nia’s stomach gave a small lurch. Nothing about this felt right. They were miles from Elmira, halfway to nowhere, and Vance had pulled up to what looked like an abandoned storage site. Except it wasn’t abandoned. Not with lights blazing behind the dirt-smeared windows and multiple vehicles gathered.

“Eli,” she whispered, voice tight with unease. “We need backup.”

Eli didn’t reply, too focused on maneuvering the cruiser. He slowed, searching the darkness. A wide field lay on their right, patches of frozen mud and snow glimmering like dull quartz.

“We can’t stay on the road,” he said, pulling the wheel. “If Vance comes out, he’ll see us for sure.”

The rutted field looked like it could swallow the cruiser’s tires. “We’re going to get stuck,” she said.

Eli pressed the accelerator, the cruiser lurching as it backed onto a patch of half-frozen dirt, hidden by winter weeds. The tires spun for a moment, spitting up slush and gravel before catching hold.

“Better than being out in the open,” Eli said.

The quiet that followed felt claustrophobic. The wind rustled through the field. Dry stalks scraped against the cruiser’s doors, as if some unspeakable monster had clawed its way out of a hole. A grating sound, like fingernails on a chalkboard.

He handed Nia the binoculars, then reached for his camera under the seat. “Keep watch. I’ll snap pictures.”

Nia lifted the binoculars, the lenses reflecting her own tension back at her before she brought them up to her eyes. “Three vehicles,” she said, sweeping the scene. “Something about this situation feels off.”

“Something about this entire investigation feels off. Keep looking.”

“I am.”

Eli snapped a series of photos, zooming in on license plates. “Got ’em. We’ll run these once we’re back at the station.”

Through the binoculars, Nia scanned the warehouse’s entrance. A single industrial door stood ajar, letting a light spill across the dirt. There was no way to identify Vance from their position. Silhouettes moved behind the dirty windows, but it was impossible to make out faces.

“Lights on, and multiple cars in the middle of nowhere,” she said. “Eli, this isn’t safe.”

Eli studied one of the SUVs, its back window plastered with a half-torn sticker. Something about a hunting club. “It’s not a social gathering. Could be a deal, could be something else.”

“Drugs? Weapons? You should call the sheriff’s department.”

“All I see are several people inside a warehouse. Until I have proof…”

He took another shot with his camera, adjusting the shutter speed for the low light. “If a half-dozen sheriff’s vehicles converge on the warehouse, Vance will disappear. And if this guy killed Joel Greene, I can’t let him get away.”

“We’re sitting ducks.”

The sign outside Fletcher’s Grain & Feed creaked, swinging from a single chain. Nia knew they were standing on the edge of a chasm.

This gathering was too dangerous for one private investigator and a police officer outside his jurisdiction.

32

The old warehouse conspired with the night, concealing whatever devilry took place behind its doors. Clouds rolled across the moon, casting ragged shadows over the frozen field where Eli and Nia waited.

Thirty minutes had elapsed since Vance had disappeared inside. Thirty minutes of Nia’s pulse thudding in her ears. The wind became a disembodied whisper, warning them of unseen dangers.

Nia felt like an intruder in this forbidden place. The headlights were off, the engine cold, and she found her mind wandering to horrors from nightmares—deals gone wrong, bodies dragged through these empty fields, unspeakable bargains sealed inside this building.

At her side, Eli sat rigid with the camera in his lap. He hadn’t snapped a picture in at least ten minutes. There was nothing to capture until the people inside emerged.

Then the warehouse’s side door slammed open. A tall man stepped onto the concrete stoop and lit a cigarette, the orange flame catching the hard angles of his face. Nia froze, every cell in her body telling her to stay motionless as the man shifted his attention to the parking lot.

He took a single drag then paused, exhaling a swirl of smoke into the air. His eyes slid across the field and finally came to rest on the half-hidden cruiser.

Nia’s chest buckled. The man’s stare pinned them as if he were a predator sighting movement in a nest of prey. He flicked the cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his heel. With one more look, he vanished inside the warehouse.

“We’re burned,” Nia said. “He saw us.”

“Yeah,” Eli said. “Let’s get out of here. Now.”

He turned the key, and the cruiser’s engine roared, headlights cutting across the snowy ruts. The tires spun, slinging slush and mud. They refused to catch. The vehicle lurched, rocked, but didn’t move forward.

“Eli,” Nia said.

“I’ve got it. Give me a second.”

He reversed direction, then shifted forward. The tires spun uselessly.

A flash of movement at the warehouse entrance caught Nia’s attention. Three figures surged outside: two men flanking a taller shape in the middle—Richard Vance, his silhouette unmistakable. One man hefted a weapon, the steel glinting under the outdoor lamp. An automatic rifle.

“Move, move, move!” she yelled.

Eli wrenched the wheel and pressed down on the gas. The engine whined; the cruiser rocked again, tires still spinning in the mire of mud and snow.

Time stopped. Through the windshield, Nia saw the man lift the rifle and aim it at the cruiser.

The ground gave beneath the cruiser’s rear tires. A sudden lurch snapped Nia’s head back as they gripped firmer ground. Eli stomped the pedal, and the cruiser ripped forward.

Bullets sprayed the air and a metallic crack ricocheted against the pavement. Nia ducked, terror coursing through her veins.

The cruiser bounded onto the gravel road, fishtailing before rocketing toward the county highway.

When she dared glance back, all she saw was the distant glow of the warehouse lights and the silhouettes of men in frantic motion.

Eli drove hard, chest heaving, eyes locked on the path forward. Neither spoke. The cruiser’s engine howled as they sped away from Fletcher’s Grain & Feed, away from Vance and his armed associates.

When he put enough distance between the cruiser and the attackers, Eli radioed the county sheriff, knowing they were outside of Elmira PD’s jurisdiction. Nia kept looking over her shoulder. She expected the killers to race up on their bumper, but no headlights appeared.

At the corner of Harbor Road and County Route 316, the flashing lights of two sheriff’s vehicles appeared behind them. Nia and Eli had followed the reports over the police radio. The deputies had found the warehouse empty, the vehicles long gone.

Nia and Eli didn’t speak. Neither could. Mud from their frantic escape caked the windshield, and the reek of burned rubber clung to the air. A dog barked somewhere out of sight, one of the K-9 units the sheriff’s department had brought along.

A tall woman with shoulder-length brown hair pinned back in a no-nonsense ponytail stepped out of a sheriff’s cruiser. The name tag on her vest read M. Bell.

“Any chance her name is Ma Bell?” Eli asked.

Nia wanted to laugh but couldn’t. They had almost died.

The woman marched toward them with authority.

“You must be Mitchell,” she said, glancing through the lowered window. “And you’re the PI?”

“Nia Carter,” Nia answered.

The sharpness in the woman’s gaze said she was none too pleased. “I’m Sheriff Marianne Bell. My deputies swept the property. That warehouse is empty. Any idea who shot at you?”

“Only Richard Vance. I don’t know who the others were.”

The sheriff harrumphed. “How many?”

“At least three, probably four. One had an automatic rifle.”

“And you two followed these men to a warehouse by yourselves?”

“We were surveilling a suspect related to a homicide in Duskwood.”

“Vance, correct.”

“That’s right. Vance led us here. We had no idea who he was meeting with.”

The sheriff’s lips thinned in disapproval. “Chief Moretti gave Elmira PD a heads-up that you’d be watching Vance, and they reached out to us. But surveilling an abandoned building full of armed men? You risked more than your own lives tonight.”

Nia flinched at the rebuke.

“We never intended to go inside,” Eli said. “And until the men emerged with guns, we didn’t know what they were up to.”

“And all we know is some guy named Richard Vance was part of this crew?”

“I have photos of the license plates on the vehicles.”

The sheriff growled with frustration and walked off to speak with a deputy. When she turned back, her voice was calmer. “I’ll need those pictures, Officer Mitchell. My people are checking for prints, bullet casings, anything that will give us a lead. In the meantime, I’ll run those plates.”

Eli dug his camera from under the seat. He flipped through the images, pointing out the license plates. Bell snapped photos of the camera’s screen with her phone, then marched to her own unit and fed them into the system.

Nia released a breath. Only a short while ago, she was certain they would both die, their bodies riddled with bullets. She couldn’t leave Maya without a mother. Now she shivered beside Eli in the cruiser, though the heat was high enough for sweat to bead across her forehead.

Minutes passed.

“This is taking a long time,” Nia said.

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” Eli replied, watching the sheriff’s vehicle through his mirror.

Nia looked down at her hands. They trembled, unable to rest. Eli kept the engine idling to ward off the night. A rivulet of sweat ran down his temple—whether from the heat or raw nerves, Nia wasn’t sure.

“I’m glad we made it,” Nia said. Her voice quivered. “There was a moment when I thought…” She exhaled, closing her eyes. “Maya almost lost me.”

Eli laid a hand on hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You and me both,” he said. “I still see bullets ripping through the glass.”

He fell silent. Another breath, another second, and they could have been gunned down by a rifle-wielding maniac.

“All that matters is we’re alive,” Eli said at last.

Nia brushed the edge of her sleeve across her forehead. “What on earth is Richard Vance up to?”

“Tonight’s incident proves he’s a killer.”

“But did he murder Bernadette and Officer Greene?”

Seconds dragged into minutes. Nia couldn’t stop wondering who Richard Vance was working with. Who would fire on a police officer without hesitation? They kept glancing at the SUV the sheriff had vanished into, waiting for her to emerge with an answer.

“Here she comes,” Eli said, spotting movement.

The sheriff lumbered up to Eli’s cruiser with an ashen face. Her vehicle’s headlights flattened her features, making it appear as if every line on her face had been carved there. The officer’s breath condensed in the frosty air.

“Officer Mitchell, Ms. Carter. I ran those plates against the national database and got a hit on one of them. The black BMW.”

Eli straightened. “Yes, ma’am. The one near the entrance.”

The woman looked as though she’d swallowed something sour. “That BMW belongs to a man named Anton ‘Tony’ Scarpelli. You heard of him?”

Nia’s mouth went dry. The name reverberated with menace. Scarpelli popped up in crime reports and headlines about racketeering and violence. Buffalo’s organized underworld was lurking in these rural outskirts.

The sheriff read the shock in their eyes. “He’s wanted in connection with a major crime syndicate out of Buffalo. The FBI has kept him on their radar for years. We contacted the feds. They’ll be here before sunrise.” She looked over her shoulder at her deputies, wrestling with how much she wanted to say to Eli and Nia. “Whoever Richard Vance is, you kicked a hornet’s nest. And this nest is a hell of a lot bigger than any of us can handle.”

Eli looked just as stunned as Nia felt. A crime syndicate? Richard Vance was a mobster working for Tony Scarpelli. A trained killer.

“After the debriefing, I suggest you head back to Duskwood,” the sheriff said. “But expect a phone call. The feds may want to talk to you.”

The woman stalked off, leaving Nia in a dizzy haze of disbelief.

Had Vance murdered Joel Greene and Bernadette Herringshaw?

33

It was much too early for an argument. Nia had hardly slept the previous night, and now she sat beside Eli in Chief Moretti’s office.

Nia and Eli sat on one side of the table, arms folded and shoulders tense, while two irate FBI agents occupied the other. A red-faced Moretti paced; he couldn’t sit.

Agent Jillian Hart, tall and sharp-featured, flipped through a stack of files, and Agent Curtis Bowen, clean-cut and gray-haired, fought to restrain himself.

Chief Moretti looked more flustered than ever, his tie pulled loose around his neck. He cleared his throat. “Agents, we appreciate you coming to Duskwood on short notice.” His eyes darted to Nia and Eli. “But let’s keep this civil.”

“Civil?” Agent Hart stared bullets at the chief. “You expect us to be civil after what these two pulled last night?” She turned a cutting gaze on Eli and Nia. “Scarpelli is one of the most dangerous men in upstate New York. You followed him and his associates to a clandestine meet site. Alone.”

Nia forced herself not to bristle at the rebuke. Her heart still pounded as she remembered the muzzle flashes and the spinning cruiser tires, but she held her composure. Eli shifted in his seat.

Bowen leaned forward, pen in hand. “Do you realize you jeopardized not only your own lives, but the ongoing investigation we have on Scarpelli’s operation? We’ve been building a case for months. And you two almost blew the entire investigation.”

“We had no idea Scarpelli was involved,” Nia said. “We were tailing a suspect named Richard Vance, someone connected to multiple murders in Duskwood. The situation escalated before we understood what we were up against.”

Agent Hart snapped the folder shut. “You went in without backup. No coordination with local law enforcement besides your own department, who”—she glanced at Moretti with disapproval—“didn’t bother to alert the county sheriff’s department.”

Chief Moretti let out a long sigh, rubbing a hand over his brow. “Sheriff Bell is furious. She claims you two put her officers at risk and forced them to scramble their resources. I’m catching flak from all sides. The phone’s been ringing nonstop this morning.”

Eli spread his hands. “We didn’t mean to step on anyone’s toes. We were just following our only lead and trying to catch a killer.”

“That lead just happened to be in bed with one of the largest crime syndicates in Buffalo,” Bowen said. “You’re lucky to be alive, Officer Mitchell. You too, Ms. Carter.”

Though Nia wanted to defend their choices, Agent Hart was right. They had taken a dangerous gamble. If the tires hadn’t caught in time, neither she nor Eli would be here to argue about it. It had been foolish to follow Vance without alerting the sheriff’s department. And when they’d spotted the other vehicles, they should have stood down.

Moretti cleared his throat again, trying to regain control. “Look, Agents—Officer Mitchell didn’t know Scarpelli was working outside Elmira. Officer Mitchell and Ms. Carter were investigating the murders of Joel Greene and Bernadette Herringshaw. Richard Vance is a key suspect.”

“We don’t want to derail your murder investigation,” Hart said. “But now that Scarpelli is on the table, our priorities have changed. The FBI can’t afford to have your department bungling around with a known syndicate.”

“We understand,” Moretti muttered, turning to Nia and Eli as his cheeks grew even redder. “Both of you are on thin ice. I can’t protect you if you step out of line again.”

Agent Bowen looked at his partner. “Agent Hart and I will station a team in Elmira. We’ll keep eyes on Scarpelli and his associates. In the meantime, stay out of their way.”

