A DEADLY PROMISE

Emily Slate Mystery Thriller

Book 19

ALEX SIGMORE

Dark Woods Press

A DEADLY PROMISE: EMILY SLATE MYSTERY THRILLER BOOK 19

Copyright © 2026 by Alex Sigmore

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

1st Edition

Print ISBN 978-1-971270-35-7

Description

In Sable Cove, generosity comes with a deadly price.

Until the bodies of Gareth and Petra Voss are found on the shores of Lake Michigan, the picturesque town looks like a postcard of perfection. But FBI Special Agent Emily Slate knows better. The prettier the surface, the darker the secrets drowning beneath it.

Thrust into a double murder investigation, Emily and her partner Zara quickly realize they aren't just looking for one suspect—they are staring down an entire town with a motive. Navigating a web of long-buried resentments and silent alliances, Emily finds that anyone in Sable Cove could have pulled the trigger.

But the twisting case isn't the only thing threatening to derail them. Zara is battling the lingering ghosts of a recent trauma, and the suffocating pressure of the investigation is pushing her to the breaking point.

As the walls close in, Emily is forced to confront a chilling reality. How do you catch a killer when everyone has a reason to want the victims dead? And what happens when the people you trust are hiding the deadliest secrets of all?

Prologue

♪ We chop, we sew, take the heads and roll…we’re all a little sadistic… ♪

Zoey hadn’t been able to get the song out of her head all morning. It was something that had come up on Spotify sometime in the middle of the night and had wedged itself deep in her subconscious, causing her to repeat the chorus over and over in her head all morning.

She pushed a branch out of her way as the dead leaves crunched under her feet. It was still cool and would probably be that way for another few weeks until the heat of summer settled in and made walks like this impossible. Maybe by then everything would be better. Maybe.

“Then he was like ‘What the fuck do we even need math for?’ and I had to stop myself from hitting him.”

Zoey didn’t even glance up at the sound of Em’s voice. She’d been going on about something that had happened last week at school for the past ten minutes and Zoey just hadn’t had the energy to engage. What was it like? Not to have to worry all the time?

“Z? You still with me?”

Zoey turned her head slightly to glance at her friend. “Yeah, ‘course.”

“You seem distracted.”

“Just… trying to enjoy the scenery.”

Emilia increased her pace, catching up so she was right beside Zoey. “If you want me to shut up, just tell me.”

“No, that’s not… I just… things have been rough, you know?”

Emilia nodded. “Your mom again?”

“Yeah. Kinda.”

“Sorry,” she said. “I guess Kayden Jennings isn’t really at the top of your list of concerns.”

Zoey gave her a small smile. “Not really.”

“I just don’t understand how anyone can’t be infuriated by that idiot,” Emilia said. “It’s like he tries to be ignorant of everything.”

Zoey chuckled. “He probably goes home and downs the manosphere by the bucket load every night.”

That caused Emilia to crack a smile. “No doubt. If he just wasn’t so damn beautiful maybe I could move past it. It’s a crime for someone that pretty to be so goddamned dumb.” She pulled her long dark hair back behind her ear like she did every time she was frustrated though it only stayed there a second before falling back in her face again.

Zoey used to have that problem, until she shaved half her hair off—mostly to piss off her mom but she had to admit it had made things a lot easier. Especially showers. Though the effect seemed to be wearing off. “Do you think I’d look good in purple?”

Emilia appraised her a second. “Sure. Dark though. Don’t try that lavender color or whatever it is. Won’t work with your hair.”

“Yeah, definitely dark,” Zoey said.

“I’d love to see what Maeve thought about that.”

Zoey exchanged a look with her friend and both of them started cackling wildly. “It would blow her mind.”

“What do you think it’s like back at her house?” Emilia asked. “Do you think they all wear those long gowns?”

“She’s not in a cult,” Zoey said. “She was just homeschooled for most of her life.”

Emilia shrugged. “I overheard her tell Kendra she was going to try something drastic so they’d kick her back out and her mom would be forced to homeschool her again.”

“Really?” Zoey asked. “Why? She is so weird.”

“I dunno. Maybe because everyone picks on her all the time. I know I wouldn’t want to be her,” Emilia said. “Shit’s hard enough.”

“Yeah,” Zoey tried not to let her thoughts drift back to her mother. Instead, she focused on the woods, the sound of the birds and other creatures around them. Their footfalls on the forest floor. She’d started taking walks like this over the past few weeks, finding the only time she could ever clear her thoughts was early in the morning. And given she didn’t sleep at all last night, getting up hadn’t been an issue. She’d invited Emilia along because as much as it helped clear her mind, it could get boring, and Emilia was the opposite of boring. But her friend since elementary only seemed interested in gossiping about school.

Still… it was better than being out here alone.

Her ear caught the sound of Emilia’s breath inhaling. She held out the metal pen to Zoey as she exhaled the strawberry-flavored vapor.

Zoey took it and drew a few puffs before handing it back, though it did nothing to calm her already overworked mind.

“Tattoo looks like its healing,” Emilia said slipping it back into her pocket.

Zoey pulled her sleeve back down, covering the black marks on her forearm. “Hunter can’t draw worth a damn.”

Emilia pulled the sleeve back again and examined what was supposed to be a spider weaving a web around Zoey’s forearm but ended up looking more like a fat potato instead. “It’s not that bad.”

“I’m getting it lasered off as soon as it finishes healing,” Zoey replied. “It’s what I get for letting him get in my head. All that BS about needing practice.” She turned to her friend. “Did you know he wanted me to pay him with a BJ?”

Emilia chuckled. “Yeah, that got around.”

“He’s lucky I didn’t take his last baby tooth with my fist,” Zoey said pulling the sleeve down again.

“He told everyone you did it,” Emilia said. “No one believes him though.”

“Ugh.” As if she needed more bad news. “I’m gonna rip that little twerp’s throat out.”

“He’s not worth it,” Emilia said. “Plus, who cares?”

“I care,” Zoey said. “It’s easy for you, no one ever makes up stories where you’re the whore.”

“Sorry,” Em said, lowering her head. “I just⁠—”

“I know,” Zoey said. “I’m just… frustrated.”

“Is the walk helping?”

“No,” she said, even though she could hear the soft lapping of the waves by now. This particular “path” led to the edge of Lake Michigan.

Emilia pulled out the vape and took another puff. “How long have you been coming out here?”

“A while,” Zoey replied. She wasn’t sure how much she could share with Emilia. They might be best friends and she was probably the person Zoey trusted more than anyone else, but at the same time Emilia was a lot more popular and had been hanging out with Tristan and some of the others… people Zoey would never associate with. And she never would have thought Emilia would have either until she just… did. So it had been better to keep things close to her chest for now. She wasn’t sure anything she told Emilia wouldn’t get out later.

But, on the other hand, Emilia hadn’t peppered her with questions about… things. It felt more normal than not, but still, Zoey wasn’t ready to open up. Not until she could be sure.

“Do you want to grab something to eat maybe?” Emilia asked. “I’m getting bored.”

The trees ahead of them began to thin and Zoey caught the sun glinting off the surface of the lake, reflecting the morning light. The shore had been a refuge for her, a place where she could sit and not have to think about anything. But if Emilia already wanted to go back, that was unlikely today. Maybe she should have just come out here alone.

“Zoe?”

She didn’t bother to answer, instead increasing her pace to get to the edge of the water faster. She wanted to stick her feet in; despite the fact it would be freezing. But it was cathartic in some ways. Painful, yes, but it reminded her she was still here.

But as soon as they broke through the trees and onto the shore, Zoey froze, her eyes going wide.

“Hey, did you—eep.” Emilia stepped out, her eyes no doubt landing on the same thing Zoey’s had. She drew in a breath and Zoey instinctively put her hand over her friend’s mouth to stop her from screaming. What was she supposed to do now?

Emilia pushed Zoey’s hand away, her breathing coming shallow and ragged. “What… what happened here?”

“We need to go,” Zoey said. Her entire body was vibrating with one directive: run. If they were caught out here⁠—

“Go? Are you⁠—”

Zoey turned and stood in front of Emilia, blocking her view of the shore. They were still the same height, even though Zoey was three months older. “We can’t be here. Understand? We need to go. Now.”

“But—”

“No,” Zoey said. “Run.”

Sandra Okafor peered through the little window of her oven, spying on the item that resided inside. She gave an audible “Hmph” even though so far everything looked like it was right on target. But that didn’t mean jack when you were working with something this delicate. She’d made and lost a total of four souffles before she finally decided it was the pan and not her baking skills. The timer on the oven said she still had three minutes to go for attempt number six. Number five had been nothing more than an “adjustment period” for her new bakeware.

A cat wound its way through her legs, mewing.

“I told you, this ain’t yours, Carl,” she muttered, standing back up and stretching out her back, only for it to pop three times in response. “This is your granny’s souffle and I don’t care if I have to make a hundred, I’m gonna get this right or it’s gonna kill me. Then you and your sisters can devour what’s left of me.” She grumbled as she moved to the other side of the kitchen. “Probably what’s gonna happen anyway.”

She’d read the stories about the women who lived alone with lots of cats who ended up dying in their homes. When someone came by to check on them after a few days, they usually found the corpse half devoured by the tiny beasts. Not that she really blamed them. Once she was gone there’d be nothing left but a slab of slowly rotting meat. It would be weird for cats not to go to town.

Some people were under the impression that their special connection with their pets would save them. That their animals would sit by their corpse and wait for help, protecting the remains of their once-beloved owners.

But not Sandra. Nope, those critters would probably dig in within the hour, despite the fact she always kept plenty of cat food out. She turned to Shelly, a calico who was sitting on the edge of the counter, watching her suspiciously. “You’d eat your mama, wouldn’t you?” she asked in a cooing baby voice. “Yes, you would.”

The cat cocked her head before licking her chops, a move that caught Sandra off guard.

“You don’t have to be so obvious about it. Leave me with a little dignity.”

The timer on the oven dinged, indicating it was time to remove lucky number six.

Sandra rolled her shoulders and popped her neck on each side before donning her oven mitts. “Showtime.” She opened the oven and gingerly removed the souffle, being as careful as possible not to jostle it. This entire operation could have been avoided if her mother hadn’t insisted on coming to stay with her for Mother’s Day this year. Juanita Okafor was a traditionalist—someone who expected the host to cook and to be good at it. And unless Sandra wanted to withstand a barrage of backhanded compliments and “suggestions” all weekend, her souffle skills needed to be perfect.

As she set the pan atop the stove and slowly closed the door, careful not to make the slightest jostle for fear the pastry would fall, she wondered if the cats would go after her mother as feverishly as they would probably go after her. Probably not. Her mother always smelled like cigarettes and Kaopectate. Natural cat repellants. Every time she visited, the cats always hid, which was just as well. Juanita was as likely to kick one of them “by accident” as she was to lean down and pet them.

“Okay,” Sandra said, taking a step back and admiring her handiwork. The souffle held firm. “I think we might have actually done it.” She turned to Carl, who had positioned himself under one of the kitchen chairs. “See? Told you.” The cat narrowed its eyes at her. “Yeah? I’d like to see you do better.”

She took a deep breath and steadied herself at the sink which overlooked her garden through the window. Now if she could just repeat the performance in a few weeks’ time when her mother arrived. She snapped her fingers, remembering she needed to add wine to her grocery list. If she could keep her just sloshed enough, maybe she could avoid some of the harsher parts of her mother’s personality.

Just as she was trying to figure out what else she forgot, she caught sight of two forms emerging from the woods that ran between her house and the next one over. Sandra leaned forward. She couldn’t see them clearly, but could tell they couldn’t be more than fifteen or sixteen. And they were booking it, tearing through the clearing like a bear was chasing them. But as she looked, she couldn’t see anything behind them. It was then she caught sight of the purple hoodie, that one that Hargrove girl was always wearing. It had to be her and a friend. What had they been doing in the woods? Smoking or drinking up a storm, no doubt. Did kids still do that these days?

Still, she didn’t like the idea that those girls might be in some kind of trouble. She pushed past a cat and opened her pantry, revealing the rifle she kept stored there for emergencies.

No, you’re just being silly. If they were in trouble they’d be screaming or something.

Still. She couldn’t get it out of her mind. They’d come from the lake. Maybe she should go and see what was down there, just to be sure.

Sandra grabbed the rifle and took a deep breath, leaving the souffle cooling on the stove.

Chapter One

I am actually going to be early for once.

Pushing through the door, coffee in one hand and my laptop back slung over my shoulder, I make my way into our office building just as the sun begins to peek over the trees. Given the weather lately, it will probably end up being another hot April day. Thankfully this morning was nice and cool with low humidity, and I managed to get a run in and shower before Liam was even out of bed. Then I managed a quick breakfast before I was out the door, giving the pups some goodbye love on the way.

It’s one of those rare mornings where everything is going as it’s supposed to, where some emergency or another hasn’t popped up to put a kink in my plans or to derail my day. Why can’t every day be this effortless? If I could get into the office at this hour on a regular basis, I could get so much more work done.

But I guess I can’t complain. Raptor Squad—a name Pendergast reluctantly uses and Vostov still refuses to acknowledge—has been performing well over the past month. However, the official name the FBI uses is Advanced Case Response Division. But Zara says that just sounds like we’re saying “A-crud.” Regardless, three cases in total resolved cleanly and without incident, and we’re finally starting to find our rhythm. Nadia and Elliott have settled in and now that the threat of losing our jobs no longer hangs over our heads, I think everyone has been able to step back and relax a bit more.

As I stride down the hallway, the ring on the delicate chain around my neck catches the sunlight peering through the windows, the diamond reflecting the light off the nearby walls and I can’t help but smile. It’s barely been a month since Liam proposed and part of me still can’t believe it’s real. That I could have a chance at another long-term relationship and this time, an opportunity to do it right.

I swore after Matt there was no way I would ever allow myself to fall into that kind of trap again, to be so blindsided by someone that I couldn’t see who they were from the beginning. But Liam isn’t like that. And it isn’t like he doesn’t know what he’s getting into. But for the first time I feel like I have a partner who truly understands me and who doesn’t go running in the other direction because of it. And I can’t help but be grateful.

I just wish Zara could find some peace. Losing Theo was tough and while she’s bounced back somewhat, I still catch a glimpse of sadness in her eyes on occasion. Thankfully though, she’s been more than preoccupied with the program Pendergast and Vostov handed over to us—the one that helps us decide where to focus our efforts. Being in charge of that, and deciding which cases we take has given Zara a newfound purpose. Was it devious of me to hand the reins completely to her to get her mind off other things? Maybe. But I can’t argue with the results. So far we are three for three with no signs of slowing down. I overheard Pendergast say the other day that they might even start looking at expanding the program.

Part of me would welcome more help, but another, more selfish part wants things to remain the way they are. For the first time in a long time, things feel stable and I’m trying to soak it up as much as possible. The team is in a good place, we’re closing cases and helping people, and there haven’t been any major speedbumps.

Of course, the one dark spot on the horizon is still the matter of Fletch’s trial. The man who tried to kill me and Zara remains behind bars at the local CIA holding facility and despite his repeated requests, I haven’t been back to visit him. While he helped our case against Lazar Mental Correctional Facility, which has resulted in multiple arrests and convictions, I don’t feel like I owe the man another second of my time. I also kind of like that he’s the one asking for me now. It gives me an edge that I plan on riding all the way until the trial date.

As I step into my office and the lights come on automatically, I set my coffee on my desk and drop my laptop into my chair. Zara has gotten me in the habit of bringing it home with me first for security reasons, but also because she’s been hounding me over this wedding and insists on sending me recommendation after recommendation for florists, caterers, DJs and everything else under the sun. Liam and I haven’t even talked about details yet and to be honest, I’m not the kind of woman who needs a big ceremony. I did that once. A trip down to the courthouse with a couple of witnesses would be good enough for me. Maybe a nice vacation back to St. Solomon or somewhere similar. But the way she’s talking I’m going to be paying for this wedding until I’m ninety.

Plus, there’s the matter of telling his family—something we also haven’t discussed. Considering my only living relative is currently incarcerated, we don’t have to worry about my side of the family. But Liam’s is another matter entirely. Especially his mother. Despite beginning to warm to me, I’m not sure how she’ll feel about such a large step and part of me doesn’t care. But I know Liam wants his family’s approval, even if he says it doesn’t matter to him. I can tell it’s important. And I guess I can understand part of that. Both my parents were already dead by the time I married Matt, so I never really had anyone there on my side of the aisle and that was fine.

“Yusss.”

My ears perk up at the sound and I poke my head back out of the doorway to glance down the hall. Only one of the other doors is open and of course it’s Zara’s.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Leaving my things in the office, I stomp down the hallway only to stand in front of her door, my hands in fists as I stare her down. She’s completely engrossed in whatever she’s doing, all the lights in the room are off and the screen is the only thing illuminating her face, which is only inches away.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Jesus Christ!” she says, jumping back and whipping towards me, her chest heaving. “Em, ugh. Give a girl a heart attack, why don’t you?”

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“Uh, I work here,” she replies, grabbing a mug emblazoned with the words World’s Okayest Everything on it. I also catch the light hum of what sounds like EDM from her speakers turned down to the lowest possible level.

“What time did you get in?” I demand.

“I dunno, what time is it?” she glances at the clock on her monitor. “Oh… I guess I never went home last night.”

“You worked all night?”

“What can I say? I love this new program. Did you know there is a record in the system from a woman who has three pet tigers who is accused of having them maul one of her neighbors? But get this, the neighbor has a pet anaconda. It’s like the Beast Wars or something.”

I rub my temple. “Z, you need sleep,” I say, beginning to rethink my decision to turn full control of the program to her.

“Yeah, yeah, but remember, I’m a trained night owl. This—” She motions around her. “—doesn’t affect me.”

“Tell me that at three o’clock this afternoon when you’re nodding off during our situation meeting.”

Zara scoffs. “You’re just mad you’re not the first one in the office.”

“You’re damn right I’m mad,” I say. “I was having a perfectly aligned morning. And now you’ve thrown it all out of whack.”

“You leave Liam at home again?” she asks, giving me a knowing smile.

“He has a vehicle,” I say. “I didn’t strand him there.”

“Hey, I get it; you need your space sometimes. You guys live, work and commute together. And now you’re gonna be together forever and ever and ever.” She starts chuckling as she begins to take a sip on what has to be cold coffee by now, but almost chokes on it; she’s so entertained by herself.

“Careful,” I say. “You’re no good to me dead.”

She wipes her chin. “Did you have a chance to look at those dress samples I sent over last night?”

“Z—”

“They’re just suggestions,” she says quickly, knowing this is an uphill battle.

“I’m not even sure we’re having a ceremony.”

She holds up her hands. “Okay, okay. Message received. I’ll just keep a folder here and if you decide you want options, you’ll have them.”

“Deal,” I say. “And you go home and get a few hours of sleep. Come back around noon. That should give you at least four hours.”

“Or,” she says, turning back to her computer. “I order an iced frappe macchiato and work through. Everybody wins.”

“Z—”

“No, no wait. Look,” she says, turning her monitor towards me. It’s practically blinding with all the lights off. I switch them on, noting Zara has somehow disabled the automatic motion sensor that activates the lights as soon as someone comes in the room. The room is flooded with white light and we both squint until our eyes adjust.

“You can’t just come into a girl’s workspace and fuck everything up,” she says.

“Can too,” I say. “Now show me what’s kept your attention all night.”

“Oh, this wasn’t all night,” she replies. “This just came across the feed first thing this morning. It’s a case out of Michigan. Double homicide.”

“Okay, so?” I ask. “Let the LEOs work it out. We don’t have jurisdiction in Michigan.”

“We do in this case,” she says. “This flagged because it’s potentially attached to a federal wire fraud case. And the two victims? They were the ones under investigation.”

Okay. Color me intrigued. “Did they know that?”

“They weren’t supposed to. It was still in the initial phases. I’ve got the case files here, going over them now.”

Hmm. That does seem irregular. This is something that would normally be handled by financial crimes, but given the two homicides could indicate something larger and more dangerous. “What do the LEOs think?”

“You mean the one Sheriff and his crack team of deputies? I think they’re over their heads here.”

“Okay,” I say. “Pull it and set up a debrief. We can go over this afternoon to determine if that’s where we want to focus our efforts.”

“Oh, that’s not all,” Zara says with a particular gleam in her eye. “There are also two witnesses. Teenagers.”

“So?” I ask for the second time.

She wiggles her eyebrows and enlarges the screen until their highlighted names are legible from where I stand.

Emilia Cross.

Zoey Hargrove.

“Huh. That’s weird.”

“Right? It’s kind of like a sign from the case gods.”

I give her a sideways glance. “I don’t think there are case gods.”

“Whatever you want to call it. This one literally has our names on it.”

“Emilia and Zoey are not the same as Emily and Zara.”

“Em, are you kidding? C’mon.”

I let out a long breath. “We are not taking a case because the names of two witnesses just happen to be close to ours.”

“Uh, yeah we are, you were the one who gave me that authority, remember?”

I narrow my gaze. “A decision I’m beginning to regret.”

“No, this is gonna be awesome! Trust me, this is right up our alley. Here, look at the victims.” She switches the screen to what little she’s gathered so far.

“Gareth and Petra Voss,” I say. “Of Sable Cove.”

“Not only that. Founding members of the Sable Cove Community Foundation, owners of significant real estate holdings in the area, and two regional businesses. Em, these people were embedded in every aspect of this town. And now they end up dead? Tell me you aren’t at least a little intrigued.”

I take a deep breath. Unfortunately, she’s right. It sounds fishy. If the locals are overwhelmed and there is federal jurisprudence then I think we seriously need to consider it. But at the same time, I know she’s pushing hard because of those two witness names. Zara is funny like that.

“Okay, pull it together and I’ll call a meeting first thing. If we can determine there is something real here, we’ll investigate. If not, it goes by the wayside with the others. But I want to be crystal clear, we are not investigating just because of those two witnesses. Got it?”

She gives me a knowing salute. “You’re the boss.”

Chapter Two

“You will believe in me, and I will never be ignored,” Zara sings at the top of her lungs as we head down Interstate 94 with the windows halfway down and the wind whipping at our hair. I’ve had to pull mine back into a pony to keep it from being completely disheveled.

Despite my reservations, it didn’t take much convincing once we finally got into the meat of the case—at least what’s been unearthed so far. The two victims, Gareth and Petra, a husband-and-wife team who were (according to what we’ve found so far on Sable Cove) universally loved and respected, were found dead on the shore of Lake Michigan early Saturday morning by a fisherman out for his morning relaxation.

The federal wire fraud investigation had barely even begun; it was only in the first stages of collecting information on the Vosses and their financial dealings after the IRS had flagged some irregularities in their tax returns over the past six years. From what we can tell, they had their hands in every inch of Sable Cove, whether that was financial or otherwise. And our initial assessment said there was enough there to warrant an investigation.

After quickly presenting the facts to Pendergast and Vostov, Zara and I hit the road. We’ve been on something of a streak lately and I don’t want to lose momentum. Nadia, Elliott and Liam are a couple of hours behind us. Liam had to get our dog-sitter set up since we may not be back for a few days. Thankfully I always keep a spare bag of clothes and essentials ready to go at a moment’s notice and didn’t even need to go back home.

However, I insisted on driving since Zara is probably on hour twenty or twenty-one without sleep. And yet apparently all she needs to stay awake was her fancy coffee and some very loud nineties music.

“You don’t have to look so smug, you know,” I yell over the wind once the song is over.

“Yes, I do. You were ready to shut this thing down the second I told you those witness names.” She grins and takes a sip of her coffee. “And yet, Raptor Squad prevails.”

“I was not going to shut it down,” I say. “I just don’t see that as a valid reason to begin an investigation.” I turn to her. “Be honest. If Emilia and Zoey weren’t involved, would this have even made a blip on your radar?”

Some of the fight goes out of her. “I guess not. But you have to admit it’s pretty cool. I wonder if one of them has shockingly beautiful blonde hair.” She swishes her head back and forth as if to punctuate her point.

“Probably not. Do we know exactly what they witnessed?”

“Just that they were brought in for questioning the day after the bodies were found,” she says.

“But they weren’t the first ones to find the bodies.”

“No, that was—hang on.” She pulls out her laptop and brings up the case file. “Walt Cready. Local. Found the bodies after he was out fishing that morning.”

“Okay, so how do the two teens factor into it?”

Zara reads through the file a bit further. “They were witnessed running from the scene by another party, Sandra Okafor—a neighbor of the Vosses who lives adjacent to the lake. According to the file she said she saw the girls ‘running like the devil was chasing them’.”

I take a deep breath. “Okay. And the sheriff has questioned them?”

“According to my info, yes. But there’s not much in here from the interviews. And no charges have been brought so far against anyone. No solid suspects.”

I tap my finger against my leg as I drive. Sometimes LEOs can get a little trigger happy when they’ve got what looks like a solid case. And other times when something looks, acts and talks like a duck, it actually turns out to be a duck. I’m not sure what happened that morning, but with three different witnesses we should be able to work through this relatively quickly.

“What are you thinking?” Zara asks.

“I don’t want to make any suppositions yet,” I say. “Not until we get eyes on the scene at least.” I check the clock on the dash. “Do you think we’ll get there before nightfall?”

“Doubt it,” she says. “I’ve got the rental booked and ready for us. We can get an early start in the morning.”

“Rental?” I ask. “No hotel?”

“The town doesn’t have one,” she replies. “I mean, there’s a crappy motel about ten miles off the interstate. But from what I could find, it looks like the kind of place you go to exchange needles with your bestie. Figured you wanted something a little less chaotic.”

“Good call,” I say.

“Thankfully, there are plenty of Airbnbs,” she says. “Apparently the town is something of a destination during the summer and fall.”

“Then it’s in our best interest to wrap this up quickly,” I say. “Before the place in inundated with tourists.”