Eli nodded, though his jaw was clenched so hard Nia worried he’d crack a tooth. “Yes, sir,” he said.

Nia dipped her head, forcing a cooperative smile. “We want this resolved just as much as you do.”

“I hope that’s true, Ms. Carter,” Hart said. “Because any further confrontation or unauthorized pursuit will cause us to name you both for obstructing a federal investigation. We clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Officer Mitchell and Ms. Carter, let me make one thing clear: Richard Vance is federal business now.”

Eli squared his shoulders as indignation crossed his face. “Vance is a suspect in two homicides in our jurisdiction. We can’t drop the investigation.”

Moretti’s face drained of blood.

Agent Bowen stepped forward, leveling his eyes at Eli’s. “We’re not telling you to drop your murder investigation—only that Vance is hands-off. He’s tied to Scarpelli’s syndicate, and the FBI has first claim on him. Period.”

“With all due respect, Agent, we have evidence that Vance may have killed Joel Greene and Bernadette Herringshaw. We can’t allow a murderer to go free.”

“I’m well aware of the murders. But this isn’t a local crime anymore. Vance is a key player in federal racketeering and conspiracy. If you interfere, you jeopardize our entire operation.”

“We don’t even know where he is,” Eli pressed, trying to keep his voice calm. “He disappeared after the warehouse shootout. Don’t you think it makes sense for us to coordinate a search?”

“No. We have our own team in place, including resources you don’t. You’ll receive updates when necessary, but Duskwood PD isn’t to get involved.”

“How do you expect us to catch a killer if you cut us off from the prime suspect?”

Hart gave Eli a reproachful look. “We understand your frustration. But you’ve already put yourselves in jeopardy once by tailing Vance unprepared. The stakes are too high now, especially with Scarpelli involved.” Agent Hart turned her focus back to Nia. “This isn’t a power play. It’s about public safety. If Vance resurfaces, our agents will apprehend him. If we decide he’s not integral to our case, we’ll pass him back to you. But until then, leave it alone.”

Nia’s throat felt tight.

“I’m sorry about your murders, truly,” Bowen said. “But if you keep chasing Vance, you’ll end up dead yourselves. Or you’ll drive him further underground. Neither helps your investigation, nor ours.”

“So you want us to do nothing?” Eli asked.

“There are other angles to your homicide case. You can focus on those. Maybe Vance isn’t your killer.”

“Like hell he isn’t.”

He stepped aside, gesturing for them to pass.

The anger and helplessness on Eli’s face was apparent. But there was no winning this battle. The FBI had jurisdiction and more resources, and they weren’t giving ground.

Bowen and Hart exited Moretti’s office. “We’ll be in contact,” Hart called, her tone leaving no room for debate.

Eli looked as if he wanted to punch a wall. Nia looped her arm through his, closing the door to shut out the uniformed officers who’d overheard the tail end of their conversation.

Just when Nia thought the storm had passed, Chief Moretti slammed the door to his office with a force that rattled the pane. He rounded on Eli and Nia, jabbing a finger in their direction.

“You two disgraced my department,” he growled, his face still flushed beneath the thin layer of sweat on his brow. “You disgraced me and Duskwood. If I had any other options, I’d yank you both off this case so fast your heads would spin.”

Nia squeezed Eli’s arm in an unspoken plea to keep his temper in check.

“Let’s remember,” Moretti continued, “we still have two murders on our hands, and the media is turning us into a laughingstock.”

“Chief,” Eli said, “Vance is our guy.”

Moretti cut him off with a raised hand. “We don’t know what Vance’s motivation is. The FBI might be right. Maybe he isn’t our murderer. Don’t forget, you have two other suspects—Margaret Langley and Lenore Carlyle.”

“We only have circumstantial evidence against them, sir,” Nia said. “Margaret had plenty of resentment toward her family, but the motive isn’t clear enough for murder. As for Lenore Carlyle? Sure, she despised Gerald Greene. But did she really kill Joel? And what about Bernadette Herringshaw?”

Lines of tension creased Eli’s forehead. “Bernadette obviously knew something, and it got her killed. I’ll admit, Carlyle might have had a reason to shut her up. But I can’t picture Carlyle hauling Bernadette’s body through the forest.”

“Then you’d better figure out who did,” Moretti said. “With Vance off-limits, you two need to focus on Langley and Carlyle.”

“And if the FBI is wrong about Vance?”

“We don’t have a choice. The agents made it clear Vance is under their purview. You’ve done enough to tick them off. I don’t want you poking around Vance. We’re on thin ice, people. If I hear you’ve gone behind the FBI’s back, Eli will be filing traffic citations until the day he retires, assuming I don’t can him outright.” Moretti stepped closer to Nia. “And I’ll ruin your name and ensure you get nowhere near another Duskwood PD investigation.”

Moretti glowered for another heartbeat, then exhaled, as though trying to keep his rage from erupting.

“I want results. Today. Interview Langley again if you have to. I’ll ensure you get your warrant. Track down Lenore Carlyle, but stay out of the FBI’s way, for the love of God. Get out of my office. And don’t come back until you’ve got something solid.”

34

Nia pulled her coat together as Eli shut off the cruiser. They sat outside Lenore Carlyle’s residence, but it appeared no one was home. Again, the hospital staff had refused to give them information about the nurse. A neglected hedge spread spindly branches across the front lawn, and the windows were dark, reflecting the pale midday sky.

Eli craned his head. “The house appears empty.”

Half expecting a curtain to twitch or a figure to peer out from the shadows, Nia searched the windows. Nothing. The sky spat flurries upon the windshield.

“It’s possible Lenore left town,” Nia said.

“If she did, her employer would never tell us.”

“Did the judge issue a warrant for Margaret Langley?”

“Not yet. You want to sit here for who knows how long, or do you want to search the yard?”

“No sense in waiting for a woman who might be long gone.”

Outside, their eyes roved over the empty yard and the rows of bare shrubs. There were no footprints in the fresh snowpack covering the walkway. The mailbox bulged with flyers and envelopes.

Nia rose on tiptoes and checked the window. Lenore had drawn the curtains before leaving. A sense of unease prickled along Nia’s arms. “If Lenore is innocent, she should want to talk to us about Bernadette. They were supposedly friends.”

“Friends kill to save themselves. It’s just that I can’t picture a fifty-six-year-old woman hauling a dead body through the forest. Why would she kill Bernadette, anyhow?”

“To hide a secret? People do unexpected things under stress. Bernadette knew something that threatened Lenore. The question is: what?”

Eli turned in a circle. “We keep coming back to the same conversation. Neither of us know what Bernadette learned, or if it had anything to do with Joel and Gerald Greene. And it was Margaret Langley who crossed paths with Bernadette at the library. How does that tie into the murders? Unless Bernadette unearthed some dark family secret, I can’t see the connection.”

“That’s it,” Nia said, feeling a surge of excitement. “Bernadette was into local history and genealogical research. She dug into records. Perhaps she found something about Joel or Gerald Greene that Lenore didn’t want getting out.”

“That’s a stretch. You’re talking about decades-old records. If there was a dirty secret buried in there, wouldn’t Margaret or Joel have known?”

“Margaret was a teenager when Gerald died, and Joel apparently had secrets of his own. A genealogist would spot the missing piece.”

Eli rubbed his chin. “And this supposed ‘missing piece’ was important enough to get her killed? I’ll entertain the possibility. But if Lenore was involved in some drama with the Greene family, we have no evidence.”

They rounded the front yard, the chill seeping through their jackets. The sun offered little warmth, a pale disk in the washed-out sky.

“Still, you can’t deny the possibility. Bernadette might know why Joel left his money to Richard Vance.”

“You’re still guessing.” He shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “All right. Lenore hasn’t been home since the snow started this morning. She has to return eventually.”

“Unless she’s the latest victim.”

“Don’t go there.” Eli spun the key ring around his finger. “I don’t see a reason for us to freeze to death. Race you back to the cruiser?”

“I’m too cold to run, but I could go for a little heat.”

“Let’s hope the cruiser obeys.” Eli eyed the silent house one last time, then turned back toward the vehicle. “We’re not leaving until Lenore returns.”

They settled inside, and Eli cranked the ignition. Nia grimaced at the dashboard clock, which read one o’clock. She needed to be home by three, when Maya got off the bus.

“Relax,” Eli said, reading her anxiety. “I’ll get you home on time today.”

The heater groaned, blasting a half-hearted stream of tepid air that barely combated the cold seeping in through the windows. Outside, the snow intensified, dusting the windshield in a powdery layer that only cleared when the wind gusted.

They watched Lenore’s house without speaking. Every so often, Nia searched the mirrors, hoping a car would come down the road.

“I’m getting a bad feeling about this,” she said.

“Relax. Lenore is probably at work. If she was missing, the hospital staff would have told us.”

Nia reclined the seat and blew on her fingers. “I just hope we’re not waiting here for nothing.”

A pair of headlights came around the corner, illuminating the swirling snow.

“Who is that?” Eli asked. “It’s snowing too hard to tell if that’s her car.”

The vehicle slowed as it approached the house—a compact car, hard to identify in the storm.

Eli sat up. “Could be her.”

As if debating whether to pull in, the car crawled past. For a moment, the red glow of brake lights flared. Then the car eased away, continuing down the street.

“That’s Lenore’s car. I recognize the dent on the passenger door.”

He put the cruiser into gear and left the curb. Nia’s stomach did a queasy little flip. Lenore had spotted the cruiser and kept going.

They fell in behind the car, watching as it glided through a stop sign and turned onto a narrow road bordered by a strip of suburban houses. A gust of wind shoved the cruiser into the oncoming lane, where a salt truck was barreling up the road. Horns blared. As Nia’s heart leaped into her throat, Eli cranked the wheel and saved them from certain death.

Lenore kept driving, undisturbed by the storm. A man shoveling the sidewalk watched the two vehicles rumble past.

“She knows we’re behind her and isn’t stopping,” Nia said.

“I’ll do something about that.”

Eli turned on the siren and lights. Lenore didn’t stop.

“There’s no way she can run,” Eli said. “The road conditions are too dangerous.”

“What if she doesn’t pull over? I think you should call it in and ask for backup.”

He looked as if he wanted to argue but didn’t. After the previous night’s mistake, he was playing it safe. Eli radioed for another cruiser to provide backup. He gritted his teeth and battled to keep the cruiser from going into a skid. How was Lenore able to navigate the storm without slipping?

With another officer on the way, Eli hit the siren again. This time, Lenore slowed her car, which drifted toward the curb.

Eli brought the cruiser to a sliding halt behind Lenore’s car, the tires churning up slush and sending a light spray across the curb. The blue and red lights cast strobes across the sea of white, making the scene appear surreal.

Lenore’s sedan idled crookedly at the side of the road. Through the storm-blurred windshield, it was impossible to see if she was moving inside.

Eli killed the siren but left the lights flashing. He drew a steadying breath. She knew he was always wary of hidden weapons. “Stay put,” he ordered. “If she’s armed, one misstep can turn this sideways.”

Nia was already unfastening her seat belt, her attention trained on the car. “I’m going with you.”

Eli shot her a sharp look. “Nia.”

“I’m not sitting in the car,” she said. “You asked me to partner with you, and that’s what I intend to do.”

A second cruiser stopped behind them. Brad Jenkins had arrived. The officer hopped out, one hand close to his sidearm, scanning Lenore’s car with caution.

Eli cursed under his breath. “Stay behind us, Nia, and do what I say.”

They exited the cruiser, boots sinking into the snow along the road’s edge. After briefing Jenkins on the situation, Eli signaled for the officer to fan out on the passenger side. Nia approached behind Eli’s left shoulder, half-shielded by him as they advanced.

The swirling snow muffled every sound except the engines and the hiss of the wind. Nia’s mouth went dry, the memory of last night fresh in her mind.

His weapon holstered but ready, Eli walked along the driver’s side. He made a slow approach, leaning forward to address the occupant without stepping into a blind spot. Jenkins circled around the back of the sedan, coming up on the passenger side with his hand resting on his own firearm, prepared to draw if things went south.

After what seemed like an eternity, Lenore lowered the window. Snow gusted in, spattering the interior with flakes. She gazed out, eyes oddly distant. The cruiser lights revealed her smudged eyeliner and an expression torn between fear and resolve.

“Lenore Carlyle,” Eli said. “Shut off the engine, please.”

She hesitated, then reached over and twisted the key.

“Step out of the vehicle,” Eli continued, one hand lifted in a placating gesture, the other near his belt. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

Lenore’s eyes jumped to Nia, who hovered just behind Eli.

“I have done nothing wrong,” Lenore said.

“You refused to stop for a police officer,” Eli said. “That’s an offense. Step out of the car. Now.”

A tense second passed. Lenore’s ragged breathing was audible over the storm. Then Lenore pushed the door open. She slid one leg out, her coat brushing the seat, hands visible in front of her.

Jenkins stepped closer and peered inside the vehicle. Eli took a half-step back, giving the murder suspect space as she emerged. Flakes clung to her hair; her expression had changed into one of guarded anger and confusion.

“Lenore Carlyle, you’re under arrest for failure to comply with a lawful order and refusing to stop,” Eli said. “Put your hands on the hood.”

Lenore pressed her lips together, but turned obediently, placing her palms on the wet metal. The snow hissed as it hit the still warm surface. “You’re making a mistake.”

“Am I? Why don’t you tell me about the mistake I’m making?”

Eli read Lenore her rights. Jenkins remained on high alert, scanning the street and the small knots of neighbors peering through their windows.

Within minutes, Lenore was in handcuffs. Her eyes met Nia’s as if imploring the private investigator to intervene.

They placed the suspect in Eli’s cruiser, and Jenkins followed them back to the station.

But had they arrested the killer?

35

The interview room was unremarkable—plain gray walls, a single table, three chairs, and a fluorescent light that buzzed overhead with a maddening hum. Lenore Carlyle sat on one side, arms folded defensively, dark circles beneath her eyes betraying stress or lack of sleep. Eli had removed the cuffs, hoping to win the woman’s trust. Nia didn’t expect the ploy would work.

Opposite Lenore, Eli and Jenkins flanked the table, while Nia stood off to the side, leaning against the wall.

The room smelled of window cleaner and anxiety, scents that seemed to permeate every police station.

Eli placed a file on the metal table. “All right, Lenore. We read you your rights. You understand why you’re here?”

Lenore huffed, not meeting his eyes. “Because I didn’t stop for you when you flipped your lights on.”

“And?” Jenkins pressed.

“You think I killed Bernadette Herringshaw?” she asked.

“Is that why you ran?” asked Eli.

“I didn’t run.”

“But you refused to return home. Why?”

“I knew the second I saw your cruiser that you’d try to pin the murder on me.”

Eli set his forearms on the table. “If you’re innocent, why run?”

“Can you blame me? After what happened to Bernadette, I figured you’d look for a scapegoat.”

Across the table, Jenkins glanced at his notes. He spoke with a subdued calm. “Lenore, we need an explanation for your actions. You saw Eli and Nia. Why drive off instead of answering their questions?”

“I panicked. Listen, I’m not…I’m not the killer, okay? I didn’t want you to arrest me for something I didn’t do.”

Nia walked closer to Lenore. “Bernadette was your friend, right?”

A tear crawled out of Lenore’s eye. “We hit it off as soon as I moved back to Duskwood.”

“When was the last time you spoke to Bernadette?” Eli asked.

“Four or five days ago. Bernadette said she had an important question to ask. I brushed her off because I’d worked a double shift at the hospital and didn’t want to deal.”

“Deal with what?”

“I don’t know. Bernadette is…was a beautiful person. But she was also a gossip.”

“And you never liked gossips, especially after what happened in Seneca Falls.”

“I told you I didn’t kill Bernadette,” Lenore said.

“Tell me about the afternoon and evening two days ago. Where were you?”

Lenore stiffened. “After you interviewed me, I had to get out of the house.”

“Did something I asked strike a nerve?”

“You brought up ghosts I wanted to keep buried. How long before I can put Gerald Greene and that stupid affair behind me?”

Eli clicked his pen. “Where did you go after the interview?”

“Shopping.”

“Alone?”

She shrugged again. “Yes.”

No alibi.

“Duskwood isn’t a big city,” Nia said. “Certainly someone saw you.”

“I stopped at a few stores. A secondhand shop on Maple, and the grocery near Main. I paid cash, and I doubt anyone remembers me.”

“Receipts?”

“I recycled them. The garbage pickup was yesterday morning.”

“You realize how that looks, right?” Eli asked. “Bernadette was murdered during the afternoon, shortly after we left your neighborhood. You were alone, and no one can vouch for you.”

“I realize how it looks, but it’s the truth. Come on. I had no reason to kill Bernadette.”

“Bernadette was more than a gossip. She kept herself busy with genealogy studies. I believe she found something so damaging, you’d do anything to keep her quiet.”

Lenore’s face paled. “I’m not a murderer.”

Eli didn’t speak. This was a tactic to rattle a suspect or coax her to keep talking. Lenore’s eyes dropped to the table.

Finally, Eli rapped his knuckles against the tabletop. “Okay, Lenore. Here’s the situation. You have no alibi for Bernadette’s murder. You fled from an officer, and you had motives to kill Bernadette and Joel Greene.”

“Oh, please. You can’t be serious.”

“Until we confirm your whereabouts, you’re under suspicion.”

“I told you, I was out shopping.”

“If you want to help yourself,” Nia said, “give us something that confirms your alibi. Perhaps you spoke to a clerk or ran into a friend.”

“No matter what I say, you won’t believe me.”

“If you’re innocent, prove it,” Eli said.

“Is that how it works in Duskwood? Guilty until proven innocent? No wonder nobody trusts the police.”

Lenore Carlyle leaned back in her chair, fingers knitting restlessly.

Eli flipped open a file on the table. “Lenore, we uncovered additional evidence regarding Gerald Greene’s death twenty years ago.”

Her lips parted, an anxious flicker crossing her eyes. “That was an accident.”

“Turns out the tire didn’t blow on its own.” Eli paused for effect. “Someone let out enough air by cutting the sidewall. It seemed this person wanted the tire to blow at a high speed. That’s murder, Lenore.”

“And you think I did it? Gerald made a fool of me, but he died fifteen years after the affair ended. If I’d wanted to kill him, why did I wait so long?”

“Because the gossip never ended, and it pushed you over the edge.”

“Call it a pattern,” Jenkins said. “Gerald Greene cheated on his wife with you. He ended up dead. Joel Greene, his son—also dead. Bernadette Herringshaw? She knew something about Joel’s murder. And now she’s dead too.”

“You’re painting me like some deranged angel of death,” Lenore said. “Your accusations won’t hold up in court.”

“Everyone who crosses paths with you, who’s wronged you, ends up dead,” Eli said. “Tell me that’s just a coincidence.”

“I want a lawyer.”

“As you wish. But the evidence is piling up against you.”

Nia slid into a chair across from the suspect. “Lenore, I understand you feel cornered, but can you see how it looks from our perspective?”

“If you cared about justice, you’d see how preposterous this is. Gerald was a lying cheat. I didn’t know Joel, but the apple never falls far from the tree. I’m sorry they’re dead, but I didn’t do it.”

“Give us something that backs up your innocence. Because right now the evidence keeps pointing at you.”

“No more talking until my lawyer arrives.”

“All right,” Eli said. “We’ll honor your request.”

He rapped twice on the door, which opened to reveal a uniformed officer waiting in the hallway. “Take Ms. Carlyle to holding. I’ll arrange for her to see legal counsel.”

The officer stepped in. He guided Lenore to her feet, cuffing her hands behind her back.

“You’re locking me up?” Lenore asked.

“You left us with no choice.”

Despite her earlier defiance, Lenore looked drained now, her posture sagging, face set in resignation. She looked back at Nia as the officer led her out of the room.

When the door shut, only Nia, Eli, and Jenkins remained.

Eli slipped the file under his arm, shaking his head. “We’ve got nothing concrete. If she’s guilty, we haven’t found the proof. Any decent lawyer will have her out by morning.”

“Agreed,” Jenkins said. “You can’t hold her on suspicion alone. I’ve got to get back to my cases before Moretti has a conniption. Another day, another mountain of paperwork.”

“Thanks for the backup,” Eli said, tiredness pulling at his features. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “We’ll see how things shake out after the lawyer arrives.”

After Jenkins left, Eli groaned. “We’re back to square one. The FBI won’t let us investigate Vance, and our best remaining suspect has nothing but circumstantial evidence against her.”

“We’re missing a connection,” Nia said. “Something that links Gerald Greene’s accident to the recent murders. Even if Vance is our guy, why would he kill all these people?”

“Excellent question. I wish I had an answer.” Eli shifted the file from one arm to the other. “You ready to go? I’ll drive you home. Maya will want to see you.”

“All right, Eli. Sorry that I couldn’t be of more help.”

36

Nia brushed the snowflakes out of her hair and watched Eli’s cruiser rumble down the road and disappear. She stayed on the porch a moment longer before fishing the keys out of her pocket.

Finally, she unlocked the door. Luna and Madrid rushed at her, paws scrabbling on the hardwood floor. Their excitement brought a fleeting smile to her face. The dogs were her anchors to a normal life.

“Easy, you two,” she said, scratching behind their ears. Luna licked her hand, tail wagging so hard her entire backside wiggled. Madrid snuffled around Nia’s legs as if checking for snacks.

She slid off her coat and tossed it over a kitchen chair. The clock on the microwave read 2:52 p.m. She had ten or fifteen minutes before Maya arrived on the bus.

Nia bent to scoop a stray dog toy from the floor. “Any big adventures while I was gone?” she asked.

They just barked and chased each other around the kitchen. She took the dogs outside, then brought them in and filled their bowls with fresh kibble.

All the while, her thoughts drifted to Richard Vance. Vance had ties to Tony Scarpelli and his Buffalo crime syndicate. The man was a trained killer, and that made him a prime suspect in Joel Greene’s murder. Joel had left everything in his will to Vance. Perhaps Vance had wanted the money and decided to kill Joel, instead of waiting decades for the officer to die of old age.

But why kill Bernadette Herringshaw? Why would Vance murder a random woman in Duskwood? Had Bernadette learned something about Joel Greene’s murder?

Nia dropped into a chair and steepled her fingers. She considered the details about Gerald Greene’s accident. Vance was fifteen when Gerald Greene died. The teen had been a long way from becoming a notorious gangster. It seemed unlikely that he’d killed Gerald Greene, though he grew up in the same town.

That left Lenore Carlyle. If anyone had a reason to murder Gerald, it was her.

Nia’s gut clenched. There were too many unknowns, too many phantoms haunting this case.

A bark from Luna broke her reverie. The dog looked at her expectantly.

At the same time, the unmistakable rumble of the school bus stopped along the road. Maya was home.

“Let’s go see your sister.”

Nia headed into the living room. Beyond the window, the storm had ceased, but the battleship-gray sky warned of more weather on the way. She opened the door as Maya, backpack in one hand and jacket slung over a shoulder, hurried inside.

“Hey, Mom.”

“You couldn’t wait to remove your jacket inside the house?”

“I’m hungry. Do we have vanilla wafers?”

“Uh, I think so. Unless you finished the box last week.”

“Nope. I’m starving.”

“How was the bus ride?”

Maya shrugged, dumping her backpack on the table. “Long, loud, and I think the heater is broken. I was literally puffing out cumulus clouds.” She looked around the room, as if searching for someone. “Is Eli stopping by? I was sort of hoping he’d make dinner again.”

“Eli is busy at the station. He might not make it tonight.”

“Is that the murder case everyone is talking about?”

Nia dodged the question. Eli had a lot on his plate. “Speaking of which, what do you want for dinner?”

“I heard some upperclassmen talking about a second body found in the woods.”

“We’re discussing dinner. Let’s not talk about police work. Did you get your math test back?”

“I did. Ended up with a 100. Eli’s trig tips helped.”

“A perfect score? That’s amazing.”

“Well, it was actually a 96,” Maya said, “but I got four points of extra credit.”

“Still, that’s incredible. You should be proud.”

“I kinda am. If Eli isn’t joining us, how about we do something simple tonight?”

“Like?”

“Pasta or grilled cheese?”

“I’ve had my fill of pasta,” Nia said. “But I’m happy to make grilled cheese. How about sandwiches and bowls of tomato soup?”

“Perfect on a cruddy day.”

The kitchen was awash in the glow of the overhead lamp, its worn yellow shade drawing a circle of light over the countertops. Maya stood beside the stove, tilting a mason jar of tomato soup into a pot. Nia balanced slices of cheese on pieces of buttered bread, moving them onto the hot skillet.

“You know,” Nia said, pressing gently on the sandwiches with a spatula, “I think grilled cheese and tomato soup should become the official dinner of snow days.”

Maya smiled, stirring the soup slowly so it wouldn’t scorch. “Works for me. I like how easy it is. And it’s yummy, so that’s a plus.”

“With the way November is starting, you might have lots of snow days this year.”

“Oh, that would be the best.”

In the background, Luna and Madrid paced, hopeful for a stray piece of cheese or crust. Nia tossed them a couple of tidbits, earning appreciative whines. Outside, the wind picked up, scratching at the windows and sending flurries of snow dancing across the glass.

Maya glanced at the clock on the microwave. “We’re a little early for dinner, but I figure I can get started on homework right after we eat.”

Nia flipped the sandwiches. The scent of browning bread and melting cheese made the kitchen smell wonderful.

“Good plan. I’ll clean up. You hit the books.”

A comforting quiet settled in as the soup bubbled and spatula scraped against the skillet. Even the dogs seemed lulled by the calm, curling up together in the entryway between the living room and kitchen.

As Nia adjusted the flame, Madrid lifted his head, ears pricked. A rumble rose from his throat.

Nia paused mid-flip. “What is it, boy?”

Luna rose next, hackles bristling, and both dogs advanced toward the back door. Their growls deepened, reverberating through the kitchen.

Maya shut off the burner. “Mom?”

“It’s okay.” But Nia wasn’t so sure. The dogs never got this riled. Was someone outside?

She set down the spatula and crept to the back door, where Madrid and Luna stood guard, tails stiff. Outside, the dying light gave way to darkness, which pressed against the windowpane. Snow streaked in diagonal lines past the glass. Nia turned on the outdoor light, but all she saw was the swirl of flakes.

Yet the dogs kept growling.

Maya hovered behind Nia. “Is someone out there?”

Nia pressed her face to the pane, her breath fogging the window. In the glow of the porch bulb, she could make out a few discarded garden pots half-buried in the snow. Shadows overtook the fence line.

“There’s nobody in the yard,” Nia said. “Could be an animal wandering through.”

Madrid barked, as if to insist otherwise.

Glancing across the yard, Nia spotted footprints. The tracks, half-filled by drifting snow, trailing along the side of the fence.

Her pulse ticked up. The prints looked fresh. They stopped near the door.

She swallowed, a chill creeping up her spine. “Maya, step back.”

“Mom, are we in danger?”

“Please.”

Fumbling for her phone, Nia typed a message to Eli.

Dogs are growling at something behind the house. Found footprints.

Outside, the wind gusted harder, rattling a loose gutter. She peered over the fence toward Janet’s house. The lights were on, but Nia didn’t see movement inside.

Nia turned off the porch light and locked the back door. Suddenly the yard appeared as dark as night, though sunset was still half an hour away. As though a monstrous beast had crawled out of an earthen grave, a boom rattled the house. Thunder.

“Come into the kitchen,” Nia said, turning to her daughter. “Stay away from the windows.”

The dogs refused to budge.

“Leashes,” Maya said.

“That’s our only choice.”

Nia clipped the leashes to the dogs and pulled them away from the door. Luna turned back and snapped at the air.

Maya’s eyes shone with worry. “Should we call the police?”

“I sent a text to Eli.”

Yet he hadn’t answered.

37

Thunder rolled across the land like distant artillery, sending a tremor through the floor. Nia hovered by the counter, phone clutched in one hand, the other gripping Maya’s shoulder to keep her close. The kitchen lights flickered for a moment, and a breath caught in Nia’s throat at the possibility of losing power.