We pull into the town just before seven, the evening light already fading. Zara was right; we won’t have enough time to get eyes on the site tonight, but we can at least get the preliminary info from the Sheriff to see what we’re working with. I’ve found if we come in here and “take over” with barely a word to the locals, we’re not likely to receive much cooperation. However, if we present ourselves as something of a relief valve, we have a much better chance of getting their help.

And in a town that’s as close-knit as this one seems, we’re going to need it.

Sable Cove sits about thirty miles off the nearest interstate, nestled right up against Lake Michigan on the southern side of the state, what is normally known as “The Mitten” or the LP—lower peninsula. Zara did a little research and found that the residents of the Upper Peninsula are known as Yoopers while the residents of the LP are colloquially known as Trolls.

Keeping her from accidentally using that term around the locals now that she knows it will be a challenge.

The town is nice enough—a cute little lake destination that looks like it’s stuck somewhere between 1920 and 1960 with most of the homes being small cottage types and the businesses occupying brick front stores in the downtown area. There are surprisingly few chain businesses, other than banks. All the restaurants are local and from what I can tell, unique to the area, with quite a few offering seafood as their primary dish.

All in all, it’s a quaint town that looks to be frozen in time, which is probably why it’s so appealing to the masses during the good weather seasons.

I pull up to the local Sherriff’s office, which is little more than a free-standing one-story building nestled in the downtown. Two patrol cars sit off to the side and there’s an honest-to-God Welcome sign on the building’s main door.

A brown sedan is parked to the side of the station where a man in his mid-forties sits with his door open. A cigarette hangs from his mouth and he glances up as I shut off the car.

“Heads up,” I tell Zara as we get out of the vehicle.

The man puts out his cigarette, removing a notepad from his back pocket before closing his door and approaching us. “Are you the FBI agents?”

I give the man a nod. “I see word travels fast.”

He gives me a nonchalant grin. “Small town. Douglas Wilkinson, Sable Cove Gazette. Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

Jeez man, give us a hot minute. “Not right now,” I say. “We’ll have a formal statement for the press in the next few days.”

“Uh-huh,” he says like I hardly said anything. “Nothing to say about two of Sable Cove’s most prominent community members being murdered?”

“No comment,” I say, walking past the man.

“What about the manner in which they were found?” he asks. “Should the community be worried?”

I ignore the man as Zara and I head inside.

“That’s gonna be fun,” Zara says. “I just got a text from Nadia. They’re stopping for gas. ETA is two hours.”

“Hopefully by the time they get here we’ll have a gameplan,” I say, shutting the door and leaving Mr. Wilkinson outside. The inner office has a vacant desk off to the side where either a deputy or secretary normally sits, but it’s clear they’ve already gone home for the night.

“Hello?” I call out.

A shadow appears from the end of the hallway beyond, silhouetted against the light. He’s tall and rail-thin, but as he approaches, I can already tell this must be Sheriff Denham. He has a salt and pepper moustache like he’s never been a day without it, and his hair is combed back with what looks like something that came out of the bottom of a car’s oil pan.

“Can I help you?” he asks, hooking his thumbs in his belt.

“Special Agents Slate and Foley,” I say, stepping forward. “We’re here about the Voss case.”

A wave of relief passes over his face, any pretense of concern replaced by appreciation. “Oh, great,” he says, taking each of our hands and giving them hearty shakes. “Thought you folks wouldn’t be here until tomorrow.”

“Apparently the press got word of our arrival without a problem,” Zara says.

“Ah, Doug. Just ignore him. Eventually he’ll go away. Come on back,” Denham says. “Lemme show you what we’ve got so far.”

“We have the case files your office sent over,” I say, following him back. “We just need access to your records so we can speak with the witnesses. Cready and the two girls.”

“You are ahead of the game,” he says, leading us into his small office at the back of the building. I note the calendar on the wall behind his desk has yet to be flipped past February. The office itself is neat, tidy and smells faintly of Pine-Sol.

He rounds a desk that looks like it’s from the sixties and opens one of its metal drawers, pulling out a file folder. “This kind of thing doesn’t happen here.” He looks at us with a seriousness that belies his friendly features. “We deal with property disputes. Noise complaints. Sometimes we’ll have to break up a bar fight between the tourists and the locals during busy season. I keep a drunk tank in the back for the rowdy ones. But believe me when I tell you, it’s been twenty years or more since this town has seen a murder.”

“And now you have two in one day,” Zara says.

“So it seems.” He pushes the file towards us. Despite already knowing what’s in it, I decide to humor him. Inside are the crime scene photos, though there are more here than what arrived in our servers. I hand a few to Zara as we examine them carefully. “It was a little clearer this morning so I had Phil head back out to take a new set of photos. We had a lot of fog to deal with on Saturday morning.”

“Phil?” I ask.

“Our resident photographer,” he says. “Has a studio a few blocks down. Does a lot with the tourists during the busy season. Pets, weddings. Studio stuff. He’s the closest thing we have to a crime scene photographer in this town.”

“What about the coroner?” I ask. “Don’t they have their own team?”

He shakes his head. “County coroner came alone.”

I pull Denham’s initial report, going over the information again. Bodies found at approximately 6:20am on Saturday, April 19th by Walt Cready.

“Do you know Cready well?” I ask.

Denham nods. “Known him most of my life. He called it in first thing that morning. By the time I got out there, he’d already motored his boat to shore and was examining the scene.”

I exchange a glance with Zara.

“Don’t worry, he didn’t touch anything. Walt knows how important it is not to contaminate a crime scene. He should, having been on the force for thirty years.”

“He’s former police?”

Denham nods again. “Held my job for a couple of decades,” he says. “If you can trust someone, it’s him.”

“Did he see the two girls?” Zara asks.

“Never said he did,” Denham replies. “But they admitted to being there. Said they were out for a morning walk and just… came upon it.”

“You sound like you don’t completely believe that,” I say.

He gives me a brief shrug. “The Cross girl, she’s trustworthy enough. But Zoey Hargrove… she’s had some… issues in the past.”

“Such as?”

“Minor drug offenses. Nothing that would make you guys sit up, I’m sure. But in a town this small, people talk.”

“You interviewed both girls?” Zara asks.

He nods. “With their parents present. Stories matched. They both seemed pretty shook up. Honestly couldn’t tell me much.”

“And what about this Okafor woman?” I ask. “Who saw them running from the scene?”

“Didn’t see a need to bring her in,” Denham says. “Just took her statement that morning. She didn’t actually see anything.”

“But she called you.”

“Yes,” he says. “That morning.”

“To report two girls running through the woods?”

He holds up his hands. “Apparently so. Probably wouldn’t have paid attention to it if we hadn’t found the bodies.”

I close the file, handing it to Zara who tucks it in her bag. “Thanks, Sheriff. We’d like to get out to the scene first thing in the morning. Six-thirty good for you?”

“Sure,” he says. “Meet me here at six. I’ll have to lead you in. The trails that wind through the woods all look the same at daybreak.”

“Great,” I say. “We’ll see you bright and early.”

“Agents,” he says, stopping us as we reach the door. “The Vosses were pillars of this community. I’ve got a bunch of scared people here—people who want a quick answer so they can go back to life as normal. If we could wrap this up quickly…” He leaves the question hanging.

I turn and walk back to the center of the room. “Do you have a suspect?”

“Unfortunately, no,” he replies. “No one with probable cause.”

“You knew the Vosses?” I ask.

“Everyone knew them,” he replies.

“Did everyone like them?”

He pauses just a half a second too long. “Of course. They were generous, friendly people. There’s no reason for someone not to like them.”

I head for the door again. “Apparently someone out there disagrees with you.”

Chapter Three

Ten minutes after leaving Denham’s office and avoiding Wilkinson for a second time, I pull up a long, winding drive that leads to a substantial cabin sitting by itself in the woods.

“Is this… the place?” I ask Zara.

“Yep,” she says with a too-proud look on her face. “Nice, huh?”

“How can we afford something like this?” I ask.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I approved it with Pendergast. I think he’s been impressed with our performance so far. Maybe he thought we deserved a little treat.”

“Little” doesn’t begin to describe it. The cabin is two stories, and looks like it’s at least three thousand square feet. It features a wrap-around porch and dark green shutters on all the windows. There’s a parking area off to the side and though I can’t see it, as soon as I’m out of the car I can hear the soft lapping of waves on a shore. “Is this on the lake?”

“Almost,” she says. “Pendergast might be generous, but he’s not that generous. But there’s a boardwalk that cuts through the woods and heads out to the water.” She grins. “C’mon, let’s check it out before everyone else gets here.”

I squint as she sprints up the stairs to the porch and pulls out her phone, keying in something that opens the little box on the side of the door, revealing the keys. “Oh, and I’ve got food service on the way.”

“Z, this isn’t a sleepover,” I say.

She turns to me, flabbergasted. “Uh, yes, it is. It is one hundred percent an adult sleepover and if you don’t watch that tone, you’re getting a pillow to the chops the second I find one.” She opens the door and we step inside, flipping on the light.

“Ooooh,” Zara says, immediately rushing inside. The place is warm and cozy, an open floor plan with a couple of couches on one side of the large great room that surround a genuine wood-burning fireplace. At the other end is a large pool table and a dartboard. There’s even an old school arcade cabinet with the word Centipede across the top.

“Oh, hell yes.” Zara says and runs to the cabinet, which is already lit up with the game. She hits start and begins playing immediately.

I can’t help but grin but decide to leave her to it as I take in the rest of the place. A large staircase doubles back on itself in the middle of the cabin, which leads to the second floor above, which is where I assume all the bedrooms are. The kitchen is in the back opposite the great room and there’s a large dining/work area adjacent to the “game room” with a table that could seat at least ten or more. I have a feeling that’s where Zara plans to set up home base.

“Wow,” I say, looking all around. “You really outdid yourself. I should have told Liam to bring the dogs with him. They would have loved this place.”

“Oh shoot, I didn’t even think about that,” she says as she steps away from the cabinet. “This thing is amazing. Not only does it have Centipede, it’s got a ton of classic and vintage arcade games. You and me. Tournament. Right now.”

“Let me get settled first,” I say. “Plus, we both know you’re going to kick my ass no matter what game it is.”

“I could coach you,” she says, nudging me with her shoulder.

“Somehow I don’t trust that,” I say. “Pendergast seriously let you book this place?”

“We could always go back to the roach motel,” she says, following me through the rooms. “C’mon, Em. This is a good thing. We deserve it. After a job well done.”

“I suppose,” I say. “I guess I’m just a little gun shy.”

“Don’t worry,” she says. “No one is chartering private planes here. Plus, it’s kind of a necessity in this town. I don’t think we’ll be here more than few days anyway. Soak it up while you can.”

I nod, looking around one more time before glancing at her from the side of my eye. “I’m calling dibs on the biggest bedroom.” Before she can react, I take off like a shot, hitting the stairs two at a time.

“Emily Rachel Slate!” Zara runs after me, but I’ve got the jump on her. I hit the top landing and run past the first few doors until I get to a double door at the end of the hall. I push them both open to find the largest king-sized bed I’ve ever seen in my life.

“You cheat!” Zara says, running up behind me.

“Oh, come on,” I say. “What would you do with all this space anyway?”

“Some of us like to spread out when we sleep,” she replies. “Not all of us curl into little balls in a tiny corner of the bed.”

I take in the large room and what seems like an even larger attached bathroom. It’s all so… luxurious. And a far cry from what I’m used to. Our house isn’t small by any means, but we don’t have nearly this much space. I definitely should have told him to bring the dogs.

“Hello?” Liam’s voice drifts up from the first floor.

Zara and I head back down the hallway to the banister which overlooks the great room. I peer down to see Liam, Nadia and Elliott all with their bags in hand.

“You made good time,” Zara says.

“Elliott wouldn’t let us stop for anything other than gas,” Liam says.

“Is this right?” Nadia asks. “It’s so… nice.”

“It’s right all right,” Zara says. “Hand chosen by yours truly.”

“The cost must be considerable,” Elliott replies. “I’d estimate somewhere between fifteen hundred and two thousand a night.”

I turn to Zara, my eyes wide. “Is that true?”

She pats the top of my head. “Don’t you worry about it. Just enjoy.” Then she turns and practically skips down the stairs. “Dee, lemme show you the arcade games. We’re gonna run tournaments all night.”

Liam looks up at me with a small smile on his lips. “She seems happy.”

“Better than the alternative,” I say. “Need any help with your bags?”

“Nah,” he says. “I got it.”

“Good. Because I already picked out our room.”

After what had to have been one of the best night’s sleeps I’ve ever had, I’m up and ready early. I don’t know what kind of black magic exists in these sheets, but it’s powerful. I haven’t been this rested in… well, maybe forever. Not only that, but the kitchen comes with one of those fancy espresso machines that makes the juice straight from the beans themselves. Elliott played the part of grumpy barista, but damn, he can make a good coffee.

After a quick breakfast, courtesy of the groceries that arrived not long after Liam and the others, Liam, Zara and I head out to meet Sheriff Denham while Nadia and Elliott stay behind to begin working on the background for the case. By the time we leave, Nadia already has half the expansive dining room table covered in equipment and files.

“You have to admit, she’s getting pretty good at this stuff,” Zara says as we’re on our way to meet Denham. “A few more months of training and you won’t even need me around anymore.”

“Uh, no,” I say, giving her a sidelong glance. “You’re more valuable than just tech services. And I need you here. You’re not going anywhere.”

“Oh no, I plan to go back to full hermit mode once Nadia is up and running,” Zara replies. “At least that way I don’t have to worry about getting to bed at a certain time anymore.”

“Where is this coming from?” I ask as I turn onto Sable Cove’s main street, headed for the Sheriff’s office.

“Nowhere,” she says. “I could just see losing myself in Pendergast’s program. Kinda getting sucked down a rabbit hole, you know?”

“If it’s too much⁠—”

“No, it’s not that,” she says, but she doesn’t elaborate any further.

“What’s the plan?” Liam asks, filling the awkward silence.

“We’re headed to the scene,” I say, turning to him briefly before directing my attention back on the road. “And I need you to get close to Denham.”

“Me? Why?”

“Because you know small-town law enforcement,” I say. “That’s your entire background. He might open up to you in a way he wouldn’t with us.”

“Yeah, and you’re a guy,” Zara says. “You can go out and get beers together.”

“Gross,” Liam says. “I don’t even like beer.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I say. “It’s your job to get him to tell you what he won’t tell us.”

“You really think he’s keeping something from you?” Liam asks.

“I know he is.” I pull up to the office, parking in the same spot as yesterday. Before I can even get out of the car, the door opens and Denham steps out, locking the door behind him. He dons a wide-brimmed hat and motions that we should follow him as he heads to his vehicle.

“Man of few words,” Liam says.

“Remind you of anyone?” I ask.

He pulls back, aghast. “You don’t mean me?”

“No! I meant Burke.”

“Oh, God,” Zara says. “Just hearing his name makes me want to throw up.”

Liam pinches his features as I pull behind Denham and follow him down the deserted street. “You mean he’s an insufferable asshole who always thinks he’s right?”

I shake my head. “Denham wears the mask of friendliness well, but there’s more going on there beneath the surface. Burke, for all his faults, was a small-town Sheriff tasked with protecting your hometown. He was willing to do it at any cost. I get the same sense from Denham.”

“Hmm,” Liam says. “Okay. Give me some time. I’ll try the gentle approach first.”

“That’s what he said,” Zara replies. “Me? I prefer to just ram it in there and get it over with.”

Fifteen minutes later we’re winding through the woods on a dirt path, following Denham’s 4x4 until we reach a clearing near a power substation. We get out and I introduce Liam to the Sherriff, both men shaking hands quickly.

“This is as far in as we can drive,” he says. “The rest of the way is on foot, or via boat. Figured you folks would want to stay dry though.”

“Thanks,” I tell him as we follow him through the brush. The woods get dense again and it’s then when I see the silhouettes of the large homes through the trees on either side of us. When we break through the brush again, we’re standing right on the edge of Lake Michigan, the lake as still as glass in the early morning hour. The beach is rocky and falls off quickly into the water. Out beyond the lake stretches for what seems like forever. It’s like looking at a completely still ocean—something I find highly unnerving. I shiver, despite myself.

Denham leads the way over to an area where the rocks aren’t so large that’s been cordoned off by police tape. Thankfully it looks as though the scene hasn’t been disturbed. Partly I’m sure that’s because of how remote it is out here. There wouldn’t be much traffic out this way and there are no main roads here. Just very long driveways that lead to homes that overlook the lake.

“How many people have been here?” I ask.

“Me, Deputy Mabry, the coroner, Phil, Walt, o’course, and the girls, proximity only. They said they didn’t actually step foot on the beach.”

“Show me where the bodies were.” Even though I can tell based on the initial photographs of the scene, I’m going to see if I can’t ruffle Denham a little. That might make him more pliable for Liam.

He ducks under the tape and takes me to down near the water. “Gareth was here, lying face down,” he says. A small yellow marker indicates where the body once lay. He then circles around the indentation in the dirt and sand and makes his way six feet up to the tree line. “And Petra was here. On her side.” Another marker shows her location.

“And which way did Walt come in from?”

Denham leads me down to the water and points off towards the north, in the direction of Sable Cove. “Right up there, he was following the shore and spotted them.”

I turn and try to see the scene as he would have seen it, from this perspective. In the early morning light, it wouldn’t have been difficult to see two dark forms standing out against the light colors of the beach.

“And both were killed via-blunt force trauma,” I say.

“According to the county coroner,” he replies.

“Do you have any idea of the murder weapon?” I ask.

He gestures to the rocks littering the area. “Take your pick.”

I give him a quick nod. “Thanks, Sheriff.” He begins to head back to the others, ducking under the tape again. “Oh, one other thing. Whose property is this?”

“The Vosses,” he says. “Their house is just past those trees over there.” He points further down the beach.

“Thanks.” I motion for Zara and Liam to join me and we begin our inspection of the site. I spend a long time looking at the indentation where Gareth Voss was found. I press my hand into the soft soil, finding it gives easily. And if I’m not mistaken, there looks to be a second indentation beside him.

“Hey, Z?”

She comes over and crouches down beside me. “What up?”

“Do you see what I see here?”

She squints and examines the area, then looks back up to the tree line where the other marker is. “Um… is that another indentation?”

I nod. “I think so.” I make my way up to where Petra Voss’s body was found. There isn’t an indentation up here, but the ground is more solid. Still…

“Coroner’s report said the initial blow was fatal, right?”

She shrugs. “I mean, that’s what it says. But I’d like to get another pair of eyes on the initial report.”

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s assume it was. That would mean either someone moved Petra Voss after she was killed, or…”

“Or she moved herself and died after her husband,” Zara replies.

“Either way, this isn’t in the initial report.”

Zara glances at Denham who is looking out over the lake as we work. “Think he intentionally missed it?”

“I can’t say for sure yet. But if he did, he did a piss poor job of covering it up. He might not know what to look for.”

“True.”

“Hey, Em,” Liam calls. He’s back in the woods about five feet past Petra Voss’s marker. Zara and I head over to him. He has his phone out, shining a light on something reflective.

“What is that?” I ask as we approach.

Liam bends down; the light focused on the small black item. It’s been broken, that much is clear, given the small pieces of plastic everywhere. “I think it’s a phone case,” he says. “But I don’t see the phone anywhere.”

I head back out, calling to the Sheriff. “Did your people find a phone out here during the initial investigation?”

He shakes his head. “Not yet. Why?”

“Do you have an evidence bag on hand?” I ask. “We’re going to need it.”

Chapter Four

After spending the morning going over the crime scene, Liam, Zara and I head back to town. I tell Liam to stick close to Denham and head out to speak with some of the other locals to see what he can find out while Zara and I go take a look at our victims. The possibility that Petra Voss wasn’t killed with the initial blow doesn’t sit well with me. It means she could have been trying to crawl to get help—and the fact that her phone is missing suggests that someone might have come back to finish the job.

At the same time, we have two young girls spotted running from the scene early that morning. It’s very possible one or both of them could be responsible for moving Petra’s body or the missing phone but it’s impossible to say at this point. They could be nothing more than two scared kids who happened upon the wrong place at the wrong time. I’ve requested Denham bring them back so we can speak with them ourselves later this afternoon. I’d also like to speak with the man who initially found the bodies, but Denham informed me he’s out of town until tomorrow—some family emergency.

Fortunately, the morgue is only about fifteen minutes away from downtown Sable Cove, in a nondescript building on the edge of town which is attached to a local Urgent Care facility. Zara and I head inside and show our badges to the receptionist, who directs us back outside and around the back of the building to access the county morgue.

“Did you see her face?” Zara asks as we circle the building. “Like she was looking at someone with two heads.”

“I don’t think they get many FBI agents up here,” I tell her. “Wilkinson was right. Word is going to spread fast around town.”

“Yay,” Zara replies. “I love a welcoming committee.”

We head inside the unmarked door which sits beside a rolling garage door to find ourselves in a bland office with one desk off to the side. A young woman sits at the desk, typing away. She looks up, concern on her face when she sees us. “Can I help you?”

I show her my badge. “Agents Slate and Foley. We’re here about the Vosses.”

Her eyes go wide for a second, her dirty blonde hair falling in her face before she swipes it back behind her ear. “Oh. Yes, I’m Dr. Grimmer.” She holds out a hand, which I shake, followed by Zara.

“You’re the county coroner?”

She nods. “Lucky me, right? My first murders. I thought about getting a skull and crossbones tattooed on my arm for each one in my career but then I thought, ‘What if you have hundreds?’ You wouldn’t have any room left anywhere. I’d be nothing but skulls and bones.” She stares at us expectantly before blinking and seeming to mentally reset herself. “I’m sorry. I get chatty when I’m nervous.”

“That’s okay,” I say. “It’s a lot.”

She gives me an appreciative nod. “I will… pull them out for you. Right this way.” She motions for us to follow her.

This woman can’t be older than twenty-eight, which means she’s probably right out of med school. I’d be willing to bet Mackinaw County is her first job—though there’s no telling how long she’s actually been in the position. I also don’t want to be rude and ask outright. Not to mention, plenty of people have underestimated me because of my looks. I’m not about to do the same.

“I like her,” Zara whispers as we follow the woman to the back.

“Of course you do. You like anyone who you can take clubbing,” I shoot back.

Grimmer pushes through a swinging door into an examination room. It’s small and cramped and there is a bank of four drawers on the far wall, two of them with tags on them.

“Denham told me the FBI would be coming to investigate,” she says, leading us to the doors. “Mind if I ask why?”

“The Vosses came up in relation to an existing federal investigation,” I reply, being careful about how much I reveal. We don’t know this person and I’m not sure how much I trust her yet, despite Zara’s “instinct.”

“Yeah, the federal government can be a real bi—” Her eyes go wide and she stops herself mid-sentence.

“Oh, please finish your thought,” Zara says.

Grimmer closes her eyes for a second and inhales through her nose. “I’m sorry. Again.”

“You’re fine,” I say. “Let’s take a look at the bodies.”

She nods and unlocks the doors, opening them both at the same time, the slats rolling out with the bodies of Gareth and Petra Voss appearing as if rolled out from an oven rack.

Both bodies are covered in white sheets with only their heads and their feet exposed. But even from my vantage point I can see the wounds on each of them. Dark marks on their heads, near the back of Gareth’s and closer to the temple for Petra.

“Your initial report said that both of them were killed immediately by blunt force trauma?” I ask.

Grimmer heads over to a filing cabinet and opens it, removing two files. She opens the top one and hands me a few images from her autopsy. “I took these as soon as we got the bodies in here,” she says. “You can see the wounds are still relatively fresh. Most likely the cause of death was a heavy blunt and irregular object.”

“Like a rock,” Zara says.

“Yes, exactly. You can tell by how the impact crater is uneven and even punctured the skin and bone right here.” She points to a specific area on Gareth’s head. The skin is still dark and purple from the injury while the rest of his skin is bone white. “The blow caused immediate hemorrhaging of blood and Mr. Voss likely died instantly. Given the temperature of the body when I first examined him on the scene, I estimate his time of death was around midnight on Friday, maybe as late as two or three a.m. on Saturday.”

“And Mrs. Voss?” I ask.

“Same story,” she says. “Except she was likely facing her attacker. You’ll notice Mr. Voss’s injury is nearer to the back right quarter of his head, which means he was probably attacked from behind. But Mrs. Voss was facing her attacker, who managed to land a blow near her temple.”

I can’t disagree with her findings. And it suggests there was only one attacker, however there could have been someone else there being used as a distraction. “With these sorts of impacts, could you estimate the size of the attacker?” I ask.

She shrugs. “If I had to guess I’d say a little shorter than Mr. Voss, given the upward motion of the blow. But we also have to consider the slope of the beach. It could have been someone standing just a bit lower than him.”

I turn to her. “I don’t know why you’re so nervous. You seem to know your stuff.”

She grins, her cheeks going slightly red. “Trust me, I didn’t expect to be working a double homicide this soon in my career.”

“You’re doing a great job,” Zara says, a big smile on her face.

“One question,” I say. “Are you sure Mrs. Voss was killed with the initial impact?

Grimmer purses her lips. “I can’t say that for sure,” she replies. “But I can tell you the hit was definitely hard enough. If she didn’t die immediately, it wouldn’t have been long after. She had a brain bleed that would have pretty much incapacitated her.”

“And you found no other wounds?” I ask. “Nothing that would indicate she was struck again?”

“Nothing like that, no,” she replies. “But I should know more after the autopsy. Denham told me to wait until you arrived.”

Given everything I’ve seen here, I’m inclined to agree. I thought it was possible she had missed something in her initial assessment, but from what I can tell, Dr. Grimmer is smart and capable. Which means we’re back to square one with Mrs. Voss. Either the initial blow didn’t kill her and she crawled to the spot where she died, or someone came back after she was already dead and moved her further up the beach.

I just can’t figure out why someone would move her after she was dead. “Do you know if Denham brought another forensics team out to the site?” I ask.

“I’m not sure,” she says. “By the time I arrived he told me he was done and that I could take over. I did as much as I could, but given how long the bodies were out there, I wasn’t able to find much. Nothing under their fingernails and what blood splatter I did find matched the attack wounds.”

“What about fingerprints?” I ask. “Anything on their clothes? Specifically Petra?”

Grimmer shakes her head. “Even in the best condition pulling prints from clothes is iffy. And given the moisture in the air and coming off the lake, plus the fact it was foggy that morning pretty much eliminates any usable prints anywhere on either body.”

I pull out my card and leave it with Grimmer. “For when you’re done with the autopsy. Give us a call?”

She nods. “Happy to. Once I’m done should I keep the bodies here or mark them for release to the family?”

“Keep them here for now, at least until we have the investigation wrapped up,” I tell her. “And thanks for your help.”

“We should invite her over to the cabin,” Zara says. “We’ve got an uneven number for tournament night. She could be our sixth.”

“Mhmm,” I say, not really listening as I drive. I’m caught on the details of what happened to the Vosses. Obviously the killer snuck up behind Gareth, taking him out with the first blow. But had he known the killer was there? And whoever it was, they must have one hell of an arm to swing a rock that hard. Petra and Gareth must have both had their backs turned. And when Gareth fell, Petra must have turned to face the attacker. But not quickly enough to defend herself.

Whoever did this was angry. It has all the hallmarks of a crime of passion, not premeditated. Of course I can’t rule that out, they could have been lured to that beach under false pretenses. But if that were the case, why not use a more effective weapon, like a firearm? Too loud? The sound of a gun going off over that lake at night would have been audible for miles. And unfortunately the evidence isn’t giving us much to work with. Which means we’ll have to rely on the witness statements.

“Earth to Emily,” Zara says.

“Yeah?” I ask. “What?”

“Wow, you are deep in that noggin of yours.”

“I keep thinking about the logistics of it,” I say. “What were the Vosses doing out there past midnight?”

“Moonlight tryst?” Zara suggests. “I mean, it is on their property. Maybe they often took late night walks.”

“And the killer knew that and was waiting for them,” I say. “It’s possible. But we need a motive.”

“Slow down there, hoss,” she replies. “Let’s talk to the witnesses first. Why are you in such a hurry? It feels like we’ve been going full speed ever since Pendergast approved it.”

“I’m not in a hurry,” I say. “I just don’t feel like wasting time.”

“Bull-loney,” she shoots back. “You didn’t even let us go back home to pack. It was all: ‘Get on the road and we can be there by nightfall.’”

“I just don’t want to break our streak, okay?” I ask. “Things have been going well. Really well, in fact. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Then do us a favor and don’t rush the process,” Zara replies. “We don’t want to screw everything up because we missed something.” She leans back and places one foot on the dash.

I take a breath and let my shoulders relax. She’s right. I’ve been running at this case a hundred miles per hour instead of letting it unfold for us. But it feels like for the first time in my career that things have stabilized. And I don’t want to lose that.

My phone buzzes in my pocket as I turn back onto main street. I pull it out and place the phone on speaker. “This is Slate.”

“It’s Denham,” the man says. “I’ve arranged to have the two girls here within the hour. Had to wait until their school day was over.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” I say. “We’ll be back shortly to prepare for their interviews.”

There’s a brief hesitation on the other end of the line. “I still don’t see why we need to subject them to another round of questioning,” he says. “Haven’t they been through enough?”

“We’ll make it as painless as we can,” I say, shooting Zara a look. She only rolls her eyes.

“Fine. They’ll be here by two-thirty.”

“Thanks, Sheriff, see you soon.” I hang up.

“Okay, now it kind of feels like he’s hiding something,” Zara says. “Either that or he’s just lazy.”

“Could be a combination of both.” Still, I don’t think my instincts were off about Denham. His job is to protect this town, and he might be willing to do that at any cost. I need a better idea about how the Vosses were connected to everything around town. Hopefully Liam is having some luck with the locals.

“Well,” Zara says, glancing at her phone. “Looks like we’ve got some time to kill. How about lunch?”

Chapter Five

After downing a shrimp tortilla wrap and God knows how much chips and salsa, Zara and I arrive back at the Sheriff’s station around two. I text with Liam a few times to give him an update and ask him to meet us here when he’s done. While we wait for Emilia and Zoey to arrive, we go over the initial investigation with Denham.

He claims he kept the site clean, but he also admits to running a small department where he can’t be everywhere at once. Not when he only has three other people on staff and one of them is out on vacation. He wasn’t at the site the entire time Grimmer was there, so he says he can’t speak to the quality of work she was doing. He claims by the time he got back, she was already wrapping up and just needed help moving the bodies back to the morgue.

It’s the unfortunate nature of working with smaller departments. They aren’t as “strict” as something like an FBI field office might be. They have limited resources and time. But at the same time that creates a breeding ground for cutting corners wherever they’re inconvenient, which could disrupt the entire investigation. Regardless, this is what we have to work with, so we have to roll with it.

By the time the first of the two girls arrives, I’m finally feeling less like a stuffed taco and more like myself again after our insanely huge lunch. Zara claims it’s all in the budget but I think I’m going to double check everything is above board once we get back to the cabin. Not that I don’t trust her, but she may not be as… concerned about our expenditures as I am.

“Here we are,” Denham says, leading the young woman into the conference room where Zara and I have been waiting. I recognize her from the case file—Emilia Cross is only fifteen, with shoulder-length brown hair and light pale skin. She has piercing blue eyes which she keeps trained on the table as she enters and sits in one of the provided chairs. She’s wearing oversized sweats. I don’t know if that’s because it’s the style or she’s still feeling shaken from the experience. She’s accompanied by who I can only assume are her parents. A woman about five years older than me with eyes and hair that are near identical in color to Emilia’s, though she wears large glasses and a stern expression on her face. Her husband is almost as tall as Denham, sporting jeans and a brown sport coat with a tie that is slightly askew.

“Miss Cross,” Denham says. “This is Special Agent Slate.” Emilia holds out a weak hand and I give it a gentle shake. “And Special Agent Foley.” Zara does the same. Emilia’s gaze never leaves the table.

“Is this really necessary?” Mrs. Cross asks. “Hasn’t she been through enough?”

“We just want to make sure we have all the information,” I say gently. “We’ll make this as quick as possible.”

“I just don’t understand what you want from us,” Mrs. Cross adds. “Emmy has already answered all the Sheriff’s questions. Isn’t that enough?”

Before I can answer, we’re drawn to the door as another pair of people enter, escorted by Denham’s deputy. I recognize the younger of the two as Zoey Hargrove, the other teenager who was spotted running from the scene. She doesn’t look any older than Emilia, though from her file she’s already sixteen. She has cropped blonde hair and dark eyes. Unlike Emilia, she looks at both me and Zara as she enters. I assume the woman behind her is her mother, though except for her eyes, looks nothing like Zoey. Where Zoey is thin and wiry, her mother is fuller-bodied, her cleavage practically straining her Lululemon top. Her hair is also blonde, but given her roots and the breakage it’s easy to see it doesn’t come naturally. Though it looks like she may have extensions. From my initial assessment, Mrs. Hargrove is someone who very much cares about her appearance.

“Okay, we’re here,” the woman says before Denham can introduce Zoey to us. “Let’s get this over with. Zoey and I need to get back home.”

Zoey sits beside Emilia without looking at the other girl, only crosses her arms and leans back in the chair provided.

“We were just going through introductions,” Denham says. “As I was telling the Crosses⁠—”

“Look, we’ve already wasted enough time. I don’t understand why we have to keep rehashing the same thing over and over again,” Mrs. Hargrove says. “Yes, the girls found the bodies and ran. What were they supposed to do?”

“Call the authorities,” I say, getting the woman’s attention for the first time. “I’m Special Agent Slate with the FBI.” I hold out my hand to her, but Mrs. Hargrove looks at it like it’s a scorpion posed to sting. I pull my hand back. “Though I can understand finding a scene like that would have been frightening.” I turn my attention to the girls. “So I don’t blame you for just wanting to get out of there.”

Emilia doesn’t react; Zoey just continues to stare at the two of us. Zara and I have run this kind of room plenty of times before. She stays back, keeping an eye on what’s happening beneath the surface while I do the direct questioning. I’m really not even that interested in what they have to say; I’m looking more for what they’re not saying. And from what I can already tell, getting these two girls to talk about anything will be a small miracle.

“All I’d like to do is just go over the morning,” I say, keeping my attention on the two girls. “Let’s start at the beginning. You were out for a morning walk on Saturday?”

“Yeah,” Zoey says.

“Do not ‘Yeah’ her,” Mrs. Hargrove hisses. “Say ‘Yes ma’am.’”

“It’s fine,” I tell her, not wanting to lose what little precious time we have here. “Do you often go out for walks in that area?”

Zoey shrugs. “Sometimes.”

“How often would you say?”

“I dunno,” Zoey replies. “Maybe once a week or so.”

I turn to Emilia. “Would you say that’s accurate?”

“I—”

“It was the first time Emilia came with me,” Zoey cuts in. “I usually walk alone.”

I nod. “Okay, thanks for that clarification. How long were you out there?”

“Like, maybe an hour or so?”

“And you’d been that way before?” Zoey shrugs while Emilia stays silent. “There aren’t any trails there. And it’s on private property.”

“It’s the easiest way to get down to the beach,” Zoey replies. “Everyone else has fences on their property.”

I nod. “So you were headed through the woods on the Voss’s property down to the beach. Who saw them first?”

“I did,” Zoey replies. “I was ahead of Emilia.”

I shoot a quick glance at Zara, who is sitting at the end of the table watching everyone’s reactions. “Then what happened?”

“I didn’t know what we were looking at, at first,” Zoey says. “But then I saw Mrs. Voss’s sweater, the one she always wears. I told Emilia we needed to run. I… didn’t want her to see it.”

“Did you?” I ask Emilia. She nods but still doesn’t look up. “And so you guys just turned and ran?”

“Yeah,” Zoey replies. “All the way back to my place.”

I turn to Mrs. Hargrove. “Were you home when the girls got back?”

She looks offended by the question. “Saturday mornings are my hot yoga classes.”

I’ll take that as a no.

I turn back to the girls. “Let’s go back to when you found the bodies. What happened?”

The girls share a micro-glance. Something so small I almost miss it. “We saw them and then ran,” Zoey replies.

“And that’s it?”

“Yeah,” Zoey replies. “What else were we supposed to do?”

I sit back, watching the two of them. “Did you see anyone else around when you first found the bodies?”

“No,” Zoey answers before Emilia can. “We just turned and ran. That was it.”

I take a quick temperature of the room. The parents are getting impatient, Mrs. Cross with her arms on her hips and her husband boring holes into me with his gaze. Mrs. Hargrove has already mentally checked out. And the girls are on the verge of shutting down. I shoot a quick glance to Denham who seems to have washed his hands of the whole affair. He stands near the back of the room, not looking at anyone.

“Did you know the Vosses?” I ask the girls.

“Everyone knew them,” Zoey replies. Emilia nods in agreement.

“This is a waste of time,” Mrs. Cross says. “They have already told you everything you need to know. Can we please take our children home and be done with this nonsense?”

I take a breath and stand. “Sure. Thank you both for coming back down to answer our questions,” I say, my attention on both Zoey and Emilia. But I spend a little more time trying to catch Emilia’s eye. She could just be intimidated, but the way Zoey has railroaded this conversation, I would love to get her alone.

“Finally,” Mrs. Hargrove says. “Thank you, Deborah. Zo, let’s get going.” Zoey pushes out from the table and follows her mother out without another word. The Crosses gather their daughter and leave, saying something low to Sheriff Denham on their way out. He nods and says something back while Zara and I wait in the corner of the room.

“That was like watching a train wreck in slow motion,” Zara says as Denham closes the door behind them. He turns to us.

“I think it’s safe to say you didn’t make any friends today,” he says.

“Was that how it went the first time?” I ask. “Zoey controlled the conversation?”

“To be fair, she’s very strong-willed. Always has been. She gets it from her mother.”

“So you never spoke to them individually?” I ask.

Denham lets out a long breath. “I never saw the need.”

“What about the neighbor? What did she have to say about it?”

Denham makes a face. “Sandra? Not much. She only saw the girls running from the woods. Not to mention she can be… eccentric.”

I frown. One of my big pet peeves is when people dismiss women as being difficult or untrustworthy just because they don’t happen to fit a preconceived notion. Especially when it comes from people in an authoritative position.

“Thanks, Sheriff,” I say and motion for Zara to follow me out. “We’ll let you know if we need anything else.”

“Mm-hm,” he says, following us out and closing the door to the conference room. He heads back to his office as Zara and I make our way back out to the parking lot.

“Okay, obviously we’re going to do that again,” she says. “But with them separated.”

“Yeah,” I reply. “But let’s give them a day or so for the parents to calm down. There’s a lot they’re not telling us. I especially want to talk to Emilia.”

“Hey,” Zara says, nudging me on the way back to the car. “Did you see? Zoey does have blonde hair.”

“I saw.”

“Kinda cool, right?”

“I think you’re insane,” I say, checking my phone. Still nothing from Liam. Which means he’s deep in it. “Let’s talk to the Okafor woman. See if we can get some of these details to match up.”

“I’ve got the address,” Zara says. “We should also try to talk to the old man today too. Don’t want him croaking on us before we can get the deets.”

I turn to her. “You are awful.”

“What?” she replies. “It’s a legitimate concern. I’m not saying I want it to happen.”

“C’mon,” I say. “I’m driving.”

Chapter Six

When we pull up to the house it’s not exactly what I expected. Most of the homes around here are stately mansions, at least the ones on the water side. But Sandra Okafor’s home is more akin to a Victorian cottage than anything else. A large, fenced garden sits adjacent to the house while the flowerboxes on the windows are overstuffed with blooming peonies, daisies and everything else under the sun. The gravel driveway is a far cry from the paved or even flagstone driveways I see adorning the neighboring homes. But like those homes, Sandra Okafor’s place sits about a hundred yards off the road, hidden from prying eyes thanks to the trees that surround her property and separate it from the Voss house to the south.

“This looks quaint,” Zara says as we pull up. The door to the house opens before I can even kill the engine, a middle-aged woman appearing in the doorway. She wipes her hands on her apron and offers us a quick wave.

“Seems friendly enough,” I say.

“And obviously expecting us.”

“Yeeahh,” I say. That could be good or bad. I’ve always been a little hesitant around people who come across as too helpful. Because it usually means they’re operating on an agenda.

“Hi there,” the woman says as we step out of the vehicle. “You’re with the FBI, right?”

Despite the woman’s enthusiasm, the one thing I notice about her place is how quiet it is. We can’t see the lake from the house, but its vastness overshadows everything here. It’s like I can feel it out there, waiting for us. It’s also curious that we came a completely different way to get to Mrs. Okafor’s home than we did to get to the beach where the Vosses were found, despite the two being practically side by side. The geography out here is a little strange.

“Good guess,” Zara says. “We’re not even wearing our Bureau-issued leather jackets.”

The quip sails right by the woman. “I’m glad you’re here, I’ve been telling Sheriff Denham that I needed to talk to you.”

Zara and I exchange a look. Denham never mentioned any specific request from her to talk to us. Just another thing that must have been “missed” in the investigation.

I round the vehicle and come to the bottom of the steps leading up to her porch. “You already gave Denham a statement, is that right?”

“You bet your ass I did,” she replies. “Sorry, where are my manners? I’ve got tea inside. The FBI likes tea, right? You’re not all coffeeholics?”

“Ugh, coffee is the worst,” Zara says, giving me a wink. “I love tea.”

“Perfect,” the woman replies. “It’s a special blend I made straight from the garden. You can’t get anything like this anywhere else on earth.”

“We don’t want to take up too much of your time—” I begin before the woman waves me off and welcomes us into the house.

“Nonsense,” she says. “I want to help however I can. We have a killer loose in this town. It’s in everyone’s best interest we find them as soon as possible.”

I concede and finally head into the house. I’m immediately hit by the heavy smell of pet dander and before I can even rub my nose, a cat weaves its way between my legs.

“Carl!” the woman yells and the cat skitters off back behind the couch. “Sorry,” she says. “He can get overly friendly.”

“It’s not a problem,” I say.

She points at me. “You say that now, just wait until he tries to bury himself in your crotch. He loves it for some reason.” She turns and heads further into the house. “Come on in. I’ll get the tea warmed up.”

I turn to look at Zara who just stares back at me with a huge grin on her face. As we follow Mrs. Okafor into the small kitchen, she begins moving pots and pans off the breakfast table, which is set up against a banquet on one side and chairs on the other. The window over the banquet looks out onto her backyard. “Mrs. Okafor,” I say. “When you spoke to Sheriff Denham⁠—”

“Sandra,” she says. “Mrs. Okafor is and always will be my mother. And I’ll be dead in the ground before someone compares me to her.” She turns to us, her arms full of pots. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your names.”

“I’m Agent Slate,” I say.

“Agent Foley,” Zara says. “But you can call me Zara. And her Emily.”

A strange look comes over Sandra’s face. “Huh. That’s funny.”

“Why is that?” I ask.

“Emily and Zara. Emilia and Zoey. It’s like kismet,” she says, setting the pots on the ground, which land with a loud clang and sends another cat I hadn’t even noticed rocketing across the floor back into the living room. “Weird.”

“Can you tell us about that morning?” I ask, ignoring the ribbing from Zara. “What you saw?”

She grabs a tea kettle from one of her cabinets and fills it with water before placing it on the stove. “It was just like I told Denham. I was on souffle number six. Just pulled it out of the oven. And then I see those two girls running out of the woods at top speed.”

“And you could definitely ID them as Emilia and Zoey?” I ask.

“No doubt about it,” she replies. “I see that Hargrove girl out here at least once a week heading down to the beach. She always likes to cut through my property, but as long as she doesn’t bother the garden, I couldn’t care less.”

“Did you see them enter the woods?” I ask.

“No, but I was focused hard on my souffle. I wasn’t about to lose another one.”

“Souffle, huh?” Zara asks.

Sandra’s eyes go wide. “Would you like a bite? I could use a taste tester. Especially before my mother gets here.”

“I would love to be your guinea pig,” Zara replies.

“Wonderful.” She heads over to the refrigerator while I give Zara a death glare. She purposefully ignores me, instead focusing her attention on the refrigerator. She might as well wrap a napkin around her neck at this point.

Sandra pulls out the souffle and cuts two very large pieces before setting them before us just as the tea kettle begins to whistle.

“Oh,” I say, realizing she has probably given me close to half of the entire thing. “I don’t want⁠—”

“Trust me, I’ve had my fill,” Sandra says. “Please, eat as much as you want. And if you’re hungry for more, I have two more ruined ones as backup. This was the first one that came out right.”

“This is delicious,” Zara says, practically wolfing it down.

Just as I go to take a bite, a midnight black cat appears on the table and we lock eyes. It stares at me, then glances down at the souffle. In the half a second I realize the cat has no qualms about table etiquette, he lunges. But just as his jaws are about to clamp down on the dessert, he is immediately whisked away by Sandra, who practically yeets him into the next room with an audible grunt.

Zara and I can only stare at each other at what just happened.

“Again, apologies,” Sandra says, turning back to the kettle and pouring two cups for us before dipping a homemade tea bag in each. “Renny is kind of a pain in the ass. Thinks everything in this house is his.”

“Is… is he okay?” I ask, looking into the next room. The cat sits just beyond the threshold, seemingly unbothered by the whole encounter. Though his green eyes continue to bore into mine.

“Oh, he’s fine. He gets launched out of this kitchen on a daily basis.”

Zara starts cracking up in her souffle, though Sandra doesn’t seem to notice. She sets the tea before us. I feel like I’m being catered to at a five-star restaurant.

I clear my throat which only causes Zara to snicker harder. “Uh… can you… tell us—did anything else happen around the time you saw the girls run from the woods?” I’m having a little trouble maintaining my concentration given the chaos happening around me. And I can see why Denham considers Sandra eccentric. But that doesn’t mean I think her testimony will be any less valuable. At least she’s willing to speak to us.

“Not that I can think of,” she replies. “Though I was focused on the bake.”

I take a quick bite of the souffle. It’s delicious. “When did you first talk to Sheriff Denham?”

“When I called him,” she says. “I thought it was odd, those girls running like that. Figured something must be wrong. That maybe they were in trouble or had seen a bear or something.”

“A bear?”

“Believe it or not, we’ve got a healthy bear population out here.” She opens a nearby tall pantry door revealing a rifle. “Can’t be too careful.”

I take another bite of the souffle and consider the possibilities. We really don’t know what happened out there. And if Sandra didn’t see the girls go into those woods, they could have been there a lot longer than they claim. “What about Walt Cready? The man who found the bodies. Do you know him?”

“Sure, everyone knows Walt,” she says. “Been in this town longer than God.”

“Have you spoken to him since the incident?”

“Nah, Walt’s not really my kind of people,” she says. “Last time I saw him was when I took Jasmine to the vet. We was crossing paths. He said she looked like putting her down would do her a favor.” She takes a sip of her tea. “And that was the last time I spoke to Walt Cready.”

“When was that?” I ask.

“Oh, probably three or four years ago now.” She turns and motions to a calico cat coming into the kitchen. “And look. Jasmine is just fine. He’s just a bitter old man with nothing better to do than piss people off.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” I say. “So you called the Sheriff. Was there anything else?”

“Not really.” She screws up her face. “He said to sit tight and he’d be by later to take my statement. ‘Course, that was before we knew what had happened. So he didn’t show up until later that night.”

Something about this doesn’t add up. Why would she call the sheriff if all she saw were Emilia and Zoey running? “Do you always call the authorities when someone trespasses on your property?”

“Huh?” she asks. “Oh, well… I mean, no. It wasn’t ‘cause they were trespassing. It’s like I told Denham⁠—”

“I know what you told him,” I say. “I’m just finding it hard to believe something seemingly so insignificant would cause you to call the police.”

Sandra glances to the side before taking a seat. “Okay, that wasn’t the whole story. I got worried, okay? I’ve never seen anyone run like that. Like the devil himself was whipping them. There’s just something you can tell when people are scared. Real terror, you know? So I… I took my rifle and went to investigate. I didn’t want those girls facing whatever it was alone.”

“You went down to the beach?”

She nods.

“And you saw the bodies?”

She nods again but with a grimace on her face.

“Did you do anything else? Did you touch them?”

“No, ‘course not!” she says like the mere suggestion physically hurt her. “I came right back here. Found my souffle ruined of course, someone had gotten into it.” She glares at Renny still sitting in the living room.” Had to start over on number six.”

I finish the souffle and push the plate away, taking a sip of the tea. There’s an explosion of herbs and spices that go perfectly with the dessert. She wasn’t kidding when she said you couldn’t get this tea anywhere else. I’ve never had anything like it.

“What did you do when you saw them?”

“Nothing,” she says. “I couldn’t believe it. But I realized the girls must have found them too, and that’s what scared them. So I just came back home.”

“And didn’t tell Denham you were down there,” I say.

“I… didn’t want to make things more difficult,” she replies. “I figured since I didn’t touch anything, it didn’t matter. It was like I never left the house.”

“How well did you know the Vosses?” I ask.

“Oh, about as well as you can know two people you live next to that have never said hello to you in your life,” she says with an undercurrent of annoyance.

“You never spoke to them?”

“No, of course I did. Just… I guess you could say we didn’t get off on the best foot. I brought them a plate of macaroons right after they moved in, but they never even answered the door. I knew they were in there though. I’d seen ‘em go in. But you can’t make people be friendly to you if they don’t want. I spoke to them here and there around town, but I wouldn’t say I had a relationship with them.”

This extra wrinkle complicates things. If Sandra was on that beach, it means she’s a potential suspect. It also means she could have contaminated the crime scene. Accidentally or not.

“Was there anything else you haven’t told us?” I ask, hating the desperation in my voice. “You said you were up early. How early?”

“Oh, I was in the kitchen by four-thirty,” she replies before leaning in. “I felt like the souffles were mocking me and couldn’t get a good night’s rest until I got one right.”

I nod along, unsure if she’s kidding or not.

Sandra Okafor leans back. “But you know, now that I think about it, I did hear a car early that morning.”

“A car?” I ask.

“I mean, I heard the rumbling of an engine—sounded like a car,” she says, cocking her head like she’s thinking hard. “Must have been around four-forty-five. I was just getting set up in the kitchen and I remember thinking it was awfully early for someone to be driving out here.”

“Where did you hear the sound come from?” Zara asks. Her souffle has completely disappeared and her teacup is empty too.

“In the direction of the Voss property. But I couldn’t tell you exactly where,” she says.

“Did it sound like a big car, like a truck? Or something smaller?”

She winces. “You know, I’m not really sure. I wish I could tell you more, but I’m not great with cars. I barely drive my own. Just to work, or when I need to go to the vet or the grocery store.”

I lean back against the banquet. “Your property doesn’t go all the way to the water, does it?”

She huffs. “No, because the goddammed city screwed me on the property lines.” It’s the first time I’ve seen her really fired up about something. “This house has been here since 1886 and yet apparently the property only extended east, in the direction of the road. The entire back of the property, what should be my beachfront, is split between the Voss’s and the Reinholds. Mind you, I didn’t know this until they moved in. I always thought that land was mine, the Reinholds only live here during the summer and they’ve never said a word. But I was out on the cove one morning about a month after the Voss’s came here and was informed by Petra that I was technically trespassing.”

“So then you did have a relationship with them,” I say.

“If you call that a relationship,” she says.

“What happened?”

“She just told me in no uncertain terms that the stretch of beach belonged to them and if I wanted access, I’d have to ask her first.”