She tapped her phone’s screen, scrolling down to Janet’s number. The line rang once, twice. Then the connection cut to a mechanical voice announcing that the call could not be completed. Nia frowned, redialing. Still nothing.

“Janet isn’t answering,” Nia said. “I’m worried.”

“It might be the storm, Mom. Sometimes when it’s bad like this, lightning strikes a tower.”

Nia struggled to keep Luna and Madrid under control. The dogs were leashed but restless, ears perked, fixated on the darkness spilling across the kitchen window. They scrabbled back and forth, their claws sliding on the bare floor.

She brought the dogs into the living room, where she could look out the side window. Where was Janet? The phone pinged a warning—No Service. She tapped the signal icon. Nothing.

“Oh, that’s just great.”

“Mom, I don’t have any bars either. Like I said, it must be the weather.”

Lightning flared outside, illuminating the backyard. In response, the snow morphed into a blizzard, obscuring the world beyond the windows. Nia glimpsed something black and round rolling across the yard. The wind had uprooted a shrub and sent it tumbling toward the fence. Thunder followed on its heels, rattling the house.

“Cell towers go down all the time in horrible weather,” Maya said. “What do we do?”

“We hunker down. It’s too dangerous to go outside.”

“What about Grandma Janet?”

“She’s smart. There’s no way she’ll leave the house in this mess. Keep the doors locked, and stay away from the windows.”

“You think someone is outside, don’t you?”

“No.”

“Mom?”

“I said no.”

“If you say so.”

Wind shrieked past the house, and the lights dimmed again, throwing warped shadows across the living room. Luna and Madrid whined, pulling at their leashes.

Nia checked her phone for a reply from Eli and found nothing. Perhaps the message had reached him before the storm hit. Even if he knew they were in danger, could he reach them? If the roads weren’t yet impassible, they would be soon.

She realized how exposed they were. The killer might be right outside the windows, searching for a way in.

“Can you hold them for a second?” Nia asked.

“Give me the leashes.”

Nia handed her daughter both leashes and turned the corner into the hallway. The dogs tried to follow, but Maya kept them back. They were cut off, no phone service, no way to call for help. And outside, between the crash of thunder and swirl of snow, someone was watching them.

She hurried down the hallway, desperate to get back to her daughter before the unthinkable happened. An unrelenting wind made the walls groan in protest. Though this was a winter storm, it sounded as if a tornado had struck Duskwood. Fleeting shapes danced on the walls, taunting her with figures that weren’t there. She kept moving, sensing that time was running out.

Nia skidded around the corner of the bedroom. Another boom of thunder made her jump.

Hurry.

She kneeled beside the wall-mounted safe. Her fingers trembled as she keyed in the combination. Click. The lock disengaged.

Inside lay her handgun. She hesitated, hating the thought of bringing a gun near Maya. But the alternative was worse. They needed to defend themselves.

She lifted the pistol from the safe, checking the chamber and the magazine. Everything was in order.

Nia slid the gun into the waistband of her jeans. Then she retraced her steps. As she approached the living room, Luna and Madrid barked, the sounds ricocheting off the walls. Maya fought to calm the dogs, but it was no use.

The girl turned, eyes widening at the sight of the handgun in Nia’s waistband. A storm of emotions flickered across the girl’s face. She clutched both dog leashes like lifelines, the tension in them translating into taut lines. “Are we in that much trouble?”

Nia’s chest tightened. “I don’t know. But I’d rather be prepared.”

“I wish Eli was here.”

So did Nia. She set the gun on the end table beside the couch, well within reach. The dogs ran back and forth, trying to protect her from whatever lurked beyond the walls.

Nia grasped her daughter’s shoulders and met her eyes. “Listen to me. You know I’ve carried a gun for years, both as a police officer and a private investigator. Yes, I’ve told you how dangerous guns are. But in trained hands, they’re a tool, a means to an end. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want you to be afraid.”

“But you’re afraid.”

Before Nia could offer reassurance, the front-door handle jiggled. Someone was trying to force their way inside. Both dogs exploded with rage. Luna snapped at her brother, then redirected her fury at the door.

Nia couldn’t breathe. She grabbed the gun from the table, snapping the safety off in one swift motion. Maya let out a strangled gasp and moved away.

“Get behind the couch,” Nia said.

For once, the teenager didn’t argue.

The handle jiggled again, accompanied by a scratching sound. A shape loomed through the frosted glass, indiscernible.

Nia’s instincts screamed at her to pull the trigger. But what if it was Janet or Eli?

Lightning flared, revealing a twisted face, blurred by the storm. Hidden amid the snowflakes, the face looked inhuman. The dogs lunged at the end of their leashes, and Nia feared they might jerk free.

“Hold them back!” Nia shouted, her voice shaking.

“I can’t!”

“Maya, don’t move.”

Tears pooled at the corners of Maya’s eyes. “Who’s outside?”

Nia stared at the door, adrenaline scorching through her veins. “I don’t know.”

She locked her sights on the front door. Her training kicked in, the many hours of firearms drills and home-invasion scenarios carved into her muscle memory. She needed to secure the area, keep her line of sight clear, and—above all—protect Maya.

Gritting her teeth, Nia stepped forward, pressing her back to the wall beside the door. The storm battered the house with sharp needles of sleet.

She forced herself to breathe—in, out. Her gun remained steady in her hands, muzzle angled at the door.

“Identify yourself!” she shouted over the clamor. Her voice quivered, but the words were clear. “We’re armed.”

There was a beat of silence—an eternity—in which her heart pounded so loudly she half-expected it to burst through her chest. Lightning threw a strobe of white light across the frosted glass.

Another scrape against the door. It sounded like nails dragging across the wood. Nia’s finger hovered over the trigger. Shadows twisted against the backdrop of swirling snow.

She took a step closer, centering her stance: feet planted, arms forward, gun pointed at what she calculated would be chest height if the door slammed open.

“Last warning!” she yelled, fighting to keep fear out of her voice. “Back away—now!”

But there was no reply.

The rattling stopped. Was the killer looking for another way in?

She thought of the windows. Nothing would stop a maniac from breaking the glass and crawling in.

Nothing except a spray of bullets.

Nia glanced at Maya. Her daughter’s face was pale, tears brimming, but she had the dogs under control. “You’re doing great, Maya.”

Carefully, she risked a peek through the living room window. All she saw was white.

The phone hummed. She almost dropped the gun in surprise.

A text arrived.

I’m almost there. Hang on.

Eli. Her chest heaved with relief.

Maya saw the change in her mother’s face. “Is it Eli?”

“Yes. We have service again. He’s coming.”

Maya let out a shaky breath.

The passing minutes seemed to take forever. Every sound outside brought Nia back to the door, prepared to defend their home.

Then a pair of headlights swept across the front window. Moments later, footsteps pounded up the steps. As if they knew Eli was here, Luna and Madrid whined and stopped battling to tug free. Through the window, Nia recognized Eli, his face lit by the porch light, dark hair matted by snow and ice.

She unlocked the deadbolt and let him inside. Snow clung to his jacket, and his cheeks were flushed red. “Are you okay?” he demanded, breathing hard. “I got your text, but I couldn’t call. As soon as the storm hit, we all lost reception.”

“We did too,” Nia said.

“I drove like a maniac. It’s a wonder I made it. You can’t believe how terrible the roads are. Are you safe?”

“We’re okay.”

Free from their leashes, the dogs sniffed Eli’s legs, still keyed up from the commotion. Maya threw herself into Eli’s arms and sobbed. He stroked the girl’s hair, promising everything would be okay. A part of Nia broke inside. Maya needed Eli.

When the teen finally pulled out of his hug, Eli set a hand on Nia’s shoulder. “Tell me what happened.”

Nia set the gun on the end table and steadied herself. “The dogs went nuts and started barking at the back door. I checked outside and saw footprints. That’s when I messaged you. Then the storm hit, and I couldn’t reach you. Eli, someone tried to break in.”

“Nia, there were footprints on your porch steps.”

She swallowed, unable to respond.

“Talk to me,” he said. “I’m here now. Do you know who it was?”

“I couldn’t see past the snow.”

“Richard Vance?”

“Eli, it was impossible to tell.”

His jaw tightened. “I’ll check the yard.”

“Eli, they might still be out there.”

Maya grabbed his jacket. “Please, don’t go. I don’t want you to leave.”

Eli squared his shoulders and tapped his holstered service weapon. “I know what I’m doing, Maya. Stay with your mother. I won’t be gone five minutes.”

Before Nia could protest, he exited the house. She could see his flashlight cutting through the swirling flakes.

Drawing Maya close, Nia did her best to conceal her worry. The psychopath had murdered two people this week. And Eli was alone.

38

A pounding on the door brought Nia to her feet.

She froze, gripping the sofa until her knuckles blanched.

“It’s me,” Eli called from outside. “All clear out here.”

Relief swept through Nia. She turned the deadbolt and let Eli inside, along with a gust of air that formed goosebumps on her flesh. His face was flushed, and fresh flakes sparkled on the shoulders of his jacket.

“The footprints in the backyard are gone,” he said, short of breath. “Buried under new drifts. No sign of your intruder. The storm passed, but it’s a mess out there. I saw branches down and ice everywhere.”

He raked a hand through his hair. Outside, gloaming illuminated a world glazed with ice, skeletal branches glinting like polished bone. Nia tucked the gun into her waistband with an uneasy acceptance that they might yet need it.

“I have to check on Janet,” she said. “She isn’t answering her phone. I’m worried.”

Eli inhaled, glancing from the window to the door, eyes narrowed as if weighing the risk. “I’ll make sure she’s okay. I want you and Maya to stay here.”

“You’re not going outside alone again.”

“I’m coming too,” Maya said.

Nia didn’t argue. She didn’t want anyone alone. If she believed she could control the dogs in the snow, she would take them too.

Eli’s protest died on his face.

“If you insist,” he said. “But stay behind me. Both of you.”

After donning winter jackets, they ventured into the frozen night, each breath a puff of white. The trio struggled toward Janet’s place. Eli high-stepped through the drifts. As he did so, his body carved a slippery path for Nia and Maya.

The scene seemed yanked from an unsettling fairytale. Icicles dangled from eaves, glittering like rows of sharp teeth. Naked branches scrawled the sky, clawing upward as if to snatch the stars. A single porch light glowed above Janet’s door, haloed by swirling flurries.

Nia pushed forward, worried about what they would find. What if the killer had struck Janet’s house?

Finally, they reached the porch. Eli rapped once on the door. For too long, nobody responded. Nia thought about breaking inside.

Then the lock clicked and the door opened.

“Janet,” Nia breathed. “Thank God.”

Janet appeared confused. “Nia? What on earth are you three doing outside? The storm hit with a fury.”

The woman let them in. Her house smelled of peppermint tea. Eli entered first, eyes sweeping the small space to confirm no hidden threat waited within.

“You weren’t answering your phone,” Nia said. “We wanted to make sure you were safe.”

Janet waved away her concern. “My battery died. The phone is in my bedroom, recharging.”

“At least you stayed inside until the worst passed.”

“I would never dream of leaving in that snow and wind. That was the worst blizzard I’ve seen since I was a child. I’m lucky the power hasn’t gone out here. Your place all right?”

“Our power is working.”

“Thank goodness.”

Eli checked the window. “We had another visitor.”

As if to ward off a chill, Janet drew the cardigan around her shoulders. “Lord have mercy. Who in their right mind would be lurking in this weather?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Nia said.

“Was it the same person who parked outside your house?”

“That’s my guess.”

Janet looked from Nia to Eli and shook her head. “I appreciate the concern, but I’ve lived alone for years. The storm didn’t break me.”

Nia exchanged a worried glance with Eli. “I know you’re strong and independent, but I don’t want you here by yourself. Someone tried to break into my house, they might return. You’re coming with us.”

“Nonsense.”

Maya twisted the end of her scarf around her fingers. “Mom, Grandma Janet’s cane won’t work in the snow. It’s too slick.”

“See?” Janet said, raising her chin in triumph. “I’ll have to stay here.”

“No chance,” Nia said. “Eli, there has to be something we can do. I have a snowblower around back.”

“It’s not the snow I’m worried about,” Eli said. “It’s the ice, like Maya said.”

Janet tutted. “I’ve made do my whole life. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Eli cast a meaningful look at Nia, then tapped a finger against his head. “There’s one idea that might work. I’ll carry her.”

Janet appeared ready to fight Eli. “I’m not helpless.”

“Never said you were. But Nia’s stubbornness is wearing off on you. Humor me, Janet. I’m not accepting no as an answer.”

“This is preposterous. Fine. If you’re dead set on carrying me, I’ll let you. But just this once, and you’d better not drop me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Outside, the air snapped cold against Nia’s face. Slush clogged the gutters, and the porch light reflected pools of ice.

They made it a few steps before Eli’s progress slowed. Each uncertain step sank deeper into snow that climbed past their hips. Maya released a nervous laugh, and Nia couldn’t help but smile at the sight of proud Janet letting someone else take the burden. The walk was short but took longer than it seemed. At last, they reached Nia’s house.

The door opened, and Luna and Madrid toppled over each other in excitement, bounding to Janet, who reached out to pet the dogs.

“Well, at least the welcome committee is enthusiastic,” Janet muttered.

Once inside, Eli struggled out of his coat and hung it in the closet. Janet sank into the couch cushions. The dogs paced, sniffing Janet’s shoes as if verifying that she was the woman who always threw them scraps. Maya hurried to fetch a blanket, which she draped over Janet’s lap. The woman mumbled a quiet thanks.

Nia engaged the deadbolt.

No one would stay alone tonight.

39

By ten o’clock, Nia cupped her elbows in the entryway, shoulders taut, the lamp sending feeble light over her worried face. Through the half-open door, a chilling breeze crept in.

Beside her, Eli folded his arms and fixed his attention on Officers Craig and Jenkins, who stomped the snow from their boots as they entered. Craig wore a sour expression. He would never warm to Nia’s presence in police matters, and his eyes kept straying to Eli, conveying judgment. Craig didn’t approve of Eli cozying up to a private investigator.

Jenkins hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “We searched the yard, but it was as you said. No footprints left. The snow buried whatever was there.”