“I’m guessing that didn’t sit too well with you.”

“Let me ask you, Emily. Would it have sat well with you?” Her face has gone a shade of red and she is fired up. It’s like this has come out of nowhere. And there was nothing about this in Denham’s file. But given trees obscure her line of sight to the water and there’s none of the landscaping in the back to match the front, I’m making an educated guess. I also assume this house costs considerably less because it doesn’t have water frontage.

“No,” I say. “So then this was a matter of contention between the two of you.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Sandra replies, getting back up. “I still consider that my beach and I go down there when I want to. We’ve exchanged words on more than one occasion. But she never called the police on me, so I didn’t see a reason to stop.”

“I see,” I say. “Well, we have taken up more than enough of your time.” I stand and Zara follows. “Thank you for the refreshments.”

“Anytime,” she says, her pleasant demeanor returning. “I’m always happy to help. And now I don’t have to worry so much about serving this dish to my mother.”

As we’re leaving, Sandra catches me by the arm. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell anyone about what I did. I really am.” There’s something strange in the way she says it that makes the hair on the back of my neck prickle.

“Thank you. And if we have any further questions⁠—”

“You know where to find me,” she replies. She watches us back down the porch and to the car, giving us a big wave as we leave.

And yet, despite her friendliness, I know the face of a liar when I see one.

Chapter Seven

“God, I am wiped,” Zara says as we turn into the driveway to the Airbnb. The other vehicle that Liam, Elliott and Nadia drove down is already here, which means Liam is probably back. “Good thing we have this nice big house to come home and relax in.”

“It’s probably all that food you stuffed your face with all day.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” I can practically feel the grin on her face but I don’t encourage it. My thoughts have been consumed with Sandra Okafor since we left her house. She definitely knows more than she’s letting on, and I’m starting to wonder if her “helpfulness” is nothing more than a cover. A hiding in plain sight situation.

“And now that I’m thinking about it, I am getting hungry for dinner. I’m thinking Chinese, what say you, maiden?” Zara asks.

“Does this town even have Chinese?”

Zara pulls out her phone as we park beside the other car. “They do… though the reviews are not great. How about Italian instead?”

“How about a protein shake and a salad?” I say. “I’m still full from lunch.”

“Party pooper,” Zara replies, getting out of the car. “I’m gonna put it to a vote. House rules.” She trots off for the front door.

“That’s not—” I sigh. What’s the point? I’m just glad she’s feeling better—more like her old self. I thought maybe after her ordeal of being held at Lazar might have made her depression even worse, but it seems to have had the opposite effect. And I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The door opens before she reaches it and Liam appears, only to be slightly startled by Zara plowing her way through the door. “Italian, yes or no?” she asks, smacking him on the shoulder.

“Uhh… I…”

“That’s a yes.” She heads inside, leaving Liam bewildered on the porch. He glances at me, then back to the space she left behind.

“She’s in a good mood,” he says, taking the few steps down to meet me.

“I think maybe it’s the weather,” I say. “She’s been like that all day.”

Liam wraps his arms around me and presses his lips to mine. “Make any progress?”

“A little,” I say. “Still need to interview another witness. But we have yet to get a straight answer. You know how small towns are.”

He nods. “Oh, I know, all right.” He releases me, though he places his hand on the small of my back as he guides me up the stairs to the porch. “It seems like no one in this town is willing to talk—at least not to an out-of-town FBI agent.”

“Even one with all your country charm?” I ask, grinning.

“Country charm? My accent has practically disappeared,” he replies.

“Maybe bring it back for this one,” I say. “People might be more accepting.”

“Oh, no,” he replies. “It took me five years to get rid of that thing. I’m not starting up again. You’d be sick of me in a week.”

I arch an eyebrow, pausing before we head inside. “Yeah? Give me a little taste.”

“Why, Miss Emily, you shore do look pretty tuh’nite.”

“Gah,” I practically choke on my spit. “You’re right. Don’t do it.”

“Told you.”

“Hey,” Zara says, poking her head out of the door. “Italian it is. Mob rules.” She looks at me. “You want a salad or do I need to force feed you a pizza?”

“Just… whatever,” I say.

She shoots me a finger gun, winking at the same time before heading back inside. “Let’s… stay out here a minute,” I say, indicating two of the rocking chairs on the porch. Liam leads the way and we each take a seat and I take a breath for what seems like the first time today.

“Tell me about your day,” he says.

I go through everything with both Emilia and Zoey, emphasizing how Zoey railroaded the conversation, clearly looking to hide something. And then the conversation with Sandra Okafor. How despite her “helpful nature” she had omitted facts from her first testimony and was definitely still hiding something.

“And you’re speaking with the old man tomorrow?” he asks.

“First thing,” I say, nodding. “Assuming he’s back. We went to interview him after the Okafor woman, but no one was home. Who leaves town the day after finding two bodies lying on the beach? Denham said he left for Brempton not long after his interview.” I take another deep breath. “I don’t know. There’s something going on here. And I think everyone has their hands in it.”

“That’s my assessment,” Liam replies. “I talked to a number of different business owners, all of whom knew, respected and liked the Vosses. Not a single person had one bad word to say about them. I know there are people out there who are universally liked, but to not hear one complaint? Seems fishy to me.”

“Maybe you just weren’t relating to them,” I say, reaching out and taking his hand. I don’t have my ring on for obvious reasons, though it still hangs around a chain that’s hidden under the collar of my shirt.

“Maybe you shouldn’t tell me how to do my job,” he says grinning as he leans in and finds my lips again.

“Maybe sometimes you need a little instruction,” I tease, talking against his lips.

“Yeah?” he asks. “Well, I’m always eager to learn.”

“Yo!”

We turn to see Zara standing in the doorway, tapping her foot. “Are you two coming in here or what? We have a ton of info to go over and the food is already on the way.”

“Right,” Liam says. “Nadia and Elliott made some progress. More than me, anyway.”

“Okay, we’re coming,” I say.

“I don’t want the sordid details,” Zara replies. “Do that on your own time. We’re still on the clock.” She disappears back into the house.

“Man… I haven’t seen her this wound up in… I don’t know how long,” Liam says. “Are you sure she’s okay?”

As much as I hate to question it, I am starting to wonder. Zara is never what I would call subdued, but even this is a little extreme. “Maybe she’s just upped her caffeine intake.” I get up and head for the door. “But she is right. I want to get through everything so we’ll be fresh to go in the morning.”

“Want some company when you talk to the old man?” Liam asks, following me in.

“I wouldn’t mind it,” I say. “Why? Think you can get more out of him than I can?”

He shrugs. “It would give me a chance to test out my accent skills.”

I laugh, and it carries into the room where the other three members of our team look up in unison. They’re gathered around the dining room table which is covered in laptops, files and a couple of case boxes. I have to admit, I’m feeling lighter than I have in months, if not years. Maybe it’s something about knowing you have someone who will always be there for you; always have your back no matter what that takes some of the pressure off.

Or maybe I’m finally accepting that I deserve to be happy and I can count on people for the first time in my life.

“Okay,” I say, approaching the table. “What do we have so far?”

Nadia grins, taking an extra second to watch me and I can tell she’s taking it all in. My mood is a rarity for them, and for me too. “Zara’s been telling us about your interviews,” she says. “Sounds like we might have picked the right case after all.”

I give Zara an appreciative nod. “Despite my reservations, I think Zara’s instincts were right on this one.”

“As do we,” Elliott replies. “We’ve been looking into the wire fraud, tracing the source to determine the root cause of the case and to see if we couldn’t find any patterns.”

“And?” I ask.

“Oh, there are definitely patterns,” Nadia replies. “Have you heard of the Sable Cove Community Foundation?”

“That’s the charity that the Vosses ran, isn’t it?” I ask.

“Charity is being—for lack of a better word—charitable,” Nadia replies. “It was established eight years ago when the Vosses moved to Sable Cove, seeded with four million dollars that Elliott managed to trace back to the sale of commercial properties in Gareth’s name. We’re still looking into that, but so far that side of it looks legit. What isn’t legit, or at least looks suspicious, is everything that’s happened since.”

I take a seat in one of the empty chairs as she hands me a couple of documents.

“The foundation on the surface looks like a normal charity. Literacy programs, infrastructure grants, environmental preservation of the lakefront, small business development, yadda yadda. By every public measure, the foundation has been doing genuine good for the community.”

“But?”

“But, the irregularity the IRS flagged is related to a pattern of incoming transfers to the foundation’s operating account from a series of LLCs. Not unusual in itself as donors route through corporate structures all the time. The problem is these LLCs have no other discernable activity. They only exist to make these transfers and nothing else. Each transfer is modest, all under ten thousand dollars each and they always arrive on a fixed schedule.”

“It’s a payoff situation,” I say.

“Seems to be that way,” Nadia replies. “We traced two of the LLCs and the payments are recorded as recurring consulting fees.”

“For?” Zara asks.

“Unspecified,” Nadia replies.

“What is it that the Vosses actually did?” I ask. “Where did their income come from?”

“As far as we can tell, investments and these consulting fees,” Elliott replies. “Neither maintained a formal job at any corporate structure; both of them worked for the foundation.”

“So what’s the play here? They move to town, set up this foundation… and people just… pay them? That doesn’t make sense.”

Nadia leans forward. “No, it doesn’t. But because there’s no paperwork denoting what the payments were for other than consulting, we can’t even begin to speculate with any degree of accuracy.”

Elliott taps on another folder. “Their income from investments was sizable, but probably not enough to sustain their lifestyles.”

“These payments had to be for something,” I say. “Do we have any idea who their clients were?”

“Still working on that,” Nadia says. “But we managed to link the two LLC’s back to Sable Cove residents.

“Really?” I ask.

Nadia turns her laptop around to face me. The name Landflowers is emblazoned across the top of a series of documents on the screen, though the documents all seem to be at least a few years old. “Scroll down,” she says.

At the very bottom of the last document is a signature of the president. “Sandra Okafor?” I ask.

She gives me an appreciative nod.

“I should have known anyone who could make souffle that good was up to something,” Zara said. “And I took tea from that woman.”

“So a woman who claims to have a very limited relationship with the Vosses was actually in business with them,” I say. “Paying them a monthly fee that went directly to their charity. Which, only makes sense if they’re trying to hide income.”

“It’s a textbook example of tax fraud,” Liam says.

“How long has she been paying this fee?”

Nadia turns the computer back to her and scrolls through the information. “Almost eight years. Ever since they Vosses moved into town.”

My gaze meets Zara’s. Sandra claimed to have little more than a passing relationship with the Vosses. And yet her “company” had been paying them for nearly a decade. Not only that, but the woman admitted to going down to the beach that morning. Which meant she could have easily have been on that beach the night before. “Do you know why?”

“No clue,” Nadia replies. “Sorry, I wish I had more. But we did manage to ID one other resident with ties to them.”

“Who?”

“Ray Curran. Local hardware store owner. The LLC leads back to him.”

“I just spoke with him today,” Liam says. “Obviously he didn’t say anything about this; he had nothing but good things to share about the Vosses.”

I scoff. “I’m sure.”

“We highly doubt these are the only payments they were receiving,” Elliott says. “There may be more LLCs. A lot more.”

I stare at the table a moment longer, trying to absorb everything. “Is this all in the public record?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s easily accessible,” Nadia says. “But yes, anyone could find it if they wanted.”

I turn to Zara. “Why would Sandra lie to us if she knew we could find this information easily?”

“That’s a question we need to ask her.”

Ugh. I don’t relish the thought of a second trip out to her house, but I don’t see we have another choice. The woman lied to our faces. I want to know why. But it’s going to have to wait. We need to speak to Walt Cready before he decides to skip town again. I don’t think Sandra is going anywhere, not with the army of cats she takes care of.

“Good work. Both of you. At least this gives us something concrete to start with.” I turn to Liam. “New plan. Go talk to Curran again tomorrow. See if you can’t get something solid from him regarding these payments. Maybe he’ll give us something we can use to speak with Sandra again. Z, you and I hit Cready first thing, then, depending on what Liam finds, we go after Okafor. For real this time.”

“Frontal attack?” she asks.

“No,” I say. “I’ve got something else in mind.”

Chapter Eight

On a hunch I decide we better get a jump on the morning, which means shaking Zara out of bed at 4:30, a particularly difficult task given how much pasta and wine she consumed last night. Thankfully the killer espresso machine takes care of that problem, and we manage to arrive at Walt Cready’s house before the sun is up.

Unfortunately, his car still isn’t in the driveway.

“I thought he was supposed to come back yesterday,” Zara says, taking another sip of her caramel blend, the smell filling the inside of the car.

“Yeah,” I say. “I get the distinct feeling someone is ducking us. Where is the town’s boat dock?”

“Hang on.” She pulls out her phone and taps it a few times. “North side of town, off the river inlet. Think he’s going fishing?”

“I think a retired police officer who doesn’t want to talk to the FBI would get out on the water as soon as humanly possible,” I say. “We just need to beat him to it.”

Ten minutes later we pull up to the marina. It’s a small inlet off the Jefferson River that holds maybe fifteen or twenty boats. There’s a larger, more substantial dock further in, but Zara managed to identify this one as where Walt Cready keeps his boat.

There’s no gate, no passcode, not even a security guard as we pull down the drive. One side of the road is bordered by what looks like a small yacht club, though that’s being generous. I’d say it’s probably more of a fisherman’s club. It’s a one-story building with a massive sturgeon hanging above the small door. The other side is nothing but boat slips which run all the way around the inlet to the opening which leads out to the river, then to the lake.

There are a few lights around the property, but it’s all quiet out here and it’s still dark. The sun won’t be up for another thirty to forty minutes. I park and get out, listening carefully until I hear it: the sound of someone rustling around their boat. I motion for Zara to come quietly as we head to the slips. We search along the softly bobbing boats until we find one with the words The Second Shift painted on the back. There’s no one on the deck but there’s a small area underneath which looks like you’d need to crawl into in order to reach inside. A light inside flickers as a shadow moves past it.

We stand on the slip until a man in his mid-sixties comes crawling out of the hatch and stops dead in his tracks when he sees us.

“Walt Cready?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says, watching us suspiciously.

I hold out my badge. “Agents Slate and Foley. We’ve been trying to get ahold of you.”

“Congratulations,” the man says, grunting as he stands on the deck of his boat. “Looks like you found me.”

Cready is lean and weathered, his time on the water having taken its toll on his skin. His movements are deliberate and his hands steady. His posture indicates that even though we’ve managed to track him down, he’s not about to be bothered by us. Or at least he’s not going to show that he is.

“We’d like to talk to you about Saturday morning,” I say, carefully watching his body language. But he’s completely relaxed, like we’re not even here. Law enforcement, retired or not, are a lot harder to read because they know all the tricks. And someone like Cready strikes me as a man who put the job before everything. The back of his nineteen-foot fishing boat tells me that if nothing else.

“Sure,” he says. “Went through it with Denham already. But I don’t mind again.” He stands up fully, wiping his hands with a nearby rag.

“We won’t waste your time,” I say. “Just give us the rundown.”

“Well,” he glances down at the boat. “I was up early, as I am most days. On the water by five-thirty, five-forty-five at the latest. It’s still early in the season, but we get our fair share of pleasure boats later in the day. If you’re lookin’ to get anything done, gotta do it early.

“I was heading down by Tuckett Cove around seven when I saw some movement at the tree line. At first I thought it was a pair of deer, but then I realized they were upright and I saw it was those two girls, running from the beach.”

“You saw the girls before you saw the bodies?” I ask.

“Yup. Their faces were pale white and they ran away from shore, up through past the houses and away from where I could see ‘em. Looked like they were being chased, but when I looked around, that’s when I saw the bodies on the beach.”

“You’re telling me you could make out their faces… at two hundred meters. Give or take.”

Cready pauses and I see that look of recalibration. “I could tell they were out of breath,” he says. “Legs and arms pumping.” I want to glance at Zara to see if she also caught the deflection, but I keep my attention on Cready.

“So you couldn’t make out their faces clearly?”

“No,” he says. “But I knew it was them. Denham confirmed it for me when I called it in over the radio. Said he’d already gotten a call from the neighbor lady.”

“Did you see them down on the beach?” I ask.

“No, just caught them running in the woods. But when I saw the bodies, I didn’t pay them no more attention.”

“And that’s it,” I say.

“Pretty much. Kept watch on the scene until Denham arrived.” I hear just a hint of pride in his voice at that.

“And you didn’t see anyone else approach the scene?” I ask.

“Not usually a lot of people out at that time of morning,” he says. “It’s not the kind of beach you take long walks on.”

I recall how rocky it was. “No, I get that. Let’s go back to the moment you first saw the Vosses. Did you hear or see anything else unusual?”

“More unusual than two dead bodies?” he asks, his voice incredulous. But I nod anyway.

“No, not that I can think of. Just like I said, those two girls running away. Figure they must have been as startled as I was.”

I’m specifically thinking back to the car Sandra Okafor mentioned.

“How well did you know the Vosses?” I ask.

“As well as anyone, I ‘spose,” he says casually, tossing his rag to the front of his boat.

“Didn’t have many dealings with them?”

“They mostly kept to themselves,” he replies which is a stark contradiction to what we’ve heard elsewhere.

“I thought they were well-liked around town?”

He pauses, looking at me for a minute before finally relenting. “I guess they were.”

“But you didn’t like them.”

“Didn’t really have an opinion one way or another,” he says.

We spend another ten minutes going back and forth, but Cready isn’t giving us anything he hasn’t already told Denham. The man knows how to step around a question without getting himself into trouble, almost like he’s still on the job.

“You catch all that?” I ask Zara as we make our way back to the car.

“There was nothing to catch,” she says. “He’s about as talkative as a nun who’s taken a vow of silence. That’s it. We’ve met our first troll.”

She’s not wrong. “Convenient how he happened to see the girls running from the scene only enough to give us a dubious ID on them.” I pause as we get back to the vehicle and I look back at Cready still working on his boat. The sky is already brightening though the sun has yet to come up.

“He either did it, or he’s the unluckiest son of a bitch out there,” Zara says. “I mean, the entire lake and he just happens to come upon that beach?”

“Or he was sent to ‘find’ the scene,” I say. “I believe Emilia and Zoey could have stumbled onto it by accident. But the odds a retired police officer? Seems unlikely.”

“But who would send him there? And why? Plausible deniability?”

“I dunno,” I say. “But nothing about this is making any sense. We need to find out if Cready was one of the Vosses’ victims.”

“Something tells me that isn’t going to be easy,” Zara says.

“It never is.”

Chapter Nine

In a town like Sable Cove, a Thursday morning might as well be the unofficial start of the weekend. Already it’s busier than it was yesterday and Liam feels a yawn coming on as he waits at least twenty minutes before receiving the coffee he ordered at the only place in town that serves light roast. The difference between yesterday and today is like someone flipped on the “tourist” switch. Either that or it’s just the locals gearing up for a busy weekend.

Or maybe he’s just feeling the nervous energy of a town that’s dealing with a double murder—a place where people who probably don’t think twice about locking their doors is now under siege from an unknown assailant. Though, if Nadia and Elliott’s intel is to be believed, whoever this person is might have done the town a favor. Regardless, Liam is on the clock and by the time he finally gets his hands on the drink, he’s already five minutes late. Thankfully, everything in Sable Cove is walkable, so instead of making his way back to his car, he heads down Ship Street to the hardware store he visited yesterday, determined to get an answer today.

However, before he reaches the door, a man in a button-down shirt and ball cap steps into his path from between the buildings. Liam nearly drops the coffee and goes for his weapon.

“Sorry,” the man says immediately. “Didn’t mean to startle you. I was just hoping I could ask you a few questions.”

Liam sees it now. The telltale look of a man pursuing a story. This guy must be with the local press. “Sorry,” Liam says. “No comment at this time.”

“When will you have a comment?” the man asks. “This town deserves to know what happened. Are people safe?”

Liam sidesteps the man and continues on to his destination, determined not to get sidetracked.

“You’ll have to say something eventually,” the man calls out but Liam ignores him.

The little bell over the door rings as he pushes his way in, careful not to spill the coffee. The place is small, but well-stocked. One of those businesses that looks like it’s been a part of the community in some form or another for at least a hundred years.

“Back again.” The man behind the counter has a dark moustache and beard, is slightly heavyset but with arms that look like tree trunks, even under the strain of his shirt. Ray Curran looks like the kind of man who has spent most of his life behind some tool or another and probably has more experience in a machine shop than anyone else in town. He was friendly enough yesterday, but guarded, not that Liam could blame him. This town is full of secrets and if it’s anything like Stillwater, getting those secrets into the light is gonna be like pulling teeth.

Before the guy with the press startled him, Liam had spent the morning getting his head straight. He’s been working for the FBI for so long, his time as a local town cop has kind of faded to the background. But it’s still there, in the recesses of his mind. And while he has a brief urge to pull out the accent again just to give Em something to smile about, he manages to refrain.

“One thing my dad never accused me of was being a quitter,” Liam says, placing the to-go coffee on the counter and sliding it to the man. The rest of the shop is empty but Liam suspects business will pick up shortly with the weekend on the horizon.

Curran eyes the coffee. “What’s this?”

“I noticed your cup yesterday,” Liam says. “And thankfully, Harden’s Coffee prints the exact order on the edge of the cup.”

Curran looks at him with the strange smile of a man who isn’t surprised very often. Though he does take the coffee. “Let me guess, this comes with strings attached.”

“I wouldn’t say strings,” Liam replies. “Just information.” Curran looks like he’s about to slide the coffee back to Liam, but Liam holds out his hand. “Don’t worry about it. If you can’t help me, it’s a freebie.”

“I’m not used to taking charity from strangers,” Curran says.

“You know,” Liam says, looking around the store. “This place reminds me a lot of a place we used to have in my hometown called Rivens. Old Man Rivens had been in that town before God, and I swear he never missed a day at that store.”

Curran smiles. “Sounds like my dad. Only way he missed work was if he was dead. Drilled that into my head too.” He takes a sip of the coffee and given he doesn’t spit it out immediately, Liam takes that as a good sign. “Where are you from. Originally?”

“Town called Stillwater, northern Virginia. Heard of it?”

Curran shakes his head.

“One of those towns that doesn’t really change much. The cars get newer, sure, but that’s about it. The people stay the same.”

“What made you leave?”

Liam turns to him. “My boss—the sheriff—was corrupt. And he was corrupting the town. Worst part was, I almost fell for it.”

Curran nods, then takes another sip. “It’s always the same story. You try your hardest to do the right thing. Then one day you wake up and realize you’ve been the bad guy all along.”

Liam nods. “Exactly. So that’s when I left. Joined the FBI. Maybe I’m trying to atone for my sins… who knows.”

Curran pulls up a stool from behind the counter and leans against it, clearly enjoying the coffee. “I can’t tell you much. But the Vosses weren’t who they presented themselves to be all the time. And they weren’t from around here. Not originally.”

Liam nods. “So I’ve heard. From what I understand, they liked to trade favors.”

Curran makes an audible harrumph. “Favors,” he says. “I guess they would call it that.”

“Were they leaning on you?” Liam asks.

Curran shifts around Liam to look at the door, then gets up and heads to the front, locking the door and flipping the sign that says “Be back soon.” He then heads back around the counter into a back room. “Come on if you’re coming,” he says, and Liam tentatively follows.

“I figure the longer I put this off the worse it’ll get,” he says. “Local cops are one thing. But the FBI… I can’t afford to get in trouble with the government. So you might as well hear it from me before you hear it from someone else. I had an investment in a piece of marina property a couple years back that went sideways. Lost almost everything. Would have lost the store if the Vosses hadn’t bailed me out. Dad was still alive then—I couldn’t let him watch what he’d built fall apart because of my stupid mistake.”

He takes another deep breath, leaving the coffee on the desk in his small office. “At first I thought they might be good Samaritans because they didn’t ask for anything in return. They just told me they liked looking out for people. Didn’t realize they were just waiting for me to get back on my feet. Six months later, when the books were good and the income was solid, they came calling.”

“They demanded a payment,” Liam says.

“An ongoing series of payments,” Curran replies. “They said it was like repaying a loan. They’d helped me, now it was my turn. The problem was, there was no end to these payments. And out of fear, I paid them for almost five years.”

Liam cocks his head. “Almost.”

“Six months ago I quit. Closed the LLC they helped me set up and just… stopped.”

“Why?”

Curran runs his tongue along his teeth, eyeing Liam for a moment, maybe trying to figure out how much he can trust him. “They changed the rules of the game. In the past, the payments were reasonable. I wasn’t happy about it, but I figured it was penance for my stupidity. Then about two years ago they increased the size of the payments. And not by a small amount. Significant increases. It all felt very… unfair, you know? Like we had this unspoken agreement and they went off and changed it without even talking to me.”

“Did you try asking them about it?” Liam asks.

He shakes his head. “They would never talk about these things if you came to them. They would have to come to you. When they were ready. And they never said a word about it. Just expected me to pay. I finally got fed up and quit.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” Curran says. “At first. I thought I’d at least get a visit from some big guy in a black suit, or someone wielding a baseball bat. But after a couple months went by, I thought maybe I wasn’t a big enough fish to worry about. Or maybe that I’d repaid enough of my debt, despite paying more than double what they originally paid to get me out of that jam.”

“Doesn’t sound like it was that easy,” Liam says.

Curran shakes his head slowly. “Wouldn’t you know it; a routine state building inspection on this property came up with six code violations that required seventeen thousand dollars to remediate. It’s funny; I’ve never had a single code violation in my life.”

It’s not hard to see the frustration and pain on Curran’s face. A man who has spent his life serving the community and paying his bills forced into a situation by two vipers who took advantage of him at his lowest.

“When was this?” Liam asks.

“About three months ago,” Curran admits. “I’ll be working off those violations for at least a year or more.”

“Did the Vosses ever approach you after that?”

He turns in his seat. “No need. I got the message. I started the payments again last month.” He takes a deep breath. “Listen, Agent Coll. I have a family. And they know nothing about any of this and I’d like to keep it that way. My burden shouldn’t be theirs.”

“I can’t promise that,” Liam tells him. “These are some serious allegations.”

“Guess none of this makes me look too good, huh?”

“That depends,” Liam says. “Where were you early Friday night until about eight in the morning on Saturday?”

“Closed up Friday, went down to Duke’s for a drink until about six or seven. Then went home. Was back here by eight on Saturday.”

“Anyone at home with you?” he asks.

“My wife and daughter. And my daughter can vouch for my whereabouts. She’s grounded, so I had to be there to make sure she didn’t leave sometime during the night. You have kids?” Liam shakes his head. “Do yourself a favor and keep it that way. She’s gotten into this bad habit of slipping out in the middle of the night. And apparently there was some big bash all the kids went to on Friday.”

“Really,” Liam says. “I hadn’t heard about that.”

Curran leans in. “’Cause kids don’t really trust cops.”

Liam grins. “Thanks for the info.”

“Yeah… well… thanks for the coffee,” he says. “Not very often someone does something nice for me.”

Liam heads back out after Ray unlocks the door and wishes him good luck. The weather for the weekend is supposed to be nice, so there will be a lot of spring break traffic coming through Sable Cove.

Which can only mean things are about to get a lot more complicated.

If Curran was telling the truth, then Nadia and Elliott were right and the Vosses were using Sable Cove as their own personal gold mine. The question is, how far did their influence go? And how many people knew about these arrangements? Curran said his wife didn’t know, but did that mean she didn’t know at all or just about his own personal deal with them? Because if what the Vosses were doing was common knowledge, then the suspect pool would absolutely explode.

Liam needs to get this info back to Emily; hopefully their meeting with Walt Cready was just as productive.

He stops halfway back to his car, looking for the man who had tried to stop him before going into Curran’s place, but he was nowhere to be found. Just locals and tourists going about their business. Most everyone offered a hello or at least a nod and no one seemed to be watching him with outward suspicion. If everyone in this town does know about the Vosses, they were doing a good job of hiding it.

Which unnerves him even more.

Chapter Ten

Following Liam’s call after his meeting with Ray Curran, Zara and I head back to downtown Sable Cove to find Sandra Okafor again. Her employment record shows she works at the local elementary school and sure enough, the office manager directs us to her classroom where she’s in the middle of teaching a bunch of eight-year-olds.

We wait until the bell rings, though as soon as the woman caught a glimpse of us through the glass beside the door I could practically see her demeanor change. Going from loose and easygoing to tighter and more erratic. Though I doubt any of the kids noticed.

“Ms. Okafor,” I say as the kids file out of the room past us, paying us little mind on their way to their next destination.

“The kids call me Ms. Okie,” she says with a timid smile. “Did you… find anything?”

“Is there somewhere we can talk?”

“I’ve got another class—” she begins before she sees the look on my face. “Sure. Let me find a sub really quick. I’ll meet you in the teacher’s lounge. It’s down the hall and on the left.”

Five minutes later we’re sitting in the empty teacher’s lounge when the door opens to reveal Ms. Okafor. She wears a sheepish smile. “We should be good in here. No one has break until lunch.”

“Have a seat,” I say. “We have some additional questions for you.”

“Can I make you some tea?” she asks, walking around the only table and chairs in the room, heading for the small kitchenette. “It’s not ideal, but I keep some of my teabags from home here.”

“Ms. Okafor,” I say.

She takes the tone of my voice seriously and sits in one of the empty seats. “Did you… uh… find who did it?”

“First, I’d like to know why you lied to us yesterday,” I say. “You didn’t just have a passing familiarity with the Vosses, did you? You were in business together.”

She winces. “Okay, yes, we were in business together. Ever since⁠—”

“Were you still sending them monthly payments?”

She pauses. “Yes.”

“And did you have a contract?”

“No, that’s the thing,” she says. “There was never anything formal. I should have just quit making the payments, but I was afraid of what might happen if I did.”

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s start over. From the beginning.”

“I can’t,” she says.

“We already know you weren’t the only one,” Zara says. “It’s all right. You can tell us.”

She shakes her head. “You don’t understand. If I…” She shakes her head again. “No. You’ll just have to arrest me. I’ll take my chances.” I can’t tell if she’s just being defiant or if there’s something more going on here. I wouldn’t say she’s scared… at least not in the traditional sense, but something is off. Then again, it could just be her personality.

“Ms. Okafor,” I say. “I know this is scary. And I know it feels like it’s something you can’t get out from under. But the Vosses are gone. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

“It’s not that,” she says before leaning closer, lowering her voice. “My reputation will be in tatters.”

“From what we understand, the Vosses moved here and pretty quickly began placing this town in an iron grip,” I say. “I don’t think anyone is going to blame you.”

“They will. You don’t know these people,” Sandra says. “I was the first. I opened the door.”

“They said they could help you, didn’t they?” I ask.

She leans back, glancing at the ceiling and letting out a long breath. “I don’t guess either of you have a smoke, do you?”

“You can’t smoke in the school,” Zara says.

“Not nicotine,” she replies. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have asked.” She taps her fingers on the table in a rhythmic fashion; something I recognize as a stimming technique for nervous or overanxious people. It’s something I’ve been known to do myself.

“We just want to understand,” I say.

“If my students find out…” She lets the words hang in the air, seemingly terrified.

“Your students will still love you,” I say. “They’re in elementary school. They won’t even care.”

“No,” she says. “They’ll know Ms. Okie did something bad. That’s all it will take.”

“And will it be any better if we arrest you?”

She hangs her head.

I hold my tongue a moment before speaking. “You know. I bet whatever you did, you had a good reason. You don’t strike me as a vengeful or hateful person. Quite the opposite, in fact. My guess is you were trying to help and you were taken advantage of. That about right?”

She sighs again. “There was this… literacy grant. For the school. I’d been fighting to get it for years, for some of our less fortunate students. But we kept getting passed over. After Gareth and Petra moved here, we became quick friends. They were actually there that night I brought over the macaroons.”

“You told them about the grant?”

“Not right away. I wasn’t about to be all ‘Hi, we just met but I have this massive problem I need help with.’ It’s not something that really comes up. But you know how it goes. A few weeks go by and you get to know people better and somewhere along the line it slips out. Petra offered to help. She said they had contacts back in New York. People that had experience with stuff like that. I didn’t think she was serious; I just thought she was being nice. And even if she was, I didn’t think anything would ever come of it.

“But wouldn’t you know it, a few weeks afterwards the grant was approved. I was thrilled. I even celebrated with the Vosses at their house.” She wrings her hands together.

“So what went wrong?”

“About a month after the grant had been approved and was about to be dispersed, Petra approached me and said she needed my help in return. She said they’d spent a considerable amount of money to get the grant approval and asked if I would agree to help them repay.” She motions around the room. “It was then that I realized they must have bribed someone to get it pushed through.”

“And you didn’t want to be a part of that.”

“No. But also, I couldn’t exactly afford to,” she says. “Look at me. I’m not exactly making the big bucks here. The only reason I’m in that house is because my mother left it to me when she moved to Florida. Otherwise, I’d probably be stuck in an apartment that doesn’t even allow cats.”

“Then what did you do?”

“What choice did I have?” she asks. “I couldn’t let word get out that the Vosses had probably broken the law to get the grant. I paid what I could. I managed to convince Petra I couldn’t afford what she was originally asking, so she extended the term of payments out to thirty years. It was like I had a mortgage on a house I didn’t even live in.” She takes a breath. “I thought, maybe, once the grant had been paid out I could stop… but she wasn’t about to let that happen.”

“I’m guessing the two of you didn’t remain friends,” I say.

“That’s putting it mildly. That day on the beach I told you about? That happened. But it almost came to blows. She knew damn well I had been using that beach for years before they ever moved into town. And she wanted me to get permission? Said I couldn’t use it again until I’d caught up on the payments. The nerve.”

“When did that happen?” I ask.

Sandra’s demeanor changes immediately. “Well, I mean… it was a few years ago now. Nothing recent. I wasn’t in a rage or anything like that.” She wrings her hands together again.

“Okay,” I nod, giving her space to fill in the blanks. She’s on edge, and usually with people who are about to pop it’s best to wait and let them hang themselves with their own words. The fact of the matter is Sandra Okafor had a solid motive for killing the Vosses. She also had easy access to their property and even admitted to going down to find them.

But despite the glare Zara and I are giving her, she doesn’t cave. She just looks nervously around the room. “Why didn’t you tell us any of this before?”

“I’m not stupid, Agent Slate,” she says. “I know how this looks. But I’m not a violent person. I don’t care how mad I was at Petra; I never would have hurt her.”

“Can you tell us what you were doing on Friday night between eight PM and four AM?”

“Asleep, mostly,” she says. “Even on the weekend I go to bed early. Kids wear me out. And like I said, I was up and heard that car around four-thirty. That’s it.”

“But there was no one with you who could verify you were home?”

She drops her gaze to the floor. “No.”

“How many other people in town were paying similar settlements to the Vosses?” Zara asks.

“I really don’t know,” she says. “At least a half dozen or more. It isn’t like we all got together and talked about how we were getting screwed over. But I know they kept records. They even showed me my folder once.”

“Your folder?” I ask.

She nods. “Complete with the number of payments I’d made and the number I had yet to make. And let me tell you, the second column was a lot larger than the first.”

“When is your next payment due?”

“In a few weeks,” she says, hanging her head. “Though, I guess I shouldn’t pay it. It will be the first time in eight years when I have a little extra spending money.”

“How did you pay?” Zara asks. “I’m assuming you didn’t slip cash into their mailbox.”

“They ‘helped’ me set up an LLC with my bank. I used that to make direct transfers to their account.”

I stand, confident we’ve gotten all we’re going to get from Sandra Okafor right now. “Don’t make the next payment,” I say. “And I’ll have to ask you not to leave town until this investigation has concluded.”

“Where am I going to go?” she asks. “To my mother’s?” She gives us a nervous laugh before dropping it. “Don’t leave town. Got it.”

“Thanks for your help,” I say, handing her one of my cards. “We’ll be in touch soon. If you think of anything else.”

She gives us a nervous nod as we head out. “Thoughts?” I ask Zara as we make our way back to the car.

“Doesn’t strike me as a killer,” she says. “But you never know what people will do in the heat of the moment. Maybe she finally hit the last straw.”

“Maybe,” I say. “Right now she’s looking pretty good for it. But just because she could have doesn’t mean she actually did it. We need more information.”

“You thinking about finding the rest of those folders?” Zara asks.

I smile. “You read my mind.”

Chapter Eleven

“Sometimes I think this is my favorite part,” Zara says as we head up the long driveway to the Voss’s home.

“What, invading people’s houses?”

“Yeah,” she says. “I mean, not only do we get to find out how bad their taste is, but we get to go through all their stuff. You can tell a lot about a person from their stuff.”

“Plus, it doesn’t hurt that it’s a huge lake house overlooking the water.”

“Yeah, well, that’s just a bonus,” she says, grinning.

“The house last sold for over seven million dollars,” Elliott adds from the backseat. After our meeting with Sandra Okafor, we returned to the rental house to pick up Elliott and Nadia so the four of us could tackle the Voss home ourselves while Liam continues to work on the community. “That was in 2017, when they moved here.”

“Just imagine how much it’s worth now,” Zara says, shooting me a wink. “C’mon, how often do you get to snoop through a millionaire’s mansion?”

“We’re not snooping,” I reiterate. “We’re investigating.” I catch Nadia’s eye briefly in my rearview mirror but she turns away quickly.

We follow Denham’s truck up the driveway, having already bypassed the gate at the front which required an electronic fob before it would open. The Voss’s weren’t just rich, they were rich rich. The home spreads out before us like a compound, a craftsman style house that sits on the top of a hill, overlooking the water of Lake Michigan. The landscaping leading up to the home is immaculate, no doubt maintained by some third party. And the driveway itself curves up to the house and back around, merging back into itself. Denham pulls all the way around while I park just past the main entrance to the home. The four of us get out, the warmth of the late morning already evident. There’s a slight breeze coming off the lake, which has tempered the ambient temperature to a pleasant seventy-one degrees. I can’t even imagine waking up to this every morning.

“Got the keys, one second,” Denham says, walking past us. He’s been hesitant about every avenue of this investigation, and I can’t tell if that’s because he has something to hide, or if he’s really just annoyed by the fact we’re here at all. And while I would normally confront him about it, something tells me it’s better to hold off for right now. There are still too many unknowns surrounding this case.

In addition to the circular driveway, the drive also curves back on either side of the house, which forms something of an hourglass shape in the lawn if it were to be viewed from above. On the side where we drove up is the garage, but I can’t see where the other drive goes, though my assumption is it probably dips down the slope in the back of the property to provide lake access. Possibly to a dock or boat ramp of some kind.

Denham works the keys to the door, testing each one before finally figuring out which fits, which tells me he hasn’t been out here yet. And while part of me wants to admonish him for it, I’m actually grateful. It means we get to see the Voss house fresh and without possible contamination.

The Vosses had no children and their only next of kin is an estranged brother of Gareth’s in Ohio who hasn’t arrived in town and is in no hurry to. Whatever can be said about the Vosses, they weren’t nearly as close with their family as they apparently were with the community. Fortunately, the brother didn’t contest access for the purposes of the investigation.

Denham finally gets the door open and once inside he disables the alarm system.

Zara whistles as we step inside, the light fragrance of lilies and daffodils reaching my nose. “Holy shit. I have never seen a cleaner house in my life.”

She’s right. There is not a single thing out of place. Every surface in the house is either bare or tastefully decorated. The foyer opens to the large living room, which is backed with windows that showcase the lake. Obviously, the house’s largest selling point. The living room is tastefully decorated, though there isn’t much in the way of personality. It looks like it could have come directly from some upscale catalog. All the art on the walls is nondescript and generic—nothing that tells me anything about the people who lived here. And there’s not a single photo of the two of them anywhere that I can see. The kitchen and dining area is off to the left, while it looks like there might be some bedrooms off to the right.

The lack of personal warmth in here is… strange. Especially for a married couple. I’m starting to wonder about the relationship between Gareth and Petra. How close were they, really? Or was this more of a marriage of convenience?

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s get to work. See if we can find out what the Vosses were really up to.”

Denham approaches as everyone heads off in different directions. Nadia to the right, Elliott to the left and Zara heads down the open staircase that leads to the lower level of the home. “I don’t really know what you expect to find here,” he says. “It isn’t like they’re going to leave their dirty laundry out for anyone to find.”

“You never know,” I say. “Even the people who look the most put-together can be careless.” I turn to him. “How well did you know the Vosses?”

He shrugs. “Not very well. We crossed paths on a few occasions, usually related to their charity work. But as far as I know, they never had a reason to get involved with the law. Not even a parking ticket on record for either of them.”

That tracks from what we’ve found so far. If they were operating in the way Elliott and Nadia suspect, they would have wanted to stay as far away from law enforcement as possible. Though I’m surprised they didn’t have their fingers in Denham’s office as well. It could have been helpful for them to have someone watching their backs.

Then again, I might be talking to the man who did just that, which would explain his deflections ever since we arrived. It isn’t like Denham asked us to come here, maybe he was hoping to quietly close this investigation without any fanfare.

“Did they seem happy? With each other, I mean.”

He shrugs. “I never saw anything out of the ordinary, but like I said. I didn’t know them well.”

“Hey, Em,” Zara calls from below. “We got something down here.” I follow her voice down and find the lower floor of the home is larger and more expansive than the top one. But because this one is hidden by the hill on the other side, it was difficult to tell. Like the upstairs, the wall facing the lake is nothing but windows. A large living and recreation area spreads out before us, with a bar, a wine room and a what looks to be a smoking room behind us, all behind glass partitions. Zara is off to the right, through a small maze of corridors. I pass what looks to be a private yoga studio, a large gym and a movie room before I find her, standing beside a locked door at the end of the corridor.

“Got the key?” Zara asks, jiggling the handle for emphasis.

“One second,” Denham says, trying each of the keys on the handle.

“Did you see the gym?” Zara whispers as we watch Denham struggle.

“Did you see the wine room?”

“This place is amazing. Oh, and there are tennis courts out there too.” She leads me back to the gym, which has its own door and access to the outside, leading to a large court while another path snakes back in front of the property to an infinity pool that also overlooks the lake. Beyond is a large dock where a boat is currently raised into the air, still covered for the winter.

“Jesus,” I whisper, taking it all in. The Vosses really had everything anyone could ever want here. Except the house was empty. Just the two of them. That’s a lot of space. Maybe they needed all this room so they wouldn’t kill each other. We should start looking into their backgrounds further. See if there’s anything there that might point to a less-than-happy marriage. Generally, murders like this are committed by someone very close to the victims. It’s possible either spouse could have hired a hitman that then somehow spiraled out of control.

“I don’t seem to have a key for this,” Denham says as he reaches the door. “None of these work.”

“Not to worry,” Zara says. “I happen to be very good at picking locks.”

“No,” I say. “I’ll take care of it. We don’t want to damage anything. Give me a second, I have to go get the lockset from the car.”

I head back upstairs only to pass Nadia as she heads to another wing of the house. “Got a locked door down there,” I say. “Find anything up here?”

“So far just bedrooms, including the primary,” she says. “But nothing that stands out yet.” She pauses long enough to make me question it.

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

She smiles. “Sure. Fine. We’ll be up here if you need us.”

“Okay,” I say hesitantly as she heads down the other side of the house. I feel like I should follow up on that, but I really need to get back to that door before Zara decides she’s too impatient and shoots it off for good measure. I head back to the car and retrieve the set from the glove box before rejoining Denham and Zara in the basement. Denham is right where I left him, while Zara is in the gym, inspecting the equipment.

It takes me less than three minutes to pick the lock, and I manage to do it without damaging the spring inside. It also takes almost all my willpower not to gloat about it.

But all those thoughts fly from my head the second we get into the room. It’s a large study, built for at least two, and it immediately explains the rest of the house. Whereas the home is bland and tasteful, as well as immaculate, the study is more haphazard and, in a word, homier. Wood panels cover the walls and two desks occupy the space, with a large whiteboard between them. The whiteboard has been wiped clean, though the ghost of the last things written on it are still partially visible. There are two filing cabinets, each set under each desk as well as multiple computers and laptops, some stored and charging off to the side. Shelves full of binders take up the walls. There have to be at least a hundred or more.

“Whoa,” Zara says. “Pay dirt.” She cracks her knuckles and sits at one of the computers, bringing it to life immediately.

“Hold up a sec,” I say, turning to Denham. “Does that warrant cover digital assets?”

“It covers everything we would need to access in order to serve the victims,” he says. “But if you’d like to speak with Judge Halpin⁠—”

“No, we’re fine,” I say, having had my fill of judges lately. “Z, see what you can manage. I’ll get started on the physical stuff.”

“Already on it,” Zara replies already working on breaking the login for the computer.

I take a look the shelves, removing one of the binders. These must have been what Sandra told us about. The organizational system is meticulously designed for easy access and reference. I don’t think the Vosses ever expected anyone else to find this place—at least, not while they were still alive.

All of the binders were marked with combinations of numbers and letters along the spine. I don’t see any pattern to them, so I’m assuming they must be some kind of code.

I open the first binder and find a list of “community relationships,” each one referencing a code, along with a series of numbers after the code. I think it’s like a table of contents, which I then cross-reference with the other binders. Sure enough, the codes in the community relationships binder match those along the shelves. I take the first one down and open it, finding the literacy grant Sandra Okafor mentioned. Her name isn’t explicitly in the folder as far as I can tell, instead it’s information about the grant, along with details related to how the Vosses managed to secure it for the town.

I switch back to the original folder and run my finger along the same line. The numbers after the code. “Nine thousand,” I say. “I think they spent nine-thousand dollars to get that grant for Sandra Okafor.” The next line shows an even higher number. “And I’m betting this next number is how much they were planning on having her repay.” I hand the binder to Denham as I go back to the literacy grant folder. Sure enough, in the back is a payment schedule and ledger. It’s filled out with Sandra’s payments every month for the last eight years. But there are still three years of payments to go.

“By the time this was done she would have paid back triple what they spent on the grant,” I say before turning to Sheriff Denham. “Do you recognize these?”

“Should I?”

“You didn’t know Sandra Okafor was paying the Vosses?”

“No,” he says, looking between the folder in his hand and the one in mine. “Are you sure that’s what this is?”

“She told us herself,” Zara says. “The Vosses secured a literacy grant for her.” She’s still working on decrypting the computer.

“That’s… disturbing,” he says.

I study him for a second, not sure if he’s being honest with us or not before going back to the binders. There are literally at least a hundred or more on the shelves. It’s going to take forever to go through all of these. And if they’re all like Sandra’s folder, we may not be able to trace them back to their original owners to identify the people who were being blackmailed. Had Sandra not confessed what she was doing with the Vosses, we wouldn’t have known this folder described her deal with them.

I scan the folders until I reach the bottom shelf, where there’s a small label along the bottom marked contested. Only three binders sit in this section, but still there is no indication of who they belong to.

I pull the first one free. Inside are documents that relate to what looks like a ship purchase, or maybe a lease. Looks like someone was investing in some marine equipment, but the details are scant. And much like Sandra’s file, this one is full of a lot of legal documents that relate to what looks like the Vosses either paying off a bad investment or perhaps purchasing it for themselves, I can’t be sure. I’ll need Nadia and Elliott to look at these, see if they can’t make more sense of them. But at the back is a ledger just like in the other folder. Except in this one there are six months’ worth of payments missing with red lines next to them. But then the payments pick up three months ago.

“What’s that one?” Denham asks.

“Someone missed some payments,” I say, going to the next folder. Inside are what look like documents that relate to home construction. But like the others, there is no name attached.

“This is going to take a while,” I say, flipping through the documents. How can there be so much here without the name of the person connected to it all? And are we going to need to connect every one of these folders to someone in the community? My first instinct is our killer is probably from one of the contested files, but that’s not necessarily the case. It could be any of them. Or none of them. It almost seems like a monumental task.

“Hey, Em,” Zara’s voice cuts in, sharp with focus. “Take a look at this.”

I cross the room and join her at the desk. She’s already pulled up a calendar from the Vosses’ system. The calendar has five or six different tabs, each serving a different purpose. One for appointments: doctor, dentist, etc. Another for trips or vacations. And another that shows events, fundraisers or other social gatherings. But it’s the Work tab that interests me the most. Just a series of specific dates and locations with no other discernable information. No context. Just a bunch of appointments.

“Friday night,” I say, reading through the list. “Nine PM. Voss boat dock.”

“Yep,” Zara says. “But there’s no name.”

Of course not. Why would there be? Nine o’clock. Hours before the Vosses would be killed on that beach. Their dock isn’t far from the beach. Maybe a five- or ten-minute walk. My pulse ticks up. Whoever met with them that night was likely the last person to see them alive, other than the killer.

If they weren’t the killer themselves.

Chapter Twelve

We spend the next hour in the Voss study going through every file and every piece of information we can find. The Vosses were meticulous, that’s for sure. But the funny thing is, there’s very little, if anything, here that would be incriminating in a court of law. It all points to a pattern of behavior, but no explicit crime. There’s the suggestion of coercion, but it’s all circumstantial. They were smart. Smart enough to know that if any of this was ever found, they’d need a way out. Without any actual victim names, this is all just a bunch of numbers.

Unfortunately, I don’t think they ever meant for it to be used to solve their murders.

I notice Zara staring out at the water, seeming to go off in her own mind while Nadia and Elliott begin packing things up. Which is strange, given how engaged she was when we arrived. It’s like someone has turned off a switch. I suggest we walk the property, see if we can’t figure out the logistics of last Friday night.

Knowing there was a meeting on the Vosses’ dock leads us there first, but there’s little left by now. Weather and time would have washed away any residual evidence from six days ago.

“All this money,” Zara says, looking out at the lake from the dock. “And it didn’t make a damn bit of difference in the end.”

“Nope,” I say, leaning down to look under the dock itself. It sits just off the water, which laps lazily underneath. I feel Zara come up behind me and I grimace. “I swear to God, if you push me in this water⁠—”

“Chillax,” she says. “I’m not that cruel. Most of the time. Now get a few mimosas in me and maybe it’s a different story.”

I stand back up. “Nothing.”

“Didn’t really expect there to be, did you?”

“No,” I say, relenting. We head back down the dock and I count the paces until we’re on the shore again. We then walk the length of the beach down to the side of the property where their bodies were found, which is hidden from the house due to the trees. The police tape is still up around the area, though the indentations on the beach are already erased.

“About a six-minute walk,” I say. “So they met with someone out on their dock at nine… assuming the meeting lasted what, ten, fifteen minutes? Then they headed out here where presumably someone got the jump on them, killing them.” I screw up my face. “Do we have a definite time of death from Grimmer?”

“Not yet,” Zara says. “Want me to call her?”

“I think she’s had more than enough time, don’t you?”

Zara heads closer to the water, her phone to her ear while I survey the area. I’m assuming the reason the Vosses had a meeting on their dock was because the person they were meeting arrived by boat. But they couldn’t have been surprised by someone arriving on the beach the same way. Was it possible the person they met with on the dock followed them over here? Were they in the middle of discussing business when the assailant just picked up a rock and finished them off quickly? If so, that speaks to a high level of premeditation. If the victim set up the meeting, it would even suggest they had planned the whole thing out all along. Using a rock may have been a way to throw us off, to make it look more spontaneous than it actually was.

I glance to my right down the empty beach in the direction of Sandra Okafor’s house. It’s not a far walk from here to her property either.