“That’s what I figured,” Eli said. He rapped his knuckles against the doorframe as if testing its solidity. “We’ve got a half-dozen sets of prints on the knob—more than likely Nia’s or mine. Anything else is smudged or partial.”

“We’ll pass the prints on to the lab,” Craig said. “But don’t expect a miracle.”

To the officers’ credit, they lowered their voices, knowing Janet and Maya were asleep down the hall. Even with this many uniforms on the property, Nia sensed eyes in the night.

Jenkins opened a notebook. “I’ll have a patrol drive by a few times tonight and monitor the place. That’s the best we can do, considering the problems the storm caused.”

Craig stared at Eli. “You sure you want to stay here, Mitchell? We can spare a rookie to sit in a cruiser if you’d rather head home.”

“I’ll stay on the couch,” Eli said. “I want to ensure everyone is safe.”

“Mighty personal, Mitchell, bunking down at a PI’s house.”

A flash of annoyance crossed Eli’s face. “She’s my partner on this case, Craig.” He said it with a finality that brooked no argument, but the tension in the air clung like frost. “And I care about her.”

Nia caught Craig’s indignant look and met it with steady eyes. “Thanks for checking the property and for sending a cruiser past the house later.”

“We’ll leave you to it,” Jenkins said. “Radio me if anything else goes bump in the night.”

The two officers exited. Nia locked the door. When she turned back, Eli stared down at his feet.

“They don’t approve,” she said, crossing her arms. Outside, the darkness deepened.

Eli let out a frustrated breath. “Craig’s opinion doesn’t matter. What matters is keeping you, Maya, and Janet safe.”

He took a step closer, his face bleak in the half-light. Nia could sense the storm of doubt raging inside him. The department would forever remain wary of his closeness to a private investigator, and a faceless threat lurked in Duskwood.

She touched his arm, feeling the tension in his muscles. “Thank you,” she murmured. “For not leaving us alone.”

“Never,” he answered, quiet as a promise.

* * *

Nia turned on a lamp in the study and looked across the desk at Eli, who pressed a thumb against his forehead in thought. The clock said eleven. Along the walls, the room held mismatched bookshelves.

They spoke in hushed tones, as if the house needed soothing.

“Richard Vance,” Eli said, flipping through pages of his notes. “I still don’t see how he connects to the deaths. Maybe he killed Joel for the inheritance. Fine. That’s a motive, but not a very strong one. He would have gotten the money, eventually. But why murder Gerald or Bernadette?” He set down the file, rubbing his temples. “Gerald died twenty years ago, and Bernadette was just someone who Lenore Carlyle knew from her neighborhood.”

“Margaret Langley knew Bernadette too, but I can’t picture her as a murderer.”

Nia set an elbow on the desk and rested her cheek against her palm, absently tapping a pen against a stack of papers. The tick, tick, tick of the pen punctuated the quiet.

“Richard Vance is a killer. I just don’t know why he would murder anyone in Duskwood. That tells me our killer is Lenore Caryle.”

“Bernadette obviously discovered something about Lenore or about Joel’s murder. She wanted to tell us something.”

“If I were Lenore Carlyle, I would have murdered Gerald Greene. He humiliated her and left her with nothing. All this ties back to the accident, but I don’t know how.”

“What did Lenore gain by killing Bernadette?”

“The genealogy research?” Eli asked. “We can’t prove any of it.”

“Lenore couldn’t have been the person who tried to break in tonight. She’s in holding.”

Eli gave Nia a haunted look.

“What?” Nia asked.

“The lawyer sprang her an hour before the storm hit. I would have told you, but Moretti pulled me into his office again. He wasn’t happy that our number one suspect was free.”

The furnace clicked on and blew stale air through the vents.

“So it could have been Lenore.”

“Possibly.”

Knuckles tapped against the open door. Nia spun around, expecting to find Maya. Janet stood on the threshold, her pastel nightgown layered with a thick robe. She clutched it close with one hand, eyes apologetic. “Hope I’m not intruding. But I couldn’t sleep.”

“I’m sorry,” Nia said. “We probably kept you awake with our talking.”

“My nerves, dear. This storm did a number on me. Feels like I’m back in 1960-something, waiting for the roof to blow off.” She looked at the notes on the desk. “My apologies for not minding my own business, but I overheard you mention Lenore Carlyle.”

“You know her?”

“I don’t,” Janet admitted, lowering herself into a corner chair. “But I remember the scandal over the Gerald Greene affair. Yes, gossip travels across the lakes. Then Lenore moved back to Duskwood. The townspeople turned up their noses and whispered behind her back. Some people can’t stay out of others’ lives.”

“So you know a little about Lenore,” Eli said.

“Oh, yes.” Janet’s face tightened, as if recalling bitter gossip. “She was branded a homewrecker. When she returned to Duskwood all those years later, folks assumed she had an angle. Maybe it was unfinished business with the Greenes. Maybe something else.”

“Can you think of any reason Lenore Carlyle would murder Joel Greene or Bernadette Herringshaw?”

“Not really. Poor Lenore has lived in two Finger Lakes towns and dealt with the usual small-town cruelty. People shunned her. I heard rumors she got threatening notes on her doorstep.”

The furnace did little to dispel the chill in the room.

“So she had enemies here,” Eli said.

“Gerald was charming in his day, you know. He raised donations for the church in Seneca Falls and threw barbecues on the Fourth of July. People wanted to believe the best of him, so they blamed Lenore. After all, she was barely twenty-one when they first dated. Who could say no to such a young a pretty face?”

“That explains why she hated the Greene family. But we’re still missing the link to Bernadette.”

“I met Bernadette once. Wonderful woman. She lived a few houses down from Lenore, as I recall.”

“That’s right.”

“Besides them being friends, do you have anything connecting them?”

“No,” Nia said, “though Bernadette attended a genealogy club at the library, where Margaret Langley worked.”

“Ah, Joel’s sister. Those two never saw eye to eye.” Janet rested her cane against the edge of Nia’s desk. She was plainly exhausted—physically and emotionally. “But the genealogy club makes me remember something.”

“What is it?”

“I didn’t believe it at the time,” Janet said, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her robe. “Seemed like nothing more than cruel gossip. There was a rumor that started in Seneca Falls and followed Lenore to Duskwood.”

“Tell me about the rumor,” Eli said.

“According to a few people, Gerald fathered a child with Lenore. You know how small towns are. It didn’t seem plausible.”

“Wouldn’t someone have noticed if Lenore was pregnant?”

“She didn’t come out much after talk of the affair spread. It’s possible she felt embarrassed about running around with a much older man.”

“Or?”

Janet looked down at her hands. “Or she was hiding a pregnancy. Lenore kept to herself, and the town didn’t exactly roll out a welcome mat.”

“But Gerald Greene only had two children—Joel and Margaret.”

“If there was another child, maybe Lenore put the baby up for adoption,” Nia said.

Janet exhaled, buried memories drawing down her brow. “Gerald would have demanded as much. If the town learned he’d fathered a child, the scrutiny would have increased a hundredfold.”

“Janet,” Eli said, “think back to when Gerald dated Lenore. When would the baby have been born?”

“Hmm. Let’s see.” Janet closed her eyes in concentration. “Oh, I’m rummaging through dusty memories here.” Her voice trembled on a note of uncertainty, as if the old gossip had a foothold in her mind. “If she started seeing him when she was barely twenty or twenty-one, that would have been… well, about thirty-five years ago now, I suppose. Late eighties, maybe?”

Nia froze, the numbers chilling her more than any draft from the storm outside. She glanced at Eli, whose eyes narrowed. Thirty-five years ago.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a puzzle piece slid into place.

Richard Vance was thirty-five years old.

40

As soon as Moretti hustled into the police station, Eli shot out of his chair and followed the chief to his office.

“You,” Moretti grumbled, tossing his jacket over the chair. “Well, out with it.”

“Chief, listen,” Eli said. “Something came up last night.”

“I heard about the prowler at Carter’s house. You aren’t going to tell me Lenore Carlyle got out of jail and tried to break in, are you?”

“Not exactly. Nia and I think Lenore Carlyle had a child with Gerald Greene thirty-five years ago.”

“And?”

“And that child is Richard Vance.”

Moretti’s mouth hung open. He didn’t move for a long time. Finally, he unfroze and closed the door, ensuring no one would overhear.

“You have no proof any of this is true,” Moretti said.

“If Vance is Lenore and Gerald’s child, that gave him a motive to kill Joel Greene.”

“Why?”

“Jealousy? Joel was Gerald’s son, and maybe Vance figured out who his parents were. Fast forward to present day, and Bernadette Herringshaw learned Lenore had Gerald’s child.”

“So Vance murdered her? This is hardly your best work, Mitchell.”

Eli bit back a retort. “If you’ll just listen⁠—”

The chief slammed his hand down on a stack of paperwork. “All you have is a rumor.” His face, unshaven and red from tension, contorted in anger. “Thirty-five years is ancient history. First, you don’t even know if the rumor about a baby is true. And if it is, there are countless thirty-five-year-olds walking around the Finger Lakes. Why does that baby have to be Vance? Do you have a birth certificate, a witness, anything? Or is this more of your guesswork, Mitchell?”

Heat rose to Eli’s cheeks. “We’ve got more than guesses. Everyone who knows something about the affair keeps winding up dead. Vance is our man. Let me go after him.”

“For God’s sake,” Moretti cut in, raking a hand through his thinning hair. “You want to chase some half-baked theory and defy the FBI? You’re out of line, Mitchell. The feds gave us explicit orders. Stand down.”

“But he’s our prime suspect in two murders, and he might have murdered Gerald Greene too.”

“Enough.” Moretti’s voice shook with fury. “You are not to pursue Vance. I don’t care if he’s the Pope’s secret son. The FBI wants him, and we’re going to obey their directive. Am I clear?”

Eli forced himself not to scream. “Crystal,” he said through gritted teeth.

He left Moretti’s office and stalked through the station. A few officers glanced up as he passed, but their stares bounced off him like bullets off armor. Right now, he had no patience for gawkers or rubberneckers.

At his desk, he huffed out a breath, trying and failing to regain calm. Jenkins, perched at the next desk, watched him with a sympathetic eye and turned his chair around.

“I take it Moretti’s not on board with your theory?” asked Jenkins.

Eli rummaged inside a drawer for a pen, then slammed it shut. “You could say that. He shot my theory down in flames, even hinted I’d get suspended if I pressed the Vance angle. He says I have to listen to the FBI.”

Jenkins let out a low whistle. “Well, the feds made it clear that they want you out of the Vance equation.” Two officers approached, and Jenkins waited until they passed. “Look, I get your frustration. But you might just have to let it go.”

“I can’t.” Eli rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. “Lenore Carlyle is my other likely suspect, and she walked last night. If Vance is the key, I can’t touch him. Let’s say the FBI arrests Vance for the attack at the warehouse and his dealings with Scarpelli. Where does that leave the murder investigations? He’ll never serve a day for killing Joel or Bernadette Herringshaw.”

“Moretti’s orders, man. I hate it, but it’s what you’ve got. You and I both know defying the chief isn’t worth the trouble.”

“So then what? I have to hope the FBI locks up Vance for longer than either of us expects? Heck, they might offer him a sweetheart deal to flip on Scarpelli.”

“If Moretti says stand down on Vance, fine. But you still have your own investigation. You want to do something? Focus on Lenore Carlyle. Confront her about this baby rumor and see if she cracks. If she’s innocent, maybe she’ll steer us to the true killer. If she’s guilty, the confrontation might make her crack.”

Looking across the bullpen toward the chief’s office, Eli said, “Yeah, Moretti wants me to shift gears and leave Vance to the feds. Guess I’m out of options.”

“Go after Carlyle. Make the most of it. Ask her straight up if she had Gerald’s child thirty-five years ago, and see how she reacts.”

Eli checked his watch, a reminder that time was ticking, that Lenore could vanish from Duskwood, leaving them with no answers.

“I’ll call Nia and have her meet me at the Carlyle place.”

“Where is that partner of yours, anyway?”

“Being a mom. She drove Maya to school, not wanting her daughter to wait outside for the bus, especially after what happened last night.”

“Sorry we couldn’t have been of more use,” Jenkins said.

“You did your best, dude. It wasn’t your fault that the squall of the century hit and buried the tracks. Did those prints ever come back?”

“Yep, and they belong to Nia Carter and her daughter. Except for one pair. Those are yours.”

Eli flushed. Although Jenkins had encouraged Eli to pursue a relationship with Nia and spent more and more time at the house, it still embarrassed him that his fellow officer knew. Was he doing the right thing? Eli didn’t care what his colleagues thought of him, but the officers would unfairly judge Nia for causing a distraction.

His bones were weary from lack of sleep after spending half the night guarding the door. The other half, he’d tossed and turned on the couch.

“Not surprised the killer didn’t leave his prints,” Eli said.

“Or hers.”

“I suppose. Thanks for the talk, Jenkins.”

41

Eli steered with one hand. With the other, he punched Nia’s number into the Bluetooth console. Across Duskwood, the November sun shone with false power. The rays were bright enough for Eli to lower the visor, yet the dashboard told him the temperature was 16 degrees.

“Hey, Eli,” Nia said upon answering.

“Did Maya make it to school?”

“I didn’t leave the curb until she was inside.”

“Good. I’m on my way to Lenore Carlyle’s house. It’s time we got some answers about the baby rumors. Can you meet me there?”

He glanced at the rearview mirror, his eyes flicking to a pair of headlights behind him. The car trailed his a little too closely, but the driver was just another commuter on the road. Still, he didn’t need his prickling paranoia to tell him he and Nia had targets on their backs.

“Yes, but I’m running late. Give me fifteen minutes.”

“If you can’t make it, don’t worry. It only takes one of us to conduct an interview.” He eased the cruiser around a slow-moving truck, his tires clinging to the salted asphalt. Time felt like a wire pulled too tight.

“No, I want to be there, if only to see her reaction.”

“We’re digging into old wounds, Nia.”

“Obviously. I realize the odds say the baby—if there was one—couldn’t have been Richard Vance. But it’s an enormous coincidence.”

“Agreed.” Eli checked the street signs, ensuring he hadn’t made a wrong turn. “I’m almost at the house. Take your time. I’ll wait until you arrive.”