“She says after the autopsies, she’s confident they died between ten PM and midnight on Friday, due to the temperature of their bodies when she arrived here the following morning,” Zara says, marching back up the beach. Her hair blows back gently with the breeze coming off the lake.

“She’s already done with the autopsies?”

“Seems to be that way,” Zara says.

“Did she say why we don’t have those reports yet?”

“She… did not,” Zara admits. “Here, I can call her back.”

I shake my head. “No. We’ll get it later. But if she’s saying they died Friday night and not early Saturday morning, that only leaves a solid one-hour window between their appointment and when they were killed.”

“Without some kind of witness, I don’t see how we narrow this down, do you?” Zara asks.

“No,” I admit. “We also need to consider the possibility the killer was hired. Maybe one of their victims decided they’d rather spend their money on a contract killer instead.”

“Need me to put out feelers?” she asks.

“Probably wouldn’t hurt,” I say, taking in the area. “But you’re right. Without any kind of surveillance—and there is none out here—we’re unlikely to find out who that is based on what we have. They could have been meeting with any name in those binders.”

“Or anyone, really,” Zara says. “They were well-connected in town.”

I rub my temples. This is making my head pound. “You had to choose this one, didn’t you?”

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. How was I supposed to know there was going to be an endless parade of suspects?”

I sigh, starting the trek back to the house. “You weren’t. But this may seriously put a dent in our performance record.”

“You worry way too much about that. Pendergast knows we’re doing a good job,” she says. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t have gotten such a cherry place to stay.”

“It’s not him I’m worried about,” I say. “You’ve seen the way Vostov watches us—like she’s waiting for us to keel over so she can pick our bones dry.”

“That’s just how she is,” Zara says. “I guarantee you her bark is worse than her bite.”

“That’s not a theory I want to test,” I reply, the house coming back into view. We walk the rest of the way in silence, Zara alarmingly quiet again. Yesterday she was keyed up. Today it’s almost the opposite. “Everything okay?”

“What?” she asks, looking up like I’ve startled her. “Yeah. Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You just went quiet there for a second. I wanted to make sure you hadn’t short-circuited.”

She chuckles, though it seems forced. “You know me,” she says. “Ol’ Reliable.”

I’m about to ask her what that means when a call from the dock gets our attention. Nadia is out on edge waving to us.

I wave back. “What?”

“I said, we found something in the office,” she yells across the distance, her voice echoing off the water.

Zara and I trot back to the property, minding the well-manicured garden and walking around the basin that catches the water from the infinity-edge pool. “What?”

“You’ll want to see it for yourself,” Nadia says.

Back inside the office, Elliott is crouched down under one of the desks at the filing cabinet while Denham continues to look on, his arms crossed. He wears a peculiar look across his face, like he’s not sure what Elliott is doing.

“What’s going on?” I ask as Zara and I come back into the room.

Elliott holds up a binder, one I don’t recognize from the wall where the others were found.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“I think it’s what we’ve been looking for,” he says, handing it over to me. “I found it shoved in the very back of the filing cabinet.”

I turn the binder over to look at the spine. Unlike the others, this one actually has a name. Zoey is written along the spine. I glance first at Elliott, then at Denham. “As in Zoey Hargrove?” Before they can react, I open the binder, only to find a list of numbers that I can’t discern. It also looks like about half the pages have been removed.

“Where’s the codex?” I ask.

“Can’t find one,” Elliott says, extracting himself. “I was hoping there was something else under there. This one was encrypted with a different method. I can’t say why.”

“Give us some time,” Nadia says. “We may be able to crack it.”

“And it may be nothing more than random numbers, designed to throw you off the trail,” Denham says. “Did it occur to you they may have set up dummy files to slow people down?”

“They would have had to be pretty paranoid. And why label this binder and none of the others?” I say before turning back to Elliott. “What do we know about the Hargroves?”

“Carol Hargrove is a single mother,” he says. “I believe the father left when the child was still young. But I’m⁠—”

“He left when she was four,” Denham says. “Carol raised that girl all by herself.”

“Okay,” I say. “What else can you tell us?”

“They’re good people,” he says. “People who don’t need to be bothered. That girl has been through enough already. I don’t know what this is—” He indicates the binder in my hand. “—but you should leave them out of it.”

“You know I can’t do that, Sheriff,” I say. “Whatever business the Vosses had with the Hargroves, we need to investigate. Where do they live?”

“Other side of the river,” he says. “Past downtown.”

“Got an address?” I ask.

He huffs and grabs an errant piece of paper, jotting it down for me. “Thanks.” I grin. “Z, lets…” But as I turn around to look for her, Zara is nowhere to be found. “Where did she go?”

Nadia looks over her shoulder. “I don’t think she came in with us.”

Frowning, I head back outside, scanning until I spot her back down at the end of the dock, looking out across the water. It’s a sunny day and you can almost see clear across. But I’m not sure that’s why she’s down there. I follow the path back around the garden and head back down to the dock, binder still in hand.

“Hey,” I say, my voice gentle. “What’s going on?”

She doesn’t turn right away, but seems to take a second to compose herself before turning to me with a grin. Though I don’t miss that her cheek is wet and she quickly wipes it away. “Nothing. I’m fine. I just… needed a minute.”

I come to stand beside her. “Z… you can talk to me. I’m here.”

She tries to smile again, but it dies on her lips. “I’m just… I think I just have a bad headache or something. Too much wine last night.”

“I think you’re feeding me a load of crap, that’s what you’re doing. Why can’t you talk about it?”

I catch the micro grimace for a brief second before it’s gone. “It’s not that I can’t. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Oh. “Do you want to take the afternoon off? I can drop you back off at⁠—”

“God, no,” she says a little too emphatically. “Do not leave me without anything to do.”

“That’s it, isn’t it?” I ask. “You’re trying to keep busy. To keep from thinking about whatever it is.”

She lets out a long breath. “You know. Sometimes I hate that you’re an investigator for a living.”

“Sorry,” I say. “Force of habit. It’s hard not to.” A light breeze blows through our hair, the wind giving me a slight chill despite the warmth of the day.

“No, it’s not you,” she says. “This isn’t your problem. It’s mine.”

“I know,” I say. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t help share the burden.”

Zara winces. “Not this time. I—I just can’t.” She wipes her eyes again, taking another longing look at the lake. “What did Nadia find? What’s going on?” She glances at the binder.

I won’t say it doesn’t hurt to be rejected by her. We’ve always been there for each other, through everything. And I’ve always been able to count on her no matter what. But I can’t force her to bring this to me. Whatever she’s dealing with, whatever is dragging her down, she’ll have to decide if she wants to share it. And I can’t force her to change her mind.

Instead, what I need to do is help her in any way I can. And if that means keeping her busy so she stays distracted—at least for the short term—that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

I hold up the binder. “I think we might have a hit. Let’s go talk to the Hargrove family again.”

Chapter Thirteen

It takes less than twenty minutes to get across town to the address Denham provided. On the way, I call Liam and give him an update on our conversation with Sandra Okafor and the binder we found. At the same time, he informs me of his conversation with Ray Curran, which seems to fit at least one of our Contested files. It’s not a lot, but it’s a start. It’s a good thing there are five of us because this is going to take some serious legwork. And I hope Elliott and Nadia can make some progress on cracking the people in those folders. Though, Nadia has been acting slightly…off…lately.

Not to mention I’m worried about Zara. One second she seems fine, the next she’s more melancholy than I’ve ever known her to be. Now that I think about it, I’m not sure she’s been getting regular sleep ever since we got back from our case with Lazar. Even though she passed her psych eval without issue, I think her time being strapped down and pumped full of drugs may have taken more of a toll than she’s willing to admit. But I can’t force her to talk. All I can do is hope that she’ll come around at some point. And I sure as hell know better than to suggest therapy again.

“Just a little bit smaller than the last one,” Zara says as we pull up to the Hargrove’s home. All the houses around here sit on dirt roads, despite being adjacent to the downtown. As such, the roads act more like alleyways and are all one-way, and I’m forced to pull up close to the non-existent curb to make sure someone can get by if necessary. Clearly all these homes were built before cars were the norm and streets were widened. It carries some charm of a time gone by, but at the same time makes navigating this part of town difficult.

The cottage-style home itself is probably no more than fifteen hundred square feet on a small lot. There’s a fenced backyard and it has a small porch, which is a feature shared by all the houses on this street. It’s a stark contrast to the Vosses’ place, though I must admit Carol Hargrove has clearly worked hard to make the small house a home. The property is impeccable in how clean it is, which I can’t say the same for all her neighbors. The fence that runs along the back is bright white, and there are small flowerboxes on the windows of the lower floor, each already in bloom.

Maybe it’s not so different from the Vosses’ house after all.

I trot up the steps with Zara close behind and give the door a solid knock. There’s rustling inside before the door opens to reveal Carol Hargrove decked out in fitness gear, earbuds in and a phone in her hand. Her eyes go wide as soon as she sees us.

“Mal, I’ll have to call you back,” she says to the person on the other end of the phone. “Yeah. Yeah, you too.” She removes the earbuds, slipping them in a pocket of her pullover. “You can’t be serious.”

“Mrs. Hargrove,” I say. “Do you have a minute to chat?”

“Haven’t you bothered my daughter enough?” she asks.

“We don’t want to talk to Zoey, just you,” Zara says, putting on a smile. “It’ll be quick.”

Carol Hargrove huffs before turning and heading back into the home, leaving the door open for us. I make sure to wipe my feet before entering, finding the inside of the home is as tastefully decorated as the outside. The furniture is clean and looks new, and the hardwoods beneath our feet are shiny with polish. The home has a fresh fragrance to it, like it’s just been cleaned.

Hargrove heads through the living room into the kitchen at the back of the home, disappearing around the corner. I hear the refrigerator open and as we join her. She knocks back a bottled water, glaring at us. It doesn’t escape my notice that she doesn’t even offer us a place to sit.

Mrs. Hargrove stares at us with a contempt I’ve rarely seen in anyone. Her arms stay crossed, the water bottle hanging loose at her side. “Well, get on with it.”

Zara and I exchange a look.

“We wanted to talk to you about your association with the Vosses,” I say.

“My association?” Her eyes cut toward me, accusing.

I nod. “Well… Zoey’s. We found a binder in their study with her name on it.”

If that lands, she doesn’t let it show. She just keeps staring, the contempt unbroken.

“We were hoping you could explain your relationship. Or why they would be keeping records with your daughter.”

She narrows her gaze. “What kind of records?”

“We’re still trying to figure it out. All we have right now are a bunch of numbers.”

“Those bastards,” she says under her breath.

“Then there was a relationship,” I say.

“If you want to call it that.”

She is very closed off, not wanting to give us an inch. But that doesn’t mean we can quit pushing. “Can you tell us the details?”

“What, they weren’t in the binder?” She takes another sip of water. “I didn’t know the Vosses were keeping tabs on her. Though I guess I should have guessed. If they had a dossier on everyone else in town, why should she be excluded?”

“Anything you could tell us from your perspective would help.”

She scoffs, another swallow. “I guess you’re about to find out anyway.”

I wait.

“A couple of years ago, we were in trouble.”

“We?”

Her gaze narrows again. “Okay. I was in trouble. Is that better? You want me to admit I was a failing parent?”

“No one said that,” I say, trying to backtrack.

She sets the bottle down on the counter a little harder than necessary. “Zoey knew what was going on. We were having money issues. I couldn’t make the payments. I don’t know if you have kids, but being a single parent is the hardest thing in the world. There’s never enough money for everything. There’s always some new class, or a sporting event, iPhone, or whatever else the kid supposedly needs. And I only make so much.”

“You’re saying this was Zoey’s fault?” Zara asks, incredulous.

“No, of course not. I’m just saying it’s hard to support a child when you don’t have any help. Which I don’t. I have to cover the mortgage by myself. All the utility bills are my responsibility. So when Petra came to me, of course I was willing to hear her out.”

“She knew you were in trouble?” I ask.

“It wasn’t exactly a secret,” she replies, though I’m not sure the disgust in her voice is for us. It might be self-inflicted.

“She said that she and Gareth had set up a community internship program for kids around Sable Cove. They’d provide financial assistance in exchange for work the kids could do for them around town. Talking to the elderly. Building fences. Community improvement. That kind of stuff.”

I keep a careful eye on her through that stretch. She’s either practiced this or told it so many times she believes it. And I have to give it to her; her delivery is flawless.

“Okay. So what did you provide?”

“Nothing. Other than Zoey’s time. They said it was free and clear. I wouldn’t owe them anything financially. And they’d even add a stipend to help us out at home. Their reasoning was they didn’t want anyone in the program to be under ‘unnecessary pressures’ at home.”

That’s completely different from everything we’ve learned from the Vosses’ other victims. In the other cases, the Vosses were the ones being paid, not paying money out.

“That seems awfully suspicious, don’t you think?” Zara asks.

Carol’s shoulders pull back. “When you’re drowning and someone throws you a lifeboat, you take it. What was I supposed to do, say no? Lose the house? Move Zoey away from all her friends? So yeah, I took the Vosses’ help.”

“Was there ever any kind of contract?” I ask. “Any paperwork that backs this up?”

“Of course not. They’re not the kind of people who deal in contracts. At least not written ones. Everything was verbal. Zoey would provide her time a few hours a week. They’d cover her educational expenses, and they’d provide an additional fund for me to help with the bills.” She takes another sip from the bottle. “I was skeptical at first. I mean, who wouldn’t be? But a couple of months in, I was paying down debt. Things were looking up. Zoey seemed to be enjoying it. So I decided to keep going.”

“Hang on.” I raise a hand. “This was all voluntary, correct? The Vosses would have let Zoey stop if you wanted her to? Or if she wanted to?”

“That’s what they said.” Something careful moves in behind the contempt. “Whether it’s what would’ve happened, I don’t know. Because she never stopped. We never found out.”

“Okay,” I say. “Keep going.”

“That’s it. Zoey did the work. We got paid. Our financial situation improved. What else do you want me to say?”

“And Zoey was still doing the work for them when they died?”

She shrugs. “Yeah.”

“Why didn’t any of this come up in her interview?”

“Well, how does it make Zoey look if the people she works for mysteriously end up dead on their own property? I told her not to say a word about it. I didn’t want anybody getting the wrong idea.”

She coached Zoey before we arrived yesterday. Which means the whole interview will need to be scrapped. We’ll have to talk to both girls again, preferably apart and alone. I have an urge to give Mrs. Hargrove a piece of my mind, but that won’t get us anywhere.

“Did Zoey have any reason not to like or trust the Vosses?” I ask.

Carol shakes her head.

“Did you ever supervise the work she was doing?”

“No.”

A look passes between me and Zara.

“Look,” she says, anger bubbling up in her throat. “I had stuff to do. I have a job. I’ve got friends. I can’t be watching her 24/7. Petra told me not to worry, that Zoey was doing a good job. Zoey never complained. What, am I supposed to go sit and watch her paint a fence or something?”

Her answers are arriving too fast. Each one delivered like the question is a waste of time. But the more she sweats, the more certain I am she’s still holding something back. She’s already admitted to the coaching. Whatever’s left must be worse.

“Did you have any contact with the Vosses the week they died?”

“No.”

“Did Zoey have contact with them?”

“Of course. She did her normal work and came home as usual.”

“Did she say anything was out of the ordinary? Or that she thought something might be wrong?”

“Not that I could tell. But again, I didn’t really talk to her about that. It’s not like she gives me a whole lot of information anyway. You know how teenagers are.”

This woman is nothing but a pile of deflections wrapped up in a pair of Lululemons.

“Who else was in this youth mentorship program?”

“A few of the other kids around town, I think.” She tilts her head. “Well… I’m not really sure. What, you didn’t find any binders with anyone else’s name on them?”

Cute.

I give Zara a small nod. We’re done here, at least for today. Whatever else Carol Hargrove is sitting on, she’s not giving it up in her own kitchen. We need another angle. Zoey, away from her mother. Or one of the other names in the binders, once we’ve found a crack in them.

“We appreciate your time, Mrs. Hargrove.”

“Good. You can see yourselves out.”

Chapter Fourteen

After our “discussion” with Carol Hargrove, Zara and I head back to catch back up with Liam and finish gathering the evidence at the Voss property. By the time we’re done the sun has already gone down and there’s another meal waiting for us on the porch of the AirBnB.

“What’d you do, order this while we were talking with Hargrove?” I ask.

“On the way back,” she replies. “You wanna talk about troll behavior? That woman probably sets up camp under the nearest bridge every night. I was so frustrated I even paid the extra fee to get it here ahead of us.”

“Can’t blame you there,” I say as we head into the cabin with our arms full of white bags.

“Yeah, it was in the next town over, but the great thing about these little lake towns is it isn’t far from one town to the next, so the delivery fee wasn’t terrible.”

“Hey, guys,” Nadia says, looking up as we enter. “Need some help?”

“We got it,” Zara says, some of her former chipper demeanor having returned. “Did you guys make any progress?”

Liam approaches and takes some of the bags out of my hands before spreading out the contents in the kitchen.

“We’re just getting started on these contested files,” Nadia says.

“And having little luck,” Elliott adds. “Without the cypher, matching these files with local residents will be difficult.”

“At least we know one of them,” I say, nodding to Liam. “Ray Curran, right?”

“He says he started paying a few months ago,” Liam says, opening one of the containers to reveal wontons.

“I’m convinced that first file belongs to him,” I say. “We should confirm it with him, though. Just so we can be sure.”

“I bet you anything Carol Hargrove is another one of those,” Zara says. “You saw how she was ducking our questions.”

“But that doesn’t make sense,” I say. “Why would the Vosses pay her for Zoey’s time, but then decide to charge her for some other arrangement? I’m not sure Carol is our target. But she’s definitely hiding more secrets. Getting her to spill them is the trick.”

“I dunno,” Zara says as she rummages before finding the lo mein. “None of her story makes sense. They hire Zoey, then pay Carol? Why not just pay Zoey herself? And if there really is a charity, why can’t we find any other kids working for them?”

“It’s clear the Vosses ran a complex and integrated operation,” Elliott says. “They may have engineered their system so no two arrangements are identical.”

“That’s another thing,” Zara says before shoveling a mouthful of noodles in her face. “I don’t buy for a second this whole mentorship bullshit. Zoey isn’t out there painting fences and helping old people cross the street.” The words may be muffled, but I can’t disagree with her. It’s all very strange.

“Zoey may be the only person who can answer that question,” I say, thinking about the girl some more. I still want to question her again—alone. But I feel like we need more information before we take another shot at her. We may only get one more chance.

We spend the rest of the evening going through the folders, trying to match them to the few people in town we know, but having very little luck. I fear we may need to get some additional help for this, but I don’t know if I’m willing to trust Denham. He seemed on edge today at the Vosses’ property, almost like he was afraid someone was watching him.

Finally, Liam forces me to bed around one, despite the fact we haven’t made much progress. This case has a few too many variables and it’s screwing with my system. I need to find a way to cut through all the noise. To get at the meat so we can record another win.

I startle myself awake just before six, my head pounding. For a second I forget where I am and frantically search the end of the bed for the dogs, only to realize we’re still in Michigan. I lay back, rubbing my temples as Liam grunts softly and turns over.

“Hey,” he says. “Get any sleep?”

“Some,” I say. “Mind is already running a hundred miles per hour. I’m gonna shower.”

He reaches for me but I’m already out of the bed and in the attached bathroom, turning the shower on. I let the hot water run over me, blocking out everything else and try to calm my mind. I had dreams I was back in my grandmother’s house, the place full of her trinkets and stuff. And I felt like if I could just take some of those items and hide them, they’d be waiting for me in the future when I woke back up. And I’d have them to remember her by. As it is, I don’t have many possessions from my family. Not that I need them. But I would like to have something with me when we finally do get to this wedding.

I can’t let myself get distracted by dreams, however. The way this case is unfolding it’s going to take us a year to make any progress and despite Zara’s claims, I don’t think Pendergast would be too happy if we rented this cabin out for an entire year. Plus, our signature has been how quickly we solve cases. And yet it’s already been a week since the murders and we’ve barely made any progress. If anything, we have more questions now than we did when we arrived.

I run my hands through my hair, hoping some brilliant thought will come to me but nothing does. We just have to work the case. There’s no other way around it.

Taking my time in the bathroom, I dry my hair and blow it out, something I haven’t done in a while. But it feels good to slow down and take a few extra minutes, even if it’s probably in vain. More than likely I’ll end up pulling my hair back later today or the wind coming off the water will blow it every which way. But for a few hours I can at least enjoy it.

But just as I finish getting dressed and tuck the ring on my necklace under my blouse, my phone buzzes with an unknown number, but it has a DC area code.

“Slate,” I say, picking it up and noting it’s just barely after eight AM.

“Agent Slate,” a smooth voice on the other end says. “Glad I caught you. This is Douglas Clore with Clore, Morris and Henley. I’m calling so we can get you on the schedule for your pre-trial interview.”

“I’m sorry?” I ask. “Which case is this in reference to?”

“Oh, of course,” he says. “You must get calls like this once a week. I represent Joaquin Fletch. We’d like to bring you in next week if possible.”

I wince at Fletch’s name. The trial is getting closer. But for some reason I didn’t think it was this close already. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m currently on an assignment and out of the state. But if I’m back before next week, I’ll let you know.”

“Ms. Slate,” Clore says before I can hang up. “I’m sure you know the visibility this trial will receive. We really would like to have our ducks in a row with time to spare.” Which is just code for “we want to pump you for information so we can build our defense”.

“Like I said, I’m on an active case,” I tell him. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I’m back to DC”

“But—” the man begins but I hang up on him. Right now, Fletch is the last person I want to be thinking about. Not when I have about a thousand suspects in front of me. I don’t care who Clore is; he and his law firm can wait.

“Morning,” Nadia says as I make my way into the kitchen. She’s typing away on her laptop at the dining room table as I emerge. Somehow, she’s already dressed in something professional despite the fact we’re not working in an office. Sometimes I think she sleeps in a suit.

“You’re working early,” I say.

“Still trying to crack these contested files,” she says. “But good news, I did make a little progress this morning. I managed to pull some draft emails from the Voss email server. Never sent, but it looks like they were getting ready to lean on some more of their contracts.”

“Really?” I ask, heading to the coffee maker and starting it up. “How?”

“By demanding an increase in the payments from at least four other individuals. These emails aren’t addressed to anyone and they don’t have names and they mention few specifics. But the wording is clear. They were planning on increasing the money they were receiving.”

“Just like they tried to do with Ray Curran,” I say, recalling what Liam told us. “Why?”

She shrugs. “Maybe it was pure greed. They had plenty of money. I can’t find any reason why they would upset the balance.”

“I dunno,” I say. “You don’t build something like this then risk tearing it all down for no reason. They’d already seen Ray Curran’s response⁠—”

“—and dealt with it,” she adds.

“True.” The espresso maker sputters and pours me a fresh cup. The smell alone is enough to send a surge of adrenaline through my veins.

“Hey.” Zara pads into the kitchen, still in her pajamas and wooly socks. “You guys need to keep it down.”

“It’s past eight,” I say.

She looks at me like I have two heads, then bites her lip. She takes the mug from my hands. “Thanks.”

“Guess I’ll fix another,” I say, pulling a second cup from the cupboard and setting a new pod in the machine.

“Whatcha workin’ on?” Zara asks, sitting down beside Nadia.

“Just cross-referencing the binders we found yesterday, trying to find anything we can. So far, Zoey’s file is the only one with a name attached.”

“Which is odd, isn’t it?” I ask. “Why change tactics?”

“Unless they were planning something else for the Hargroves,” Zara suggests. “Given how Carol responded yesterday, she’s probably pissed they’re dead because it means she won’t be getting any more payments.”

“There’s definitely more there.” The machine spits out another cup. “And I think Zoey is the key. But if we try going after her now, we’re likely to scare her.”

“So, then what? We just let it go?” Zara takes a sip of the coffee and makes a face before pushing the mug away. “Ugh.”

I glance at the second cup. Sure, why not take twice as much caffeine. How bad could it be? “No. We need another way in.”

Nadia’s eyebrows shoot up. “Emilia.”

I nod. “Exactly. If we can talk to her without Zoey’s influence, maybe we can get somewhere. At least find enough so when we confront Zoey, we’re not going in blind.”

“Yeah, that could work,” Zara says. “Lemme go talk to her. I’m good at getting shy to people to open up. And Em, I don’t know what you’re drinking these days but it’s disgusting.”

“It’s a simple dark roast. Not everything has to be caramel,” I call after her as she trots down the hallway. I take a seat across from Nadia and sigh.

“Is… everything okay with her?” Nadia asks.

“I think she’s just under a lot of stress,” I say. “After what happened last month.”

Nadia nods. She’s always been kind and understanding. “Is there anything I can do?”

“I don’t think there’s anything any of us can do except wait for her to ask for help,” I say. She hesitates a moment and I remember that look she gave me back in the car and the Voss house. “What?”

Nadia takes a moment before answering, lowering her voice. “Do you think it’s affecting her performance?”

“Why?” I ask. “Have you seen something?”

“No,” she replies. “I just wanted to ask. Even though I know you two are super close, she may not let you see everything.”

“I’m not going to start questioning Zara’s competency unless I have a very good reason,” I say. “Now if you have something you want to bring me⁠—”

“No,” Nadia says. “Forget I brought it up.”

The fact that she did at all makes me a little anxious. Because the truth of the matter is I have noticed a difference. But I need to give Zara the benefit of the doubt. She’s clearly working through something. And until she’s willing to share what that is, I can’t push. Before I can say anything else, the door to the cabin opens, startling me enough that I nearly spill my coffee.

“Elliott?”

He stops in his tracks, as if he’s surprised to see the two of us up and at the table. “Oh. Good morning.”

“Where were you?” Nadia asks, staring him down like he’s in the hot seat.

He holds out a small bag. “Breakfast. Bagels and biscuits.”