“I’m on my way. Don’t go in alone, Eli. For all we know, she might have killed all three victims.”

He lifted his foot off the gas a fraction and let the cruiser drop back to the speed limit, the hum of the engine easing to a dull purr. “Which makes her dangerous.”

He ended the call, more convinced than ever that Richard Vance was their killer. But Vance was a man Eli couldn’t touch.

Did Lenore even know the baby’s identity? If the townsfolk were correct, she’d put up the child for adoption. After that, she wouldn’t have contact with the baby.

Yet adoptees reunited with their biological parents all the time. In today’s ultra-connected society, information was only a click away.

On his way into Lenore Carlyle’s neighborhood, he passed Bernadette Herringshaw’s residence. A forensic team had investigated the home and found nothing—no blood, no signs of a struggle. Someone had snatched Bernadette and murdered her without leaving a trace. Two possibilities existed: a trained murderer like Richard Vance had taken Bernadette, or she’d known and trusted her killer.

When Eli reached Lenore Carlyle’s bungalow, he parked so the cruiser blocked the driveway. Her sedan sat outside the garage. Light shone in two of the front windows, and he saw her silhouette flash by the glass, a dark figure flitting with hurried purpose.

Was she getting ready for work? Or did she intend to run?

He shifted in his seat and aimed a pair of binoculars at the windows. The glare of the sunlight prevented him from making out what was happening inside. Had Lenore caused Gerald Greene’s accident? That was nothing but a half-formed theory with no confirmed facts.

Or had a fifteen-year-old Richard Vance figured out who his father was and done the deed? Why would a teen kill a parent just because he’d been given him up for adoption?

He studied the house again, catching movement between the curtains. Lenore passed with a thermos in one hand and a bag hanging from a shoulder. Darn it. She was getting ready to leave.

Tempted to walk up to the door and knock, he drummed his booted feet. Twenty minutes had passed, and Nia was running late.

Then a pair of headlights glimmered in the rearview mirror. Nia pulled in behind his cruiser.

Eli climbed out and buttoned his jacket.

“I hit traffic on Main Street,” Nia said, pushing the hair off her shoulder. “Is Lenore inside?”

Eli jerked his chin toward the window. “The lights are on, but it appears she’s getting ready to leave.”

“We’re about to corner her. Lenore will know we suspect she murdered multiple people. She might be armed.”

“I’m aware. Here’s the game plan for the interview: Let me take the lead but, as before, jump in if she’s not reacting well to my questions. Stress that she’s not under suspicion… yet. We’ll ask direct questions about Gerald’s accident, Joel’s murder, and her relationship with Bernadette. I’ll bring up the baby rumor. Gauge her reaction.”

Nia flexed her gloved hands. “Should we mention Richard Vance?”

“Careful on that,” Eli cautioned. “At some point, I have to corner her. I’m hoping her answers will lead us to that conclusion.”

“I’m ready. No sense in waiting.”

They approached the door together, slipping and sliding on the unsalted walkway. Nia pressed the doorbell while Eli bounced on his heels, frigid but prepared for an unpredictable reaction. He’d already arrested Lenore yesterday. By now, she must know she was their top suspect.

A ring sounded inside. Beyond the door, footsteps moved toward the door and hesitated.

“Be prepared for anything,” Eli said out of the corner of his mouth.

“I’ve got your back, Eli.”

The door whipped open, and Lenore Carlyle grimaced, her cold eyes narrowed.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Lenore said. “I just got out of holding last night and you’re here to bother me again?”

“I’m not here to arrest you, Ms. Carlyle. We just have a few more questions.” Eli glanced past her shoulder into the small interior hallway. “May we come inside?”

“I start my shift at the hospital in thirty minutes. I don’t have time for your games.”

“The hospital will have to wait. This is important.”

The suspect rolled her eyes. “I don’t see how anything could be more important than patient care.” Her eyes jumped to Nia. “And you’re not even a cop. Do you approve of the way Duskwood PD treats innocents?”

“We only want to clarify a few things, Ms. Carlyle,” Nia said. “Then we’ll be out of your hair.”

“I’m calling my lawyer.”

“You can,” Eli said. “But let’s talk first and see if this can be resolved quickly. If you insist on having your lawyer present, I’ll have to bring you in for formal statements. Lots of paperwork. That might take all morning. Longer, if your lawyer is busy.”

For a long moment, Lenore glared at Eli, her face tight with indecision. Finally, she stepped back, allowing them inside. “Make it quick.”

Eli and Nia entered the living room. His eyes jumped around, searching for signs that Lenore was getting ready to flee. Three cardboard boxes lay against the far wall.

“Moving out?” Nia asked.

“Renovations, actually,” Lenore said. “Hurry. I’m already late.”

“I’d like to discuss some other matters,” Eli said. “Specifically, your relationship with Joel Greene, Bernadette Herringshaw, and your involvement with Gerald Greene during the late eighties.”

Lenore lowered herself onto the edge of an armchair, arms folded. “You asked me all this before, and I said I didn’t kill anyone.”

“We’ve unearthed new information. Perhaps you can clear up a few things.”

“Information. You mean rumors, don’t you?”

“I think Bernadette Herringshaw found evidence tying you to a secret. Something she uncovered through her genealogical research? This information put her life in danger.”

The woman’s eyes flashed. “I’m done repeating myself about Bernadette. She was my friend. Why would I kill her?”

“What did she tell you about her research?”

“Not a thing.”

“Really?”

“You think I cared about her genealogy club? It was Bernadette’s hobby. She was hardly an expert.”

“She never spoke to you about her findings?”

“Whatever Bernadette knew or didn’t know is irrelevant. I certainly didn’t kill her. And why drag Gerald Greene’s name into this again? He broke up with me decades ago.”

“Because we think there was more to his death than an accident,” Nia said.

Eli looked at Nia, urging her to ask the most pressing question.

Nia cleared her throat. “Lenore, did Gerald Greene get you pregnant?”

A hiss. Lenore touched her heart and looked away. It took her several seconds to compose herself.

“That’s ridiculous. Who told you Gerald impregnated me? That rumor was a small-town lie.”

“Small-town lies sometimes hold truth,” Eli said. “The affair caused you distress. Gerald Greene used you.”

Lenore shot to her feet. “You have no proof that any of this happened. And if you keep pushing, I’ll call my lawyer and tell him to sue your department.”

Nia held up a hand. “We’re trying to help you and get clarity on this investigation.”

“Do you hear yourself? This is absurd. Joel Greene died because he was a terrible cop who crossed the wrong enemy. And I certainly didn’t have his father’s child.”

“If you’re innocent, help us understand,” Eli said.

Though Lenore exuded fury, desperation welled in her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Finally, she found her voice. “You’re wasting your time. I can’t give you what you’re after.” She glanced at the clock. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my shift starts in fifteen minutes.”

“Ms. Carlyle,” Nia said, “one more thing before we go. Do you know a man named Richard Vance?”

Lenore’s breath caught. Her face turned ashen, and she clutched the back of the chair to steady herself.

“I don’t know anyone by that name,” Lenore said, forcing herself to stare back to Nia.

Eli recognized Lenore’s panic.

The rumors are true. This is the connection.

“Richard Vance killed Joel Greene and Bernadette Herringshaw,” Nia said, choosing each word as if she were walking across a half-frozen pond.

“How did this Richard Vance person know Joel Greene?” Lenore asked.

“Good question,” Eli said. “Perhaps you can tell us.”

“But I don’t⁠—”

“Joel Greene put Richard Vance in his will. Why? You know something, Ms. Carlyle. Please tell me before someone else gets hurt. Did Vance kill his father?”

“Gerald Greene ruined my life! You don’t understand. I never knew he had a wife. When I found out, it was too late. The town turned on me. People harassed me and called me names. If I’d known…”

“I don’t blame you for hating Gerald Greene. Nobody would.”

“I’m not the monster here. Do you have any idea what he did to me?” Her voice cracked in a harrowing blend of vitriol and anguish.

“Lenore,” Eli said in a placating tone, “I’m sorry Gerald lied to you. I’m sorry for what you went through. But if you had his child⁠—”

She shook her head vehemently, as though fending off whatever else threatened to spill out.

“If it wasn’t you, did Richard Vance kill Gerald Greene?”

“Get out!” Lenore roared, pointing to the door with a trembling finger. “I won’t answer any more of your questions. And if you come back without a warrant, I’ll have my lawyer on you before you can blink. I’ll sue the town.”

“Please, Ms. Carlyle,” Nia said. “Tell us what we need to know.”

“Go!”

Lenore went silent. Her fists shook at her sides. Yet she looked so vulnerable, so broken. Eli inclined his head in a show of respect, then headed for the door. Nia followed, shooting Lenore a searching look.

The door slammed behind them.

42

While Eli conferred with Moretti in the chief’s office, Nia sat at his desk, feeling the officers’ glares against her back. She tried to ignore them, but it was impossible.

“Thank you for picking up Maya,” Nia told Janet over the phone.

“Anytime, my dear,” Janet said.

“And you’ll go out for dinner?”

“To Rosalia’s, yes. It has been an age since I dined along the lake.”

“I’ll pay you tonight when Eli and I get back.”

“Oh, phooey. This is my dinner date, and I’ll take care of the bill.”

“Janet…”

“I’ve made up my mind, Nia, and you won’t change it. Now, do what you have to do and catch that killer,” Janet said.

Nia sighed. There was no convincing Janet. As long as they weren’t home alone, it didn’t matter. If tonight went as planned, Janet and Maya would have a long, comfortable dinner at Rosalia’s. All Nia wanted was for them to be safe.

After the call ended, Eli returned from Moretti’s office and motioned for Nia to join him in the conference room. He didn’t need to ask her twice. But as she stood, she whirled around to meet Anderson’s and Craig’s eyes.

“What is it with the two of you?” Nia asked. She looked across the bullpen. “All of you. Your chief requested my help, and all you can do is whisper about me.”

Nia locked eyes with Anderson and Craig, their stares snapping away as though the ceiling were suddenly far more interesting. But the rest of the bullpen—every uniform, every detective—seemed to sense the static building in the air. Lightning was about to flash.

Instead of screaming, she pressed the air down with her hands and found a measure of calmness.

“You know what I find funny? Some of you act like I’m intruding on your territory, as if I’m some outsider out to score points at your expense. But all I’ve done is help you solve multiple murder investigations. If you have a problem with my methods, take it up with Moretti.”

Anderson scowled, but didn’t speak. Craig’s mouth twitched with guilt.

“You don’t have to like me. But please respect that I once wore a badge of my own and came here for a fresh start. I faced the same tragedies you encounter every day. Do you know what it’s like to fail, to lose a child whose mother believed in you?”

She knew the officers did.

“I’m on your side. In my heart, I’ll always be an NYPD officer. But now I’m here, and I intend to help your colleague stop a killer and avenge Officer Greene. So ask yourselves—do you want me off this investigation so you can win a territorial war? Fine, say the word. But if someone else ends up dead, how will you sleep at night?”

A ripple of awareness passed through the bullpen, a gradual unclenching of jaws and loosening of arms that had been folded in skepticism.

“Make your choice. You can give me the cold shoulder, but you’ll be doing this town a grave disservice. Or we can do what grown professionals do and work together.”

Anderson coughed into his hand and looked at Craig.

“I have no problem with you, Carter,” Anderson said.

Craig shrugged. “For the record, I think you’re a helluva investigator. It’s just⁠—”

“Just what?” Nia asked.

“Nothing. Keep doing what you do. If anyone can catch this creep, it’s you and Eli.”

Nobody else spoke. Even the phones stopped ringing. When the officers turned away with lowered heads, she strode past them and entered the conference room, where Eli stared in wonder.

“What in the heck just happened?” Eli asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “How did the meeting go with Moretti?”

“As expected.”

“He yelled at you?”

“Yeah, but he’s coming around on this baby thing.”

“Show me what you’re working on.”

Eli stood before a scattering of notes, photos, and printouts spread across the table. “Lenore Carlyle had Gerald Greene’s child. The math all but screams it. But we don’t have a paper trail—no adoption records, no official forms. Just gossip. The timing can’t be a coincidence.”

His gaze slid to a grainy photo of Richard Vance, pinned above the other two suspects—Lenore Carlyle and Margaret Langley. A man of thirty-five, missing in action and tied to the Buffalo syndicate. And possibly born from a half-forgotten scandal. A ghost with a killer’s shadow.

Nia tapped a manicured nail against Vance’s name. “If Vance is Lenore’s son, that means he had every reason to hate the Greene family. Gerald abandoned him. And maybe Joel shunned him.”

“Yet Joel named Vance in his will. How did that happen?”

“My opinion? Vance threatened Joel, and Joel put him in the will to make up for past indiscretions.”

“That’s a possibility. But the gesture wasn’t enough. Vance murdered Joel out of spite.”

“We’re missing something here,” Nia said.

Before Eli could reply, Brad Jenkins burst in, breath labored from sprinting down the corridor. “We’ve got a situation. Margaret Langley didn’t show up for her shift at the library. A neighbor called the station and said they heard screaming inside her house. Now she isn’t answering her door.”

This was it. The killer had taken Margaret, intent on murdering the last child in the Greene family.

Nia closed her eyes. She should have seen this coming.

“All right,” Eli said. “We can’t allow another person to die.”

“How do you want to play this?”

If Margaret Langley was still alive, every second counted.

More officers crowded into the room. Anderson and Craig looked to Eli for direction. And to Nia. She nodded at them.

“Here’s the plan,” Eli said, voice carrying just enough authority to still the restless energy in the cramped space. “I want two officers to check Langley’s house. Anderson and Craig can spearhead that. They’ll search for forced entry and signs of a struggle. Take prints and gather evidence. If Richard Vance or Lenore Carlyle took Langley, I want proof.”

Jenkins stepped forward. “How do we find Langley?”

Eli turned to Nia. “What do you think?”

They were all staring at Nia now. It took her a second to find her voice.

“If the killer’s pattern holds, he’ll dump the bodies in the woods or in Duskwood Lake. Lock down the area.”

“Right,” Eli said. “Rodriguez, you’ll coordinate units near the main lake entrance. Peters, you take the boat launch. Monitor the shoreline. Jenkins—you organize a sweep of the trails that lead through the forest. We need officers hidden at every entry point outside the woods.”

“Remember, this person has already murdered two, perhaps three people, including a trained officer. We can’t underestimate him. The lake paths, the old boathouse, the campgrounds, and the lake are all potential dump sites.”

“Got it,” Jenkins said. “We can ask for volunteers from the neighboring county too. Extra sets of eyes.”

Eli nodded. “Good idea. Coordinate with dispatch and get a call out to the county sheriff. Find out if they’ll lend us deputies to guard the perimeter. If we have enough uniforms, we can seal off the north edge of the forest.”

A hush fell over the group, that tense moment before a plan snapped into action. Then Brad Jenkins clapped his hands together. “I’ll get on the radio and get officers stationed. Nia, you coming with me and Eli?”

She buttoned her coat. “I’m ready to roll.”

Eli paused, turning in a slow circle to assess the gathered officers. Most of them wore expressions of grim determination. They’d already lost one of their own. Another death would hammer this department’s morale.

“For Joel,” Eli said.

“For Joel,” Anderson echoed.

More voices took up the chant.

“Move out. And watch yourselves. We might be dealing with one of Scarpelli’s henchmen.”

The station erupted into a flurry of motion. Anderson and Craig dashed for the exit. Eli grabbed his jacket and checked his firearm.

As Nia fell in beside her partner, Jenkins grabbed Eli’s shoulder.

“Maybe we should call the FBI,” Jenkins said.

“Until we have proof that Richard Vance is in Duskwood, there’s nothing we can tell them.”

“You sure, Eli?”

“Vance killed a Duskwood officer. The FBI is welcome to take Vance. And we’ll deliver him in a body bag.”

43

A biting wind raked across Duskwood Lake, sending chunks of broken ice against the shoreline. Nia, Eli, and Jenkins crouched near their cruisers, which they’d concealed behind a low rise of land and a stand of bushes bared by winter. The afternoon light waned, painting the scene in half-shades of gray. Soon it would be dark.

The chill seeped into Nia’s bones. She fought to keep her teeth from chattering and glassed the shoreline with binoculars.

“All quiet so far,” Eli said. “No tire tracks or footprints leading to the boat launch. Rodriguez is on the north trail.” He pressed a finger to his earpiece. “Stevens, Rangel. Do you copy?”

A hiss of static. Then a voice replied. “Rangel here. We’re set up along the footpath that curves west from the Lakeview cabins. No one’s passed through.”

Nia glanced toward the dark expanse of the woods—heavy trunks and tangled undergrowth. The killer could be anywhere in that maze of pine and oak, looking for the right spot to dump his victim. She suppressed a shiver at the thought.

“All right,” Eli said into the radio. “Stay concealed. Don’t approach anyone without backup.”

Nia edged closer to the water, boots crunching on the frozen slush. Several shards of ice tinkled together like broken glass in the wavelets. “This place is creepy. God, I hope we’re not waiting for Margaret’s body to float to shore.”

Jenkins exhaled, blinking against the icy wind. “If she’s still alive, we’ll find her.”

A squawk of static cut through the quiet, and Eli raised his radio. “Go ahead, Anderson.”

The officer’s voice came through. “We checked Langley’s house and found signs of a struggle—an overturned chair, a streak of blood on the doorframe. Might be hers. Might be the killer’s. No sign of Langley, but we bagged several prints and hair follicles.”

“Roger that. Get forensics and secure the scene.”

“We’re on it. I’ll keep you posted.”

Her coat zipped high against the cutting wind, Nia hunkered down, scanning the ripples where bits of broken ice floated. At any moment, she expected a pale arm to float across the surface.

The officers stood sentinel, each in silent vigil, ready to for the unexpected. They didn’t have to wait long.

A voice boomed through the radio.

“Rangel here on the east bank. Something just went under the water. I’ve got a clear line of sight, and it looked like…For God’s sake, it looked like an arm.”

Nia couldn’t breathe. She and Eli locked eyes, an unspoken dread lying between them.

“Location?” Eli said, bringing his own binoculars to his eyes. He lunged for the cruiser’s spotlight and aimed it at the lake’s choppy surface.

“Roughly one hundred yards out past the pier, near a cluster of half-submerged ice chunks. I saw a white flash before it sank under. I swear it looked like flesh.”

Margaret Langley?

The cold bit at Nia’s exposed fingers as she scanned the water with the binoculars. She wanted to curse the numbness creeping in.

“Any other officers with eyes on that side?” Eli asked.

“I’m circling around and meeting with Stevens,” Jenkins said. “We’re launching the boat. Hang tight.”

Eli looked at Nia. In that glance, she saw the same fear that coiled in her own throat.

We might already be too late.

As Jenkins ran off, Nia and Eli scrambled down the bank, boots sliding on iced mud, kicking aside rotting leaves. Nia stopped when she gained a better view of the water past the pier.

“See anything?” Eli asked.

“It’s hard to make out.” She adjusted the focus, straining to see beneath the gray chop. Every swirl of water, every chunk of ice, looked like it could be an elbow or a foot bobbing.

On the other side of the water, Jenkins and Stevens emerged from behind a stand of pines, wrestling a small inflatable boat toward the water’s edge. Over the radio, Rangel guided them, relaying the exact spot of the sighting.

The boat glided out into the lake, Jenkins at the outboard motor. When they reached the approximate location, Jenkins cut the engine, letting them drift as he and Stevens peered into the murk. Eli and Nia watched from the shore.

Jenkins let out an exclamation. He leaned forward, hooking something with a long pole, the boat tilting precariously. Eli braced, ready to call out. How soon could they get the ME to Duskwood Lake?

Groaning, Jenkins lifted the pole so the others could see. A gnarled tree limb, pale and thick, its bark stripped by friction and the currents, lay on the end of the pole, giving it a disturbingly fleshy appearance.

“False alarm,” Jenkins finally said. “It’s a tree branch. Must have broken off and floated in this lake for years.”

Nia’s knees threatened to give out. There was a chance Margaret Langley was still alive. She could hear Eli exhale beside her.

“All units,” Eli said into the radio, “the figure is just debris. Repeat, it’s just debris. Stand by.” After he conferred with Jenkins, Eli addressed the officers. “Keep searching for Margaret Langley. This changes nothing. Over.”

Jenkins and Stevens maneuvered the limb aside before steering the boat back to shore. The lake churned with indifference.

As Eli turned away, Rangel came through the comms again: “I’ve got movement in the eastern woods, near the ridge. Something is moving from trunk to trunk, but all I can see is a shadow. Might be our guy.”

In the background, another officer grumbled, “Cry wolf much? We’re chasing phantoms now.”

But Nia wasn’t so sure. She aimed her binoculars at the eastern woods, scanning the forest for a figure. The wind set the trees in motion, masking all other movements.

“Rangel, pin down the location,” Eli said.

“Just north of Lakeview Trail, half a mile east of the boathouse. The figure is hugging the tree line and descending the hill.”

Eli nodded to Nia, then pressed the transmit button. “All units, stand by. We’ve got possible contact on the east side of Duskwood Lake. Rangel, keep eyes on the shadow, but don’t engage. We’re forming a perimeter. No one is to encounter our target alone.”

The radio erupted with confirmation. Jenkins, Rodriguez, and Peters each acknowledged orders from different vantage points around the lake.

Eli wasted no time. “Stevens, you and Jenkins get your boat into the cruiser and circle north. Take the ridge trail. Rodriguez, shift west to block off the old footpath. Peters, swing south. There’s a half-hidden game trail the killer could use to escape. Move.”

As the officers scrambled to reposition, Nia faced Eli. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to get in my cruiser, drive to Rosalia’s, and spend the evening with Janet and your daughter. But since I know you’ll refuse to take yourself out of the game, here.” He popped the cruiser’s trunk and handed her a vest. “Put this on.”

“It’s still my size,” she said with a wink.

“When we hit the trail, stay behind me.”

“Are you my protector or my partner?”

“Both. Get in the vehicle.”

Nia climbed into the passenger seat. She consulted the battered map pinned under the sun visor. “The Lakeview Trail splits about two hundred yards from the boathouse. If we drive around the lake, we can meet Rangel between the ridge and the footbridge.”

Eli cranked the ignition. “That’s where we’ll go. If Vance is here, we’ll corner him from both sides and lock him down.”

As Eli turned onto the road, Nia prayed there was still time to save Margaret Langley.

44

Nightfall crept over the forest like ink seeping into paper, transforming the woods into a twisted menace. Nia and Eli forced their way through the brambles and undergrowth. Branches clawed at their coats and faces. With a mix of snow and ice beneath their boots, it was impossible not to announce their presence to whoever was stalking through the forest.

Nia was painfully aware of how quickly the temperature dropped after night fell. Eli kept a gloved hand tight around his radio.

Officer Rangel kept them up to date. “Suspect heading north. Losing him.”

But when Eli queried his fellow officer for the exact position, no one replied.

He pressed the transmit button, but only dead air returned. Anxiety gripped Nia’s heart. Why wasn’t Rangel responding?

Eli, forging ahead at Nia’s side, kept his flashlight off. They didn’t want to give away their presence.

“Rangel, come in,” Eli said.

Still nothing.

The way forward became too slick to traverse. Nia grabbed a clump of bramble to keep from falling. Thorns tore holes through her gloves and raked red crevices across her palms and fingers. She was heedless of the pain. All that mattered was locating an unresponsive officer and saving Margaret Langley.

With Eli’s help, Nia found her footing. They pressed on, pushing through snow that rose past their knees.

Jenkins’ voice came over the radio. He and the remaining officers had cut off the escape routes. Whoever was in the forest would have to face Nia and Eli.

As Nia rounded a clump of trees, Eli grabbed her shoulder and held her back. Something lay between them and an intersecting trail.

The shape sprawled across the ground. With no moon or starlight, it was almost invisible.

Eli removed his service weapon and approached. Nia watched the forest, wary of a trap.

A sprawled figure lay motionless beside a fallen tree.

“That’s a Duskwood officer,” she said.

“Rangel,” Eli said. He gulped air and scanned their surroundings, ready for a shadow to lunge out of hiding.

They hurried to the figure. Officer Rangel lay face down in the snow. Blood stained a patch of ice near his temple, and his radio lay half-buried in the elements.

“Rangel, it’s Eli,” he said, pressing two fingers against the officer’s neck. Relief softened his features. “He’s alive.”

Nia studied the trail and found a path of snapped twigs. Footprints sank into the snow. Rangel’s attacker was close.

Eli ground his teeth, sweeping the forest with his gun. “Rangel needs help.” He gently rolled Rangel onto his side and checked the officer’s pupils. They were unfocused, half-lidded. A moan escaped Rangel’s lips, but he didn’t stir.

“Officer down,” Eli said into the radio. He relayed their position to the other officers.

Nia opened her mouth to speak, but the words died in her throat when voices drifted through the trees.

Two people were in the forest.

She stared back at Eli. Did the killer have an accomplice?

Eli held up a hand to still Nia as they listened. The voices stopped, but they’d come from just beyond the trail intersection.

For what seemed like hours, they remained perfectly still, crouched in the snow, waiting for the voices to start again. By the pained look on Eli’s face, Nia could tell he didn’t want to leave a fallen officer behind.

But one of those voices might have belonged to Margeret Langley. Rescuing the woman was their priority.

“Rangel,” Eli said, though the officer couldn’t hear him, “help is on the way. I’ll come back for you. I promise.”

As soon as Nia and Eli advanced, the voices returned, coming from about fifty yards ahead. They crouched as they hurried forward.

“That way,” Eli whispered, pointing eastward.

He kept his weapon drawn, leading Nia onto the next pathway. Whenever the wind gusted, the trees to their sides groaned and threatened to topple. Weighed down by ice, the trees bent to the point of snapping. If one fell now, there would be no time to get out of the way.

The voices became clearer. One male, one female. Though Nia couldn’t yet make out the words, she heard anger. A confrontation was about to boil over.

Darkness swam beneath the canopy, forcing them to rely on their instincts. Nia and Eli slipped from tree to tree, hugging the trunks for cover. Police procedure demanded they move quietly, but the ground refused to cooperate. Every crunch of snow made her wince. She snuck a glance at Eli, who offered a nod.

Another bend in the trail revealed a clearing. Nia saw another body on the ground. She was close enough to recognize Margaret Langley. Was she breathing?

The woman lay on her back, a dark patch of blood staining her coat near the shoulder.

Were they too late?

Richard Vance stood over Langley’s body. But something was wrong. He raised his hands in surrender.

Eli placed one foot in front of the other, his gun trained on the murder suspect. The female voice came again, and it didn’t belong to Langley.

Another woman hunched in the shadows of a broad oak, her features cloaked by the night. Her tone was hushed, urgent, directed at Vance.

Nia strained to make out words, but the gale swallowed them. Eli had Vance in his sights. One squeeze of the trigger, and he would take out the suspect. But Nia and Eli couldn’t act until they knew what they were dealing with and who stood out of sight. She gripped her own weapon. A single misstep could turn the standoff deadly.

From the edge of the clearing, Richard Vance took a step toward the unknown woman.

“Stay where you are, Richard,” the woman ordered.

At the sound of the stranger’s voice, Margaret Langley moaned and turned over on her side.

“You’re making a mistake,” Vance said.

“No. I should have done this twenty years ago. I knew it was you. You slit the tire and caused him to crash.”

“Listen to yourself. Why would I murder my father?”

“Because he turned his back on you, just like he did to me.”

Lenore Carlyle.

45

As if to verify her identity, Lenore Carlyle emerged from the shadows. The woman aimed a gun at Richard Vance.

Eli crouched behind a pine and motioned for Nia to fan out. She obeyed, creeping around to his right, her weapon angled toward Lenore Carlyle. He kept his sights on Richard Vance, whose hands remained half-raised. Margaret Langley groaned again. At least she was alive.

Lenore’s eyes burned with hurt as she pointed a pistol at Vance. The wind clawed at the woman’s hair, streaking it across her face.

“You murdered Joel Greene,” Lenore said, stepping around Margaret’s body. “And Bernadette Herringshaw. What did she ever do to you? You were so eager to hide your secrets, you’d kill anyone who got close. Didn’t you even care that the police would suspect I killed all of them?”