I almost laugh at how much Elliott looks like a deer caught in the headlights. A second later Nadia relaxes and gives him a warm smile. Something passes between them that I’m not privy to, but it’s almost like this is their own personal little game.

“Everything okay with you?” I ask Nadia as Elliott heads back to the kitchen to unload our breakfast.

“Hmm? Oh,” she says, her cheeks warming slightly. “Yeah, it’s just something we do.” She leans in a little closer. “Like role play.”

Oh.

Thank God Zara didn’t hear that, or we’d never hear the end of it. But I’m glad to see Nadia and Elliott happy. They seem to have successfully moved to something more intimate. But as nice as that is, it also gives me a little pit in my stomach, because that means it’s up to me to keep everything with this team moving smoothly. And the longer this goes on and presumably the closer we all become, the more important it will be to keep our performance numbers up.

As I look back over this case, that seems like an almost insurmountable task at this point.

But as I think about it, there might be some light at the end of this tunnel after all.

Chapter Fifteen

Despite the pounding of her head, Zara gets out of the car, shielding her eyes from the bright sun. It feels particularly ambient today, like the sun itself is choosing to shine brighter just to spite her.

That’s right, she thinks. Just keep being all sunny and happy. We’ll all just deal with your bullshit.

She takes a deep breath, trying to get her headache to subside. Did she go a little heavy on the wine again last night? Maybe. But why shouldn’t she? The team is doing well; they’re getting the job done and look what it’s led to. They now have this awesome pad to stay in while they work, which is a hell of a lot better than her empty apartment.

Every time she thinks about going back there alone, it turns her stomach. And what’s so messed up is it never used to be like that. Zara has always been a lone wolf—someone who thrives on solitude. Other than the fact she hates the term “lone wolf,” that’s how it’s always been. Or at least, that’s how it’s been for most of her life. And she was good with that. Even after Emily came into the picture, Zara still spent a majority of her time alone. It wasn’t until she became a field agent where she really began working within a group every day.

A group that only continues to grow around her.

At first she thought she wouldn’t like it—that it would intrude too much on her time to decompress. But over the past year or two, she’s found she’s come to crave that connection, especially after having been banished to the desert and back. She wishes there was a situation where she could just live with Emily and it wouldn’t be a big deal. Like maybe in a separate building on the property somewhere. But that would be too much. Too intrusive on her and Liam.

Stop it.

She needs to be thinking realistically. Not daydreaming about some idealized future that may or may not come one day. And while she has no doubt Emily and Liam will always be part of her life, she can’t be a third wheel forever. They need their space. Which is why she’s trying to enjoy the time she has now, with both them and Nadia and Elliott.

Which is also probably why she’s treating it more like a vacation than a work trip. How many more times will they have like this? Given the nature of the job, how long until something happens that rips them all apart again? She’s already stared death in the face more than once.

And one day, it’s going to grab hold and never let go.

Zara approaches the mid-century modern house, taking in some of the details. The home has been lovingly cared for and it appears that a great amount of attention to detail has been paid to “authenticity.” The numbers on the side of the house are in a very particular style that seems reminiscent of the 1960s. Even the mailbox at the end of the street is boxy and one solid piece, which matches the external style of the home. Behind the house, trees stretch off in all directions, creating something of a cove in which the house sits. Even though the neighbors are close, she can’t see any trace of them. Though she wonders if it’s the same story during the winter.

Zara knocks on the front door, taking a few steps back and wishing she’d taken something stronger for her head. Thankfully, she is pretty resilient, and the headache should wear off around noon or so.

A face appears in the window beside the door and Zara gives the woman a quick wave before the door itself opens to reveal Deborah Cross. She wears jeans and an oversized sweater and her eyes are sunken in, indicating she’s not getting much sleep.

“Do we really need to do this again?” she asks before Zara even gets a word in. “Emilia has been traumatized by the whole thing. Can’t you just leave her be?”

It’s almost the exact same response they got from Mrs. Hargrove.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Cross,” Zara says. “I really wish I could. But as I said on the phone, we think it’s important that Emilia tell her side of the story. By herself. The interview on Wednesday wasn’t exactly… well, we only got one side of the story.” Zara thought she’d be doing this interview at Emilia’s school, only to find out before she arrived that she was home this morning.

The woman holds her place in the door, not moving for a moment before finally relenting. “I just don’t want Emilia to suffer any more than she already has.”

“Has she said anything?” Zara asks. “About that morning?”

“No,” her mother confirms. “She’s barely spoken since then. She just sits in her room, playing video games.”

Zara perks up. “Oh? Is that one of her hobbies?”

Mrs. Cross shrugs. “I don’t know. She spends too much time in front of a screen if you ask me. But you can’t tell kids anything these days. If you try taking it away, you’re ‘depriving them’ or ‘giving other kids an unfair advantage.’” She sighs again. “I’m glad I never had any of that shit when I was growing up. Excuse my language.”

It takes considerable willpower not to go on a rant about just how awesome video games are. About how they can be used for everything from stress relief to problem solving skills. But Mrs. Hargrove doesn’t want to hear any of that. And she has a job do to. Flipping trolls. “No, I get it,” Zara replies. “It’s a challenge. I’ll try to make this quick.”

Mrs. Cross nods. “Fine. She’s in her room. The sad thing is Emmy is so smart that she could really excel if she just applied herself. Instead, she manages to fix her schedule so she has all her Fridays off during the second half of the year. I’m not sure she’ll be able to keep that up when she’s a junior.”

Mrs. Cross leads Zara into the kitchen. The home continues to follow the mid-century modern theme inside as well, with low-slung wood furniture that looks like it could be out of the Jetsons. “You have a beautiful home,” Zara says. “Very… homogenous.”

“You can thank my husband the architect for that,” Mrs. Cross replies. “He has… peculiarities.” She hands Zara a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

“Don’t we all?” Zara asks.

“Do I need to be present for the interview?” Mrs. Cross asks.

“Since Emilia is still under eighteen, we normally ask that you would be,” Zara says. “But in this case, I believe she’ll probably be more open without you there.”

“You know how teenagers are,” she says. “So secretive. How about you leave her door open and that way I can hear, but I can’t interfere?”

Zara nods. “That works for me.”

Mrs. Cross motions to the hallway beyond the kitchen. “Hers is the second one on the left. The only one that’s closed. Good luck. You’re gonna need it.”

Water bottle in hand, Zara makes her way down the hallway until she’s reached the girl’s door. She knocks once, then again when she doesn’t hear anything.

“Yeah?”

Zara opens the door to find Emilia Cross on her bed, controller in hand and headset on while a large TV in front of her bed shows a woman running through a large forest. The woman has a shock of red hair, a blue bow that glows and is accompanied by a small pixie that leaves a trail of dust in its wake as it flies over her shoulder.

Immediately Emilia pauses the game and pulls off her headset, sitting up. “What’s going on?”

“Didn’t your mother tell you?” Zara asks, staying in the doorway. “I need to ask you some follow-up questions.”

“She doesn’t tell me anything,” Emilia says, glancing behind Zara to see if her mother was actually there or not. “About what?”

“Saturday morning,” Zara replies.

The girl’s eyes widen and Zara watches the defenses go up. “But… we already had our interview. Once with Sherriff Denham and then the other one with you on Wednesday.”

Zara gives the girl a warm smile. “You didn’t say much during our interview. Was it like that with Sheriff Denham as well?”

The girl shrugs. Even though she’s putting on a brave face, she’s clearly terrified. She thought this was all over and while Zara wishes her mother would have warned her before, maybe it’s better she didn’t. At least this way, Emilia hasn’t had a chance to rehearse what she would say.

Zara motions to the game still on pause. “Is that Verdant Horizons?”

Emilia furrows her brow. “Yeah.”

“What part are you on?”

“Uh… I just finished with the Rock Troll,” she says.

Zara nods. “Level sixteen?”

“Seventeen,” Emilia replies.

“That’s a fun boss.” Zara takes a few tentative steps into the room. “And you’ve set up a fairy as your familiar?”

Emilia’s face is a wash of emotions. Stuck somewhere between disbelief and confusion. “What?”

“My first playthrough, I used the worm familiar,” Zara says. “I thought it would be funny to see how that might work. He was absolutely useless until I got to the Sacred Gardens. But once there, he went into a chrysalis and turned into a knight butterfly. Then I was in business. He blocked all incoming magic attacks from flying enemies.”

“Really?” Emilia asks.

Zara nods. “Turns out it was a caterpillar and not a worm, as they described,” she says. “The company that made the game, Zero Force? They love throwing in little challenges like that. Have you made it through the blood waterfalls yet?”

“I’m headed there now,” Emilia says.

“When you get there, check to the right of the falls before you go through, there’s this little ledge. If your dexterity is high enough you can jump down to a hidden ledge below which opens up into this passage.”

“What’s in the passage?”

Zara grins. “You’ll have to find out. But it’s definitely something good.”

“How does an FBI agent have time to play video games?” Emilia asks.

Zara grins wider, taking the question as an invitation and pulls the chair out from under the desk near the door, taking a seat. “Well, it’s not all shootouts and drug dealers,” she replies. “At least, not most of the time. Gotta do something with my time.”

“Wow,” Emilia says. “I didn’t think adults did things like that.”

“Most probably don’t,” Zara replies. “But I’m not like most adults.”

“You’d have to kill my mother before she would play this game.” Emilia pulls her headset all the way off and sets it on the bed beside her.

“Yeah, mine too.” She leans forward. “Can I ask you a few questions about that morning?”

Emilia hesitates again, but finally nods.

“Walk me through what happened. From when you woke up.”

Emilia glances at the door again and shakes her head slightly. Zara stands and closes the door almost all the way, leaving just a small sliver. She obviously doesn’t want her mother to overhear.

“Okay,” Zara whispers.

“I didn’t… exactly… get up Saturday morning,” Emilia whispers back.

Zara draws her brows together. “You never went to bed?”

Emilia shakes her head. “I was out.”

Zara nods. “The party, right?”

“You know about that?” she asks.

Zara shrugs. “Heard about it around town. In a place this small, nothing stays secret very long, you know.”

Emilia’s eyes went even wider. “Does my mom know?” she whispered more intensely.

“If she does, she didn’t hear it from me.” The look on Emilia’s face says everything. “Must have been a pretty good party.”

“I guess,” Emilia says, still shooting glances at the door.

“Where was this party?” Zara asks.

“Celeste Newton’s house,” Emilia says. “It’s a big mansion that sits on the lake.”

Zara raises an eyebrow. “Is it close to the Voss house?”

“Not really. I mean… kinda,” Emilia says. “Maybe about five or six homes down.”

Zara tries to do the mental calculation in her head. Given the size of those lots, it would put the Newton house about a mile from the Voss house, give or take. “All-nighter?”

Emilia nods. “Her parents were out of town for the weekend. But it wasn’t what you think. I don’t even think she had alcohol. Just a bunch of us, hanging out at their pool.”

“Was Zoey there?”

Emilia nods.

“You guys hang out all night?”

“Yeah, usually. Though she headed off for a bit around maybe eleven or so? And she was gone for almost an hour.”

“Did she say where she went?” Zara asks. If Zoey left the party for an hour, that was right in the window when the Voss’s were killed.

“I didn’t ask,” Emilia says. “I didn’t even realize she was gone until Nate asked where she was and I didn’t see her.” Her cheeks go red.

“Nate?”

“He’s… just a guy.”

The way she says it tells Zara he’s much more than that. But she doesn’t need to linger on it. As far as she’s concerned that’s Emilia’s private business. “Okay. What happened after Zoey came back?”

“Nothing,” she says. “We just hung out until the sun started to come up and we headed back. I was pretty tired by then.”

“And that’s when you walked down to the beach?”

“We weren’t going to originally, but Zoey said it was a nice walk down there and she wanted to clear her head.”

So Zoey had been the one to insist on going down to the beach. But if she had been the one to kill the Vosses, why would she have led Emilia right to them? “Then what happened?”

“I was behind her and saw her stop. She said we needed to leave, like right now and tried to get me out of there before I could see it. But…”

“You saw them anyway,” Zara replies.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry you had to witness that.”

Emilia shifts on the bed. “It’s fine. Just… startled me is all.”

“It’s not fine,” Zara replies. “Especially if you weren’t ready for it. Do you—do you think Zoey might have led you there knowing what you would find?”

“No,” Emilia says immediately. “Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know. But you know her better than I do,” she replies. “I just wanted to ask.”

“Honestly, Zoey seemed as shaken up as I did. She was the one who called 911 as we were running.”

“She did,” Zara says. Not a question and not quite a statement either.

“Yeah,” Emilia replies. “I didn’t even think of it until I was back home.”

“Did she say or do anything else?” Zara asks. “After you found the bodies?”

“Like what?”

“Like anything about when you talked to Sheriff Denham? Or us?”

“You mean did she ask me to lie?” Emilia pins Zara with a pointed gaze. “No. Zoey isn’t like that. She wouldn’t do something like that. Why would you even ask?”

“I’m just covering all my bases,” Zara says, waiting a beat. “Did you know Zoey was working for the Vosses?”

Emilia shrugs. “She said something about it once or twice. Didn’t really talk about them, though.”

“Then you don’t know what she was doing?” Emilia shakes her head. “Okay. Thank you, Emilia. This has been a lot of help.”

“Wait,” Emilia says, crawling to the edge of the bed. “You’re not going to tell my mom about Friday night, are you? I’ll get grounded for a month. Again.”

“I can’t promise it won’t come out,” Zara says. “But I’ll do everything I can, okay?”

Emilia sits back on the bed, defeated.

Back in the kitchen, Zara finds Mrs. Cross drinking a water bottle of her own. Zara had inadvertently left hers in Emilia’s room.

“Learn anything interesting?” Mrs. Cross asks.

“How long have the girls known each other?” Zara asks.

“Ever since before grade school,” she says. “They grew up together. I love Zoey like another daughter, but sometimes that girl—” She stops herself before she can say anything else.

Zara looks at her pointedly.

“I shouldn’t say. They’ve had enough trouble without me adding to the gossip mill. Plus, it’s not all her fault. Carol… Carol can be a handful.”

Normally Zara would launch into a dozen questions, but she’s learned from Emily that sometimes silence is the better interrogator. You often got a lot more when you didn’t say anything at all.

Finally, Mrs. Cross looks up and then back at the counter again. “It was just… that whole business when they were losing money. Carol was out… spending like nothing had ever happened. And yet I heard from Emilia that Zoey was the one worrying about the family finances. This was back when my daughter actually spoke to me on a regular basis.”

“She told us they had been through a period of financial difficulty,” Zara says. “But that the Vosses helped them out.”

“Good thing too,” Mrs. Cross replied. “Because if they hadn’t… I’m sure Carol’s spending habits would have cost them that house.”

Back in the car, Zara makes copious notes on her phone before she forgets everything. She needs to talk to Emily immediately and tell her she was right about Emilia. She may have just blown this whole case wide open.

And yet, Zara’s headache still hasn’t gone away.

Chapter Sixteen

The little bell over the door rings as I step inside the diner.

“Be with you in a minute, hon,” a waitress carrying three plates says as she passes.

“Oh, I’m—” I begin but she’s already out of earshot, halfway across the diner. Instead, I look around and find the man I’m looking for sitting in one of the booths that run alongside the windows, sipping a cup of coffee and reading a newspaper.

“Sable Cove Gazette,” I say as I approach the table. “I hear it’s good.”

The man looks up at me. “Agent Slate. You actually showed up.”

“Mr. Wilkinson,” I say. “I’m a woman of my word.”

“Given the brush-off you gave me the other day, I was giving you fifty-fifty odds,” he replies.

I take a seat across from him. On the front page of his paper is a story about the Vosses. “Killer still at large. Police remain tight-lipped,” I say, reading off the headline.

“Just printing the truth,” he replies.

“Look, I don’t have a problem with the press,” I say. “Except when they interfere with my job. You’re right. There is still a killer out there. But the last thing I want to do is telegraph that we may have a lead on them. I want them to feel safe, like they’re untouchable.”

“Despite the danger it brings to the rest of the community,” he says. “People in this town take care of each other. We can’t have a murderer in our midst.”

I nod. “Exactly my point. In a place this tight knit, any information getting out is dangerous. It could reach the wrong ears very quickly.”

He folds the paper and puts it to the side. “Then despite what you said on the phone, you’re not here to give me a statement.”

“Oh, no. I am,” I say. “But I need a favor in return.”

He furrows his brow. “A favor?”

“I looked into your background. You’ve been part of Sable Cove your entire life,” I say. “Know pretty much everyone in town?”

“You could say that,” he replies. “My family has lived here going back three generations. And God willing, will be here for three more.”

“Great,” I say. “Because I have a puzzle and need some help putting the pieces together.”

He eyes me carefully. “What kind of puzzle?”

I slide one of the contested folders over to him. He hesitates a moment before opening it, scanning the information inside.

“I’m trying to match this to a local resident. Any of that look familiar to you?” I ask.

“And if it does?”

“I’ll go on the record for your paper.”

He scans the documents again. “Is this hypothetical person a suspect?”

“Just a person of interest,” I say. “And this stays off the record.”

“What is on the record?” he asks.

“That we believe this was an isolated incident,” I say. “We don’t believe anyone else in Sable Cove is in danger.”

“But you have leads,” he says.

I nod. “Yes. We have leads. And we are making good progress, with the help of the Sable Cove Sheriff’s department.”

He takes a deep breath. “It’s not much. Especially for two of the most beloved people in town.”

“It’s all I’ve got,” I reply. “But when I have more, I’ll be sure to let you know.” I nod at the folder.

“The person you’re looking for is a man named Glen Arpel,” he says. “Runs a local construction business in town.”

“You’re sure?” I say, taking the folder back.

“I know my town,” Wilkinson says. “You can bet on it.”

I pull out the second contested folder. “Willing to make it two?”

“Not unless you’re willing to expand that statement,” he says. “Tit for tat, Agent.”

Unfortunately, I don’t have anything else to give him. I had hoped he would have been more cooperative, but it looks like unless I’m willing to spill my guts, Wilkinson will only go so far. “Thanks for your help,” I say. “I’ll be in touch.”

“So?” Liam asks as he hands me a coffee from Harden’s. It’s not even noon and the town has come alive with an influx of tourists. All the shops along the waterfront are open for business and busy as people are enjoying the good weather at all the cafes, which have set up their outdoor patios.

“Yeah,” I say. “He gave me a name. Whether it’s any good or not is yet to be seen.”

“And you think you can trust him?”

I shrug. “He doesn’t have much motive to lie, not if he wants our cooperation. And with Denham in the dark, we’re the only place where he’s really going to get his story.”

“Who did he finger?”

“Guy named Arpel,” I say. “Runs a construction business. Did you run into him the other day when you were canvassing the town?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. Haven’t heard of him.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “But while you were speaking with him, I went back to see Curran. He confirmed the file was his, though he was surprised that the Voss’s kept such detailed records.”

“That’s good at least,” I say, leading us to a small bench. “If this Arpel guy checks out that will be two out of three. And we still haven’t cleared Sandra Okafor. I’m just hoping one of these leads somewhere.” Despite what the Vosses were doing to the people of this town, they still deserve justice. And we might be the only ones who see it that way.

I lean forward looking out over the water. “I still think Zoey is the key to all of this.”

“Heard from Zara yet?”

I shake my head. People pass us by without a second thought. You would never know there had been a brutal double murder here almost a week ago.

“You don’t think she was the one ultimately responsible, do you?” Liam asks.

“Maybe. Kids can be impulsive. You said yourself that the Vosses didn’t come to meetings; they made people come to them. But that might not have been the case with Zoey. Since she was working for them, they might have been willing to meet with her. And it makes sense that they would do it on their dock—a place she knew well. She could have been quiet enough to follow them to the beach, especially if they didn’t tell her what she wanted to hear.”

“But why?” he asks. “What’s the motive?”

“To get out from under their thumbs. The Vosses were paying her mother for work Zoey was doing. And despite what Carol told us, I’m not sure Zoey was happy being their errand girl. It would help if we had more information on exactly what she was doing for them. I have a strong suspicion it wasn’t painting fences or helping the elderly.”

Liam takes my hand in his. “We’ll work through it. Even if it takes a while.”

I set my coffee to the side and rub the back of his hand with mine. “How are you so damn rock solid all the time?”

“Oh, this?” he asks, motioning to himself. “This is nothing but a carefully crafted façade. Inside I’m freaking out.”

I chuckle. “You hide it well.” I take in the scenery for a moment, watching the people. “You know, this isn’t too bad of a place. I can see the appeal.”

“Wait until winter,” he says. “Imagine three feet of snow from the lake effect winds.”

“Is that your subtle way of telling me we’re not retiring here?”

He turns to me, his eyes wide. “I’m sorry. You actually want to retire?”

“Not tomorrow,” I say. “But we can’t do this forever. FBI will kick us out at fifty-seven. We’ll still have thirty to forty good years left. Need to find something to do.”

“Teach?” he suggests, which causes me to laugh loudly enough that I startle some people walking by with their small dog.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” I say once I’ve regained my composure. “I’m not a teacher.”

“What are your dreams?” Liam asks. “What did you see yourself doing as a kid?”

“This,” I say. “This is all I’ve ever wanted. After we’re done… I’m not sure what I’ll do.” I turn to him. “What about you? What’s your post-federal dream?”

“I dunno,” he says. “Maybe open a restaurant.”

“Veto,” I say. “First, you’d never have another day off in your life. And secondly, I’m too selfish to share your food with anyone else.”

“I don’t mean a full-time restaurant. I mean one of those small hole-in-the-wall places you have to hunt for that’s only open three days a week,” he says. “Where just getting in to experience the food is part of the whole thing.”

“I guess I could see that,” I say. “Not bad, Coll, not bad.”

“Still leaves you,” he says.

I’ve never allowed myself much time to think about life outside the FBI. Getting in was always my primary goal and once I was here, keeping my head above water has taken up most of my time. Despite having an impressive record, it’s been a rocky road which has taught me not to take any of it for granted. It could all disappear tomorrow. If I actually manage to make it to retirement, I can’t see what life would look like beyond the Bureau. I don’t know if that’s because I have a poor imagination or if it’s because something deep inside tells me it’ll never happen. I’ve had so many close calls already, I can’t imagine another twenty years. Either way, that’s not something I have to worry about for a long time.

“Travel,” I say, just so I don’t leave him in silence which would only invite more questions. “I think I’d like to travel. See what the world has to offer.”

“Perfect,” he replies. “We can travel four days a week and I’ll cook the other three.”

It’s a nice dream that makes me smile. If for no other reason than there’s a ninety-nine percent chance of it not happening. But again, that’s a problem for future Emily.

“What?” I ask, glancing at him. “That’s the second time you’ve given me that look.”

“I guess I’m just surprised. You never talk about this stuff.”

I take a sip of my coffee, drawing it in and letting it coat the back of my throat. “Well. Gotta think about these things sometimes, right?”

He’s about to answer when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I fish it out to find Zara calling. “Hey Z, go ahead,” I say. “You’re on speaker.”

“I just finished with Emilia Cross,” she says, her voice harried and rushed. “We need to meet. All of us.”

“You know,” Elliott says as we take our seats at the dining room table. “It seems only slightly unbalanced that everyone except Nadia and me are performing interviews. With this many suspects, doesn’t it make sense that we each contribute to the evidence pool?”

“You’re right,” I tell him, removing my blazer and tossing it to a nearby chair. “Next interview is yours. Deal?”

His expression doesn’t change. “I expected you to fight me on it.”

“Why?” I ask. “You’re right. We should rotate. I don’t want you guys going stir crazy in here. I’m sure Zara can pick up with the research.”

“Zara can what?” she asks, strolling in only about two minutes behind me and Liam. She’s slightly more frazzled than usual and I’m not sure if that’s because she rushed back over here or if it’s something else. Either way, I’m not about to bring it up in front of everyone.

“We were just saying that we should rotate the duties,” I tell her. “Let Elliott and Nadia get some fresh air for once.”

“I really don’t mind,” Nadia says, returning from the kitchen with a mug in one hand. “It’s very quiet here during the day and we can hear nature all around us. With the exception of a few boats out on the water and the occasional plane overhead, it’s quite peaceful.”

“Glad you’re enjoying it,” I say.

“Also, Zara just blew this case wide open,” Zara says, tossing her bag off to the side where it completely misses the couch and lands on the floor with a thump. She narrows her gaze at it a moment before muttering whatever under her breath and turning back to address the four of us. “Emilia was a gold mine.” She nods at me. “You were right. Zoey’s dominance completely shut Emilia down. And there might be a good reason for that.”

“You think Zoey was intentionally running the conversation?” I ask.

“Emilia confirmed both girls were at that party on Friday night,” she says, nodding to Liam. “The one Curran told you about. She said that Zoey disappeared for about an hour around eleven, was back near midnight.”

“The window of the murders,” I say.

“And she said that Zoey called 911 Saturday morning after they found the bodies. But as far as I know, Sandra Okafor was the one who called Denham. Not the girls.”

Nadia begins typing immediately. “I’m requesting the cell phone records for Zoey Hargrove,” she says. “Maybe we can confirm that.”

“I also learned that Zoey’s mother nearly ran the two of them into bankruptcy. If the Vosses hadn’t stepped in, they could have lost the house.”

“Wouldn’t that go against motive on Zoey’s part?” Elliott asks.

“Not if she was sick and tired of being her mother’s meal ticket,” I say.

“Or Zoey could have been complaining to her mother about the Vosses,” Liam suggests. “If Carol spoke to them and asked them to change the deal and they refused⁠—”

“—Zoey may have thought she didn’t have a choice,” I finish for him. I smile knowing we’re on the same page.

“Mrs. Cross did say that Zoey was fully aware of the family’s finances,” Zara says. “Maybe she did take matters into her own hands. The party was less than a mile from the Voss property. Right on the lake.”