“I never meant to hurt you, Mother.”

“Too late for that. All those years ago, I knew you’d figured out who your were parents were.”

Nia tried to keep Lenore in the weapon’s crosshair, but the woman passed behind another tree.

“You didn’t come forward until the year you left Seneca Falls,” Vance said. “What was I supposed to think? You knew who I was, but still you ignored me.”

“After you murdered Gerald, I didn’t know what to say to you.”

Vance lifted his palms higher, glancing at the woman in the snow. “I didn’t kill my father,” he said, voice raw. “I’m not a monster.”

Lenore let out a derisive laugh. “You know, I could almost applaud you for what you did. Gerald Greene turned his back on both of us. He used me, then threw me away. You never got an ounce of his time or his inheritance. So you slit his tire and forced him to crash.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t murder Gerald Greene. I loved my father, just as I love you.”

From behind his cover, Eli gestured at Nia. He would keep his pistol on Vance while Nia circled wide, covering Lenore. They need to separate the suspects, or a single gunshot might end in tragedy.

“Don’t lie to me, Richard. Joel put you in his will because he knew you were dangerous. He was trying to placate you because he knew you’d found your biological father.”

Vance gave a bitter snarl. “Wonderful story, Mother. Too bad it’s not true.”

“You don’t think I slit that tire, do you?”

“No, but I know who did.”

“Who?”

Nia slipped around another pine and sighted the gun on Lenore.

“Joel Greene cut the line on that tire. Don’t you get it? Joel murdered his own father.”

Lenore’s mouth fell open, though her weapon didn’t waver. “That’s insane. Why would Joel kill his father?”

“Because Gerald betrayed his mother and disgraced his family,” Vance hissed, taking a step toward Lenore.

The killer was getting close to his mother. When would Eli give the signal?

“I don’t believe you.”

“Joel hated the old man more than either of us ever could. After I confronted him, he told me everything. Even then, Joel was weak. Eventually, he tried to buy me off. He thought a little cash would stop me from bringing the truth to light. Vincent Scarpelli pays me more in a week than Joel made in a year.”

“Why the sister? What did Margaret Langley ever do to you?”

“She kept Joel’s secret.” When Lenore’s eyes widened, a smile curled Vance’s lips. “That’s right. Margaret knew all along. She deserves to die, and you’re going to help me kill her.”

“Never.”

“Admit it, Mother. The last Greene, dead and buried. It was bound to come to this.”

Margaret moaned again, stirring, her hand fumbling at her bloody coat. Lenore and Vance were too focused on each other to react. They didn’t even stir when Eli stepped out of hiding.

Nia whispered into her radio, praying Eli would hear. “I’m in position. I have a clear shot on Lenore.”

Eli signaled to Nia. Now was the time. As she rushed forward, Eli lunged.

“Stop!” Eli yelled. “Richard Vance, Lenore Carlyle—nobody move. Lenore, lower the gun. Show me your hands, Vance.”

Vance whirled and removed a gun from his jacket. There was no time for Eli to react.

Nia turned the gun away from Lenore and squeezed the trigger. The bullet struck Vance’s shoulder in a spray of blood. Vance fired a shot that went wide of its mark, exploding against a pine.

Before the killer could recover, Eli’s shot struck Vance in the arm. The gun fell from the killer’s hand.

With a ragged exhalation, Richard Vance dropped to his knees. The killer’s arms refused to cooperate as he sought the fallen weapon. His expression contorted between rage and bitter relief. It was finally over.

Eli seized the opening. He lunged forward to close the distance.

“Hands behind your head!” Eli yelled.

Vance complied, but his eyes moved to Lenore, who still stood trembling, tears sliding down her cheeks. In one fluid motion, Eli tackled Vance to the ground, pinning him with a forearm against his spine. Vance let out a choked gasp but didn’t fight back.

Nia moved in on Lenore.

“Drop the weapon,” Nia said.

Lenore’s pistol had slipped from her fingers and fell at her feet. She stared at the weapon as though it were a venomous snake. The fury drained from her body, leaving only heartbreak in its wake.

“It’s over,” Nia said, retrieving the gun.

Lenore clutched her arms around herself, face slack with grief. “I never meant for this to happen.”

Nia took the woman by the elbow and guided her away from Vance. “Stay with me, Ms. Carlyle.”

“Don’t hurt him. He’s my boy.”

Eli wrestled Vance’s arms behind his back and secured the wrists with cuffs. Mother and son shared a look that forced a tear out of Nia’s eye. Gerald Greene’s betrayal had cost so many innocents their lives.

“Richard Vance,” Eli said, “you’re under arrest for the murder of Joel Greene and Bernadette Herringshaw, and for assaulting and abducting Margaret Langley. You have the right to remain silent.”

Officers Jenkins and Rodriguez burst into the clearing, weapons drawn. Their flashlights darted across the scene.

“Help her,” Nia said, lifting her chin at the woman in the snow.

Jenkins rushed to Langley’s aid and radioed for an ambulance.

As Nia held Lenore, the mother broke down in a flood of tears.

46

The lights in Chief Moretti’s office seemed too bright for the late hour. Ten p.m.

Nia had spent the last ten minutes on the phone with Janet while Maya slept in the woman’s guestroom. Now she stood beside Eli, awaiting the worst. The world narrowed to a pressure point.

Moretti paced behind the desk, ostensibly too angry to speak. Papers lay strewn across the floor where he’d hurled them.

“You couldn’t have made my day any harder, Mitchell,” Moretti said. “You pursued Richard Vance—the same Vance the FBI explicitly forbade us from touching—and you led your fellow officers into a potential bloodbath.” He slashed the air with his hand as if slicing through Eli’s defense.

Eli stood stiffly, eyes fixed on some distant location behind Moretti’s head. “I did what needed to be done, sir.”

“What needed to be done…” Moretti repeated with a sneer. “You realize how much trouble you caused this department? The FBI is going to come down on us with the full fury of the federal government.”

Nia forced herself not to respond. Whenever Moretti was in one of these moods, it was best to let him say his piece and vent his anger. Now she dreaded what this would mean for Eli’s career. If he still had a career after this night ended.

Moretti stopped pacing and slapped the desk. The echo rang in Nia’s ears.

This was the end. Eli would lose his job, and Duskwood PD would blackball Nia for eternity.

Then Moretti let out a booming laugh. Eli fell back on his heels, and Nia was too shocked to respond.

“To hell with the FBI,” Moretti said, holding Eli’s disbelieving gaze. “They can screw themselves. Vance murdered one of our own and dared to show his face in Duskwood. He belongs to us.” Moretti jabbed a finger at Eli’s chest. “You did your duty, Mitchell, and I couldn’t be more proud.”

Eli blinked with uncertainty.

Something in Nia’s shoulders unlocked.

“You did what the FBI couldn’t,” Moretti said. “You took down the man who murdered Officer Joel Greene and Bernadette Herringshaw. Not to mention, you caught Vincent Scarpelli’s right-hand man. I’m proud of you, Mitchell, even though you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Still staring at some reality Nia couldn’t see, Eli stood at attention. “Thank you, sir.”

“You’re most welcome, Detective.”

Nia stared. Eli’s mouth worked in silence before he found his voice.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“You heard me. It’s Detective Mitchell now.”

A look of pride fell over Eli’s face. Nia wanted to cry.

She waited for the chief to dismiss them, but he wasn’t finished. Moretti approached Nia and stood before her. Something almost akin to respect lit his eyes.

“Carter, you saved Mitchell’s hide. You guided us to Vance, and you kept my fool detective from getting himself killed.” He made an offhand gesture in Eli’s direction.

Nia’s throat tightened. In no way had she expected thanks. She’d only done what she needed to. “I’m just relieved we caught Vance and saved Margaret Langley.”

“We owe you a debt of gratitude, Carter. You came in as a PI, an outsider. But I see it now. You’re one of us. And if I hadn’t been so stubborn, you could have helped us for years.” He gave a decisive nod. “When you’re ready, I want you to wear a Duskwood PD badge. Full time.”

Those words cracked something inside Nia. After so many years of being brushed aside, scorned by the force, here was Moretti accepting her as one of his own. Emotions welled. She didn’t know what to say.

“Chief,” she said, “I can’t tell you how much that means.”

Moretti grinned and patted her on the shoulder, but Nia lifted her chin.

“I left the police for a reason. I want to be there for my daughter. She deserves a mother. As much as I wish to accept your offer, I have to do what’s right for my family.”

“I can respect that. You have a daughter, and that’s what matters most. But let me say this: If you ever change your mind, the door is open. And don’t think I won’t keep pestering you.”

“He won’t, you know,” Eli said, elbowing Nia.

Nia let out a watery laugh. “Whenever Duskwood ever needs me, I’ll be here for you.”

“Well then. I guess we should wrap this up. I’ll smooth over everything with the feds, though they won’t be happy. Too bad. They had years to catch Vance, and they lost their chance.” The chief inclined his head in a rare gesture of camaraderie. “Good work, the both of you. Now go home. Get some rest. We’ll tackle this mess in the morning.”

Eli appeared at a loss for words as he shuffled out of the office with Nia by his side. The second they stepped into the bullpen, the applause started.

Officers surrounded them, some patting Eli on the shoulder in congratulations, others raising fists into the air. To Nia’s shock, Anderson and Craig shook her hand.

“You’re the real deal,” Craig said, and Anderson gave Nia a playful jab.

Nia swallowed against the last wave of emotion. She was one of them now. And Eli had gotten the promotion he’d deserved years ago.

Passing through the office, she felt lighter, as if she could take wings. A new chapter awaited her, uncertain but hopeful.

Whenever Duskwood needed her again, she would answer the call.

47

On Saturday afternoon, Nia and Eli shoveled away enough snow to wheel the grill off the back porch. The charcoal glowed with orange embers as Eli rubbed his hands together over the rising heat.

It seemed an unlikely scene, with Nia and Eli bundled against the cold and working side by side in the yard, preparing dinner as if it were a balmy summer evening. The scents of marinated chicken and sautéed vegetables mingled with the sweet tang of hickory smoke, forming a pocket of warmth.

Nia huddled closer to the grill, escaping the cold. She caught Eli smiling at her, a gentle curve to his lips lighting a spark in her chest. He looked over his shoulder at the house, where Maya and Janet busied themselves inside the kitchen.

“You think they’re laughing at us?” Nia asked.

“I’m certain of it.” A small cloud of breath curled in the frosty air as Eli turned the chicken with tongs. “But someone had to cook.”

“We could have made dinner inside?”

“Carter, I grill year-round. You get used to winter. The second you convince yourself that the good times won’t start until spring, a part of you grows old.”

“Are you a philosopher now?”

“Just speaking the truth.”

Nia felt a languid ease within her—a sense of peace, so rare after the past several months. The glow of the fire danced across Eli’s face, revealing new lines of experience but also an openness that hadn’t existed years ago. He used to be so closed off and guarded.

And I was stubborn and distrustful.

They had changed and found each other.

“Your cooking skills never cease to amaze me,” she said. “The pot roast. Maya still raves about that meal.”

Eli lifted a shoulder. “It wasn’t special.”

“It was special to us.”

Quiet fell between them, broken only by the crackle of the coals. In that stillness, she thought of how happy Maya was when Eli was around. And how happy she was.

Eli glanced at the house. Maya was pointing at them through the window, joking with Janet.

“Thank goodness it’s the weekend and we’re both free,” Nia said.

Eli set down the tongs and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “We earned some celebration time.”

“You can say that again, Detective Mitchell.”

His eyes glazed over. “I still can’t believe it.”

“I can.”

Their eyes locked, and time slowed. Pungent wood smoke and roasted spices enveloped them. The swirl of snow around their boots felt like a fleeting dream.

Nia thought of Jamal, the boy she’d promised to bring home to his mother. For too long, she’d hung on to that failure, haunted by regrets, constantly running from her past.

She lifted the spoon from the side tray. “The chicken is almost done. Better not burn dinner.”

Eli gave the chicken another turn. “I’m on top of the situation.” He paused, then looked at her in a way that said he understood exactly how much they both had overcome. “Are you ready to eat?”

“In a minute.” The wind gusted, and the night pressed in. Yet she felt no fear. “Let’s just enjoy this moment.”

His arm tightened around her shoulders. Nia was ready to close a painful chapter in her life.

They held each other for a long time. When they broke apart, Eli cleared his throat and focused on loading the dish with the chicken.

“After we finish the dishes, I should head back,” Eli said. “My driveway needs snow blowing, and I probably should give you and Maya some space.”

Nia considered her next words. The time felt right. At long last, she touched Eli’s hand.

“After you finish clearing the driveway, why don’t you pack a bag?”

“Why? Am I going somewhere?”

“Well, wouldn’t it make more sense if you kept your belongings where you sleep?”

He furrowed his brow. “Nia, are you asking me to move in?”

“Yeah, I think I am.”

Eli stroked a thumb across her chin. “Are you sure?”

“I see how much you care about Maya, Eli. My daughter needs a father.”

He looked away, and for a moment, she worried he wasn’t ready.

“Am I worthy?” he asked.

“More than you can ever know.”

“What about you, Nia? What do you want?”

The clouds broke, allowing the starlight to illuminate the backyard.

“I want you, Eli Mitchell.”

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Published by Dan Padavona

Visit my website at www.danpadavona.com

Copyright © 2023 by Dan Padavona

Artwork copyright © 2023 by Dan Padavona

Cover Design by Caroline Teagle Johnson

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Although some of the locations in this book are actual places, the characters and setting are wholly of the author's imagination. Any resemblance between the people in this book and people in the real world is purely coincidental and unintended.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

No writer journeys alone. Special thanks are in order to my editor, C.B. Moore, for providing invaluable feedback, catching errors, and making my story shine. I also wish to thank my brilliant cover designer, Caroline Teagle Johnson. Your artwork never ceases to amaze me. I owe so much of my success to your hard work. Shout outs to my advance readers, including Charles Kochan, Jamie Yelton, Ted Browne, and Nerrida Wright, for catching those final pesky typos and plot holes. Most of all, thank you to my readers for your loyalty and support. You changed my life, and I am forever grateful.