“Then it would have been a quick trip down there and back,” Liam adds.

“Wait a second here,” Nadia says. “Do we really believe a sixteen-year-old is capable of a double murder?”

“Kids are unpredictable,” Zara says. “And according to Liam’s discussion with Ray Curran, the Vosses weren’t known to change their minds once they’d made them.”

“Phone records will take at least twenty-four hours,” Nadia says.

I give Zara an approving nod. “Okay. Let’s wait and get those in before we move on Zoey. I don’t think she’s going anywhere and it would help if we could eliminate some of these other suspects. The name Wilkinson gave me was Glen Arpel. Owns a local construction company.”

“Let me get started on that,” Nadia says.

“Curran confirmed the file was his, but we still only have his family for his alibi,” Liam adds. “I’d like to get back out there and see if I can find something that corroborates his story. Maybe one of his neighbors has security cameras I can check out.”

“That’s good thinking. Not that I think his wife isn’t trustworthy, but if there’s one person who would lie for him⁠—”

Elliott clears his throat.

“Ah, right,” I say. “Okay, Elliott, you’re up to confirm Curran’s alibi. In the meantime, we need to work on Arpel. If we can eliminate him, then I say we turn our attention back to Zoey. Where can we find this Arpel guy?”

“He has a construction office here in town,” Nadia says. “Website shows some of the homes he’s built. Socials are… minimal. All related to the job. Reviews on the regular sites for his business are stellar though. Seems like he has a good reputation in town.”

“Seems to be a trend with the people the Vosses choose,” I say. “Do we know why his file was labeled Contested?”

“No idea,” she replies. “Wasn’t much in there. Apparently, he’s more of a recent acquisition. You’ll have to ask him yourself.”

“Care to take it?” I ask. “You’ve done all the research.”

“Oh, no. I’m good here,” Nadia says. “This is definitely one of the nicest houses I’ve ever stayed in. I want to soak it up while I can.”

“Now I kind of want to switch,” Zara says. “Em, can I switch?”

“Nope,” I say, gathering Nadia’s documents. “You and I are on Arpel. I want to button him up before the day is out.”

“I’ll give Elliott some backup,” Liam says. “Never hurts.”

“Much appreciated,” Elliott says, determination on his face.

“Good plan,” I point to Nadia. “One last thing. Can you get in touch with Dr. Grimmer and see if she’s submitted her final autopsy report on the Voss’s?” I ask. “And if so, get a copy directly from her. Not from the Sheriff’s office.”

“Got it,” she says.

“Alright then,” I say, getting back up. “Let’s move. We have a killer to find.”

Chapter Seventeen

“That was good work this morning,” I say as we make the drive out to Arpel’s construction business.

“Hm?” Zara asks. She’s been staring out the window ever since we left the cabin and is doing that thing again where she’s uncharacteristically quiet. It freaks me out.

“With Emilia,” I say.

“Oh. Yeah, it was easy,” she says. “The girl is heavy into Verdant Horizons.”

“Should I know what that is?”

“It’s an RPG,” she says. “Way out of your league. You’d be dead in like, three minutes if you played.”

“I highly doubt that,” I say. “I’m getting better. I almost beat that one game. What was it?”

“Animal Crossing?”

“Yeah, that one. I built the house and farm and everything.”

“Em,” she says. “You are adorable. And completely out of your element. When we get back, I’ll show you what I mean.”

I grumble under my breath. “One of these days I’m going to find a game you suck at and then we’ll see who’s laughing.”

“Not possible,” she says. “I’m too perfect for that to happen.”

I’m still trying to think of an appropriate response when we pull into the parking lot of Arpel Construction which is little more than a one-story converted trailer that sits on a large plot of land. Behind the building are multiple construction vehicles; apparently Arpel rents out the vehicles when they’re not in use.

We head straight into the building to find a young woman sitting behind a desk just inside.

“Hi there,” she says, a hair too chipper. “How can I help you?”

“Looking for Glen Arpel,” I say, showing the woman my badge. “Is he in?”

“Oh,” she says, some of her excitement receding when she sees my badge. “No, he’s on site today. But I can have him⁠—”

“Just the address,” Zara says. “This can’t wait.”

“Is Mr. Arpel in some kind of trouble?” the receptionist asks.

“We just have some questions for him,” I say. “It will only take a few minutes.”

Consternation on her face, she turns to her computer. “He’s at 4411 Oakley Drive today. It’s a new build.”

“Thanks,” I tell her as we head back for the door. “And we’d appreciate it if he didn’t know we were coming.”

“Oh,” she says again. “Um… okay.”

“She’s on the phone with him right now, isn’t she?” Zara asks as we get back in the car.

“No doubt,” I say. “But I don’t mind him a little spooked. I doubt he’ll run from a job and if he does, then we have a new primary suspect. But I just want him sweating a few minutes before we get there.”

Zara plugs in the address to the car’s GPS. “Ten minutes away. I think I saw a fudge place downtown. Want to swing by on the way?”

I give her a stare. “What’s with the sweet tooth all of a sudden?”

“Gotta enjoy stuff while we can, right?” She turns and stares back out the window again.

Okay, now I am officially freaked out. I don’t know what is going on with her, but this is moving into alarming territory.

The only problem is I’m not sure what to do about it.

Just as the receptionist said, the site is a new build for a large home, at least five thousand square feet from the looks of it. Trucks sit all around the property and there’s a large cement mixer on site, pouring what looks like a pool for the backyard. The two-story house has already been framed out and there are at least two dozen workers spread across the entire job.

Zara and I make our way up the dirt and gravel path to the site, looking for the person in charge. I stop a man carrying what looks like plumbing pipe. “Where can we find Glen Arpel?”

“Boss,” the man yells. On the second floor, a hearty-looking man in a plaid button-up with a hardhat on appears. He has a full beard and reminds me of the lumberjack on the side of those paper towels.

“Ho-lee shit,” Zara whispers. “Em. Look at his arms. They’re like tree trunks.”

“Don’t get distracted,” I tell her. “Glen Arpel?”

“Who’s asking?” he says, calling down to us from above.

“FBI,” I say, showing my badge. “We have some questions for you.”

“I’m on the job,” he says. “If you want to ask questions, find yourself a hardhat.” He disappears just as quickly.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say.

“The man knows what he wants,” Zara says.

“Or he’s dicking us around.”

“I think you mean jerking us around.” She winks at me. “I mean, if he wants to di⁠—”

“Oh-kay,” I say, interrupting her. “Let’s get this over with.”

She wiggles her eyebrows at me. “Gladly.” We find a couple of hardhats near one of the construction trailers and make our way into the site, avoiding men working on the electrical, HVAC and half a dozen other systems I know nothing about. Finally, we find the stairs and head up, cautiously, as there is no railing or anything to keep us from falling ten feet back down to the lower floor.

Arpel is near the back of the property, supervising the installation of the plumbing for what looks like one of the bathrooms. He glances up as we approach. “You’re persistent. I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

“Oh, we can be relentless,” Zara says with a sparkle in her eye. I feel like I need to turn the spray bottle on her. She’s practically eye-fucking the guy.

“Mr. Arpel, we had some questions regarding your relationship with Gareth and Petra Voss.”

A grimace forms on his face. “I should have known that’s what this was about,” he says. “That was a bad deal from day one.”

“What was?” I ask.

He turns back to his men. “Keep that at three and three quarters. Any smaller and it won’t meet code.” His worker nods as another man begins cutting a hole through the flooring for the pipe. Arpel approaches us. “Whatever you found, just know that I’d put an end to it. I wasn’t paying that ridiculous ransom anymore.”

“Ransom?” I ask.

“Whatever you want to call it. I called it a ransom. And all because I wouldn’t meet their unreasonable demands.”

“How did you first get involved with them?” I ask.

“Did a job for them a few years back,” he says. “When they first moved to town. They wanted some secret underground compartment built on to their house. I told them that was impossible, because we’d literally have to blast through bedrock that runs along the shore of the lake. I managed to convince them a security door would suffice for their needs.”

“For a study?” I ask.

He arches an eyebrow. “I assume you’ve seen it, then.”

“Only door in the house without a key,” Zara says, inching closer to Arpel. He takes notice and inches away from her by the same amount.

“I had a biometric lock installed,” he says. “Coded to their fingerprints. But of course there was always a spare somewhere in case something went wrong or the power went out.”

“I’m assuming that wasn’t your only interaction with them.”

“Over the years they’d have me do more jobs, or refer me to other clients, which I always appreciated. But about two years ago I ran into some permitting issues with the county. Stuff that really gummed up my schedule. It would have put me six months behind and about two hundred grand in the hole. Somehow, they found out and offered to help by clearing things up with the permit office.”

“And you didn’t think to question that?” I ask.

He shrugs. “We’d known each other off and on for a couple years at that point. It seemed like they were just doing me a favor. Except a month later they began asking for restitution.” He makes a face like he’s smelled something sour. “At first I thought it was a joke. That they were just messing with me. It wasn’t until the permitting problems returned that I realized they were serious. And of course, after the first payment to them, the issues cleared themselves once again.”

“How much were you in for?” I ask.

“That’s the thing,” he says. “I got to the point where I wasn’t willing to accept it anymore. Five months ago I quit paying. I’d already paid them almost what it would have cost me to lose the permits in the first place. Hell, I would have been better off if I had. At least then I wouldn’t have had this vulture hanging over my shoulder.” He removes his hardhat and runs his hand through his thick hair before replacing it. I swear Zara practically titters with excitement.

“Were you aware you weren’t the only person in your situation?”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” he says. “Nastiest set of people I knew. Could turn their personalities on a dime. And I wanted nothing more to do with them. I figured if they were going to squeeze me, I might as well let them get it over with.”

“How bad was it?”

He motions to the job site. “This is the only local job I’ve had in three months. Everything else is tied up with the county. I have four other projects that are out of town that I travel for. It was the only way to stay afloat while they threw their little temper tantrum.”

“Mr. Arpel,” I say. “I need to ask you where you were last Friday night, between ten PM and twelve AM.”

“St. Joseph,” he says. “At the job site there. I mean, I wasn’t there at that time of night, but I was on that site until this past Tuesday when I came back here for this job. That night I was at a hotel. Probably asleep. We start work before the sun is up.”

“Can anyone corroborate that?” I ask.

“No, I was alone in my room,” he says. “But my guys were with me on the job during the day and the next morning. They can vouch for me.”

I pull out my phone for notes. “Which hotel did you stay at?” I ask.

“The Hampton Inn, off Route 76,” he says. “It’s the closest one to the site. All my guys are there.”

I close my phone and appraise the man. He’s not acting shifty or aloof, just… frustrated. Like this whole thing has put a kink in his plans. But as my eyes travel to his massive arms, I’m reminded that it wouldn’t have taken much for him to kill the Vosses. He could have easily done it with a single blow from a rock. “You understand that until we can rule out your involvement in their murders, we’ll need to ask you to stay in town.”

“I can’t do that,” he protests. “I have work that needs to be done. They’ve already cost me enough. Don’t ask for more.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “If you leave town now, it won’t reflect well on you.”

“Listen,” he says. “I don’t know who did what to who, all I know is that is none of my business. As far as I was concerned, my affairs with them were done and I was just waiting them out.”

“Maybe you got tired of waiting,” I say, watching his reactions. “Maybe the cost was getting too high.”

He swallows and seems to stiffen. “Do I need a lawyer?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Do you?”

“Hey, Boss,” one of his men behind us says, waving him over. “There’s a problem with the cutter.”

“I’m doing you a favor by just talking to you. Don’t come back here without some kind of warrant,” Arpel says.

“We don’t need a warrant to ask questions,” I say.

“You do to step on my job site,” he replies. “My legal counsel will be in touch.” He turns and heads back to his men.

“Damn,” Zara whispers. “Even his butt looks good.”

I roll my eyes and head back the way we came, making my way back down the stairs and depositing my helmet at the main workstation.

“Think it was a good idea, accusing him like that?” Zara asks as she catches up with me.

“We can verify his alibi easily enough,” I say. “The hotel will most likely have security cameras. How long of a drive is it to St. Joseph?”

“Uh,” Zara pulls out her phone. “Maybe an hour and a half.”

“Let’s get Nadia on it.”

“I’d be more than happy to get on it myself,” she says.

As we reach the car I turn to her. “Unfortunately, I don’t think he’s interested.”

“You never know,” she says. “I need a good rebound. Get me out of this funk. He didn’t have a ring.”

“Let’s wait and make sure he’s not a murderer first, sound good?”

“Ugh,” she replies, getting in the car. “Party pooper.”

Chapter Eighteen

Nadia pulls a piece of paper from the portable printer and slaps it down on the table in front of me.

I look up from the microwave rice bowl that has ended up being my dinner and scan the top line. “Really?”

“Yep, confirmed,” she says. “Arpel’s alibi checks out. Not only did the hotel’s security cameras not catch him leaving the hotel, his vehicle was parked right in the line of sight of the outside camera. It never moved all night.”

“He could have taken another vehicle,” Zara says, her mouth full of noodles.

“Night clerk confirmed that no one came out that night. The first he saw of anyone was the crew as they started appearing around four-thirty. Much too late to drive back to Sable Cove and kill Gareth and Petra.”

I lean back, pushing my bowl to the side. “Okay. Cross him off the suspect list. And if his lawyer calls, tell him Arpel is no longer a suspect.”

“Hell yeah,” Zara says. “I’m about to go get me some construction advice.” She puts her noodles down and heads for the door.

“Now?” I ask.

“What else am I supposed to do on a Friday night? Laters.” She throws up a peace sign and is out the door before I can say anything else.

“She’s been acting so strangely the past few weeks,” Nadia says after waiting a beat.

“She’s just working through some stuff,” I say. “Let’s focus on the others. The word back from Elliott is Curran’s alibi is confirmed?”

She nods. “He found a camera that has a line of sight onto Curran’s neighborhood’s one entrance-slash-exit. He never came out all night.”

“I guess that just leaves our third Contested file. And Zoey,” I say, tapping my finger on the table.

“Or any number of the other people they were blackmailing,” Nadia says. “Just because they weren’t Contested doesn’t mean they weren’t sick of paying.”

“But we can’t just start interviewing the entire town,” I say. “We’re running out of time before this thing goes completely cold. Whoever killed them is probably hoping there are too many suspects for us to work through and plans to get lost in the shuffle.”

The front door opens, revealing Elliott and Liam, back from the assignment I sent them on earlier. “Is Zara working another angle?” Liam asks as he drops his stuff off at the small table by the door.

“Something like that,” I say. “We probably won’t hear from her again tonight. Find anything else?”

“We made a few more stops to check the rumor mill. Word is starting to spread that we’re looking into everyone’s ‘arrangements’ with the Vosses. Some people are getting understandably nervous.”

“Think we have something to worry about?” I ask.

Liam pulls his weapon from its holster and secures it before putting it away. “I’d say it’s a good idea to keep measuring the temperature of the town. We may lose Denham.”

“That’s not a surprise,” I say. “The man clearly doesn’t want to help anyway.”

“He’s just looking out for the town,” he suggests. “He’s no William Burke; I can tell you that much.” He looks at the table of files that Nadia, Zara and I have been working through since getting back from Glen Arpel’s construction yard. “Any luck?”

“Unfortunately, I think Zoey is looking like our best bet for right now,” I say. “We need to speak to her again, give her the chance to explain first. She knew about the financial troubles her mother was having and she was perfectly positioned to kill them. She knew both of them well enough they’d let their guards down around her, and we can’t account for her whereabouts between eleven and twelve on Friday night.”

“It’s circumstantial,” Liam says.

“I know,” I reply. “Which is why I want to talk before we do anything. Emilia gave us the keys. We just need to get through the door.”

Liam looks at my rice bowl that has long since gone cold. “That’s pathetic.”

“See what happens when you’re not here?” I stand. “C’mon. Let’s get this over with.”

“You’re going now?” Nadia asks.

“We’re not taking her into custody,” I say. “Not yet. I just want to ask her about some of these inconsistencies. Who knows, maybe she has an explanation.”

“And if not?” Liam asks. “We’ll have tipped our hand.”

I motion to the table full of files. “Do you have a better idea?”

He sighs. “I guess not.”

As we pull up to the Hargrove house, it’s completely dark and there are no cars in the driveway.

“Great,” I say. “Neither one of them are home.”

“You don’t really expect a teenager to be home alone on a Friday night, do you?” Liam asks.

“I do, actually,” I say. “Kids aren’t like they were when we were growing up. They’re a lot more isolated now. Most of them don’t even drink. They’d rather stay home and scroll endlessly.” I pause. “Maybe that’s too harsh. They’ve been conditioned to stay home and scroll endlessly. By people like Ward McIntosh and his bevy of companies, whose sole goal is to keep people staring at their phones twenty-four-seven.”

Liam grins. “He really got under your skin, didn’t he?”

“Because he’s the worst of the worst,” I say. “A snake dressed up like a savior. As hypocritical as they come.” I look around the property, hoping in vain to find some sign that would tell me where Zoey or her mother is. But it’s not like I’m going to find a piece of paper taped to the front door that says “Gone to market, be back at nine.”

“Maybe we should check with Emilia again,” I say. “There’s a good chance she knows where Zoey is.”

“Think she’ll be home?” Liam asks.

“Hang on a second,” I say, getting out of the car and heading up to the front door. I knock a few times, waiting. I don’t hear anything inside, so I take a step back and look up at the second floor. There’s a brief flutter of the blinds at one of the windows. Bingo.

I knock again. “Zoey? It’s Emily Slate. Can we talk for a few minutes?” Liam gets out of the car, keeping his distance.

A few moments later the door opens to reveal the young girl. Her phone is still in her hand.

“All your lights are off.”

“I like it dark when my mom’s out.”

“Is she going to be back anytime soon?”

Zoey shrugs. I’d prefer to do this with Mrs. Hargrove here, but maybe this is better. Zara got pretty far with Emilia without her mother listening in. Maybe we can do the same with Zoey. “Mind if we talk for a minute? We can stay out here if you’re more comfortable.”

“Whatever,” Zoey says and closes the door behind her, taking a few steps onto the porch. I take a seat on one of the steps and give Liam a subtle motion to stay where he is. He just nods and works his way around the front of the car where he leans against the hood, looking down the street.

“How are you holding up?”

“Fine.” The word is loaded with a thousand more, but she doesn’t let any of them go.

“You were close with the Vosses, right?”

She shrugs.

“Your mom told us you worked for them. Did some jobs? That you were part of some mentorship program.”

She lets out a frustrated breath, but still doesn’t say anything.

“What kind of stuff were they having you do?”

“It wasn’t anything,” she says, clearly defensive. “It doesn’t matter now anyway.”

“It might,” I say, trying to remain gentle. “It might help us find out who killed them.”

Her eyes flash briefly and I know there is something more there. But if I push too hard she’ll shut down. “I know this is scary,” I say. “We’re just trying to get to the truth.”

The girl can’t be broken. She remains silent.

“Let’s talk about Friday night, instead,” I say. “You were at a party, right?”

Zoey creases her brow.

“We know the house isn’t that far from the Voss house. You left the party for a while, didn’t you?”

She pulls into herself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she finally says. “I was here all night.”

“Zoey,” I say. “We have witnesses who saw you there.”

The girl winces.

“They said you disappeared from the party around eleven. Where did you go?”

“This is bullshit,” Zoey says, standing up and heading for the door. “Just leave me alone.”

“Zoey,” I say but she’s already through the door and slams it behind her. It locks a second later.

I make my way back to the car, shaking my head. “That didn’t seem to go too well,” Liam says.

“She completely shut down. Denied even being at the party,” I say. And I barely got two words in. It’s like a different person than the confident, headstrong girl who walked into that interview a few days ago. Except this time, she couldn’t run the narrative. This time, we had something concrete to confront her with. And she didn’t take too kindly to it.

“Doesn’t prove she did it, Em.”

“I know,” I say. “But she’s a headstrong kid. She’s also got a temper. Maybe we need to bring her in. It might be the only way we can get a straight answer out of her.”

“You want to arrest her?” Liam asks.

“No. But she clearly knows something and we’re running out of leads,” I say. “I’d be willing to bet we can convince her mother to bring her in without going to that extreme.” At least, I hope we can. It’s possible Zoey is still completely innocent in all this and I don’t want to traumatize her any more than she already is. But if she is responsible in some way, then we can’t just let it go.

We know from Emilia that Zoey was missing during the Friday night party, and also made a call to someone on Saturday morning after they found the bodies. But we still don’t know who. The phone company is taking an excruciatingly long time to get back to us on those records.

“So what now?” Liam asks.

“We’ll come back in the morning,” I say. “We can talk to Carol about it then.”

“Great,” Liam says. “Because I’m starving. And I think we can do better than a rice bowl for dinner.”

Chapter Nineteen

The little bell over the door opens as we enter the restaurant. A young woman dressed all in black stands at the hostess desk with a pleasant smile on her face.

“Good evening,” she says. “Welcome to The Lure. Do you have a reservation?”

“We do,” Liam says. “Last name Coll.”

I turn to him, a confused look on my face. “We do?”

“Ah, yes. You’re still a bit early but I think we can seat you,” the hostess says. “One moment.”

I pull Liam to the side. “When did you make reservations? And why does this look like one of those places where people propose?”

“Because it is,” he says. “It’s probably the nicest restaurant in town. What? Can’t I take you out for a nice meal?”

“You still didn’t answer my reservation question,” I say.

“I’ve actually had a rolling reservation ever since we got to town,” he replies. “I wasn’t sure if we’d have a free night, but if we did, I wanted to make sure we got to try this place. They’re supposed to have the best seafood on the lake.”

“So you… just kept moving the reservation every night?” I ask.

He nods. “Yep. I thought our interview with Zoey would be longer, hence why we’re here before the reservation time.”

“You’ve been hanging around with Zara too long,” I tell him as the hostess returns.

“Please follow me,” she says.

“What do you mean?” Liam asks.

“You’re using the word hence,” I say. “And you’re being sneaky.”

He chuckles. “I guess she’s rubbing off on me. Not necessarily a bad thing.”

“Not at all.”

The hostess brings us to a small table near the windows that look out on the lake. The light is still fading and we’re treated to a beautiful sunset over the water.

“Where was she off to tonight?”

I sigh. “She was taken with Arpel. I think she was headed back to his place to try her luck.”

He chuckles nervously. “Really?”

“Yeah. I have to admit her behavior has been… erratic lately,” I say. “I think her ordeal at Lazar shook her up more than I think even she’s willing to admit.”

“But she’s been through that kind of thing before,” Liam says. “The whole bomb-strapped-to-her-chest?”

“Yeah,” I say. “And she nearly quit the FBI because of it.” I glance at the approaching waiter. “I’m trying to be supportive and give her space at the same time, but I’m not sure.”

“Good evening,” the waiter says, removing the napkin from my plate and dramatically draping it over my lap before moving on to Liam. Had I noticed the napkin there I would have done it myself, but I’m somewhat distracted by the view. “May I start you off with something to drink?”

“Water,” Liam says.

“Bourbon, neat,” I say.

“House or⁠—”

“Whatever you have is fine,” I tell the waiter and he moves off.

“Are you okay?” Liam asks.

“No,” I say. “I don’t like this whole thing with Zoey. There is more to all of this and it’s driving me insane I can’t see it. At least with Lazar we knew who we were going up against. But this case has so many moving parts it’s making me dizzy.”

He reaches over and places his hand on mine. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

“Almost always,” I say. “Can’t close them all.” I stare at the setting sun for a while longer until the drinks appear. The waiter explains the menu to us, highlighting all the specials and it isn’t until he does that I begin to realize just how fancy this place really is. Once we’ve placed our orders and he’s retreated back to the kitchen, I lean over the table, close to Liam.

“What’s the special occasion?”

“Well,” he says, grinning. “I thought we should formally celebrate our engagement. We never really had a chance. And call me old fashioned, but a proposal in the middle of an argument in the car wasn’t what I had in mind when I asked you to marry me.”

My smile is so wide it practically falls off my face. “Really? You want to celebrate?”

“Why not?” he says.

“Wait a second,” I say, looking around. “You’re not going to ask me again here, in public are you?”

He smiles. “You already said yes, what would be the point?”

I place my hand on my chest, feeling my heart begin to calm. “Just making sure.”

“I wouldn’t have done it like that anyway,” he says. “I don’t really approve of public declarations like that. They don’t give you the chance to say no without losing face.”

“How did you plan it?” I ask. “If I hadn’t forced it out of you.”

“To be honest I was still in the planning stages when it all came out. But I was between setting up a rooftop dinner at some high-rise, or setting up an outdoor banquet at the house, complete with string lights all over the backyard.”

“Ohhh,” I say, getting lost in the visuals of both options.

“Too much?” he asks.

“No, I think either would have been just right,” I say.

The waiter returns with the first course, which are two bowls of soup. “Though I have to admit, I’m interested to see what you could do with the backyard. Maybe we should consider that option… for a reception.”

He pauses. “You’ve been thinking about the reception?”

“Well, not a lot,” I say. “I really haven’t had a lot of time. But yeah. Somewhere in the back of my mind I’ve been pulling together some… thoughts.”

“What kind of thoughts?”

“Just musings, really,” I say. “Nothing big. Maybe we could even have the wedding itself in the backyard. That way we’re not on anyone else’s schedule. It’s big enough that we could have everyone we care about there, right?”

“Including my parents?” he asks.

“Well… I mean they’ll have to stay at a hotel⁠—”

Liam leans back and laughs, causing a few heads to turn. “Definitely.” He takes my hand again, stroking the back of it. “Sorry again I kind of fumbled the ball.”

“That wasn’t you,” I say. “It was all me. If it weren’t for my insecurities I’m sure you would have pulled out all the stops. Still, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. It’s a day I’ll never forget.”

“Me either,” he says, chuckling.

We get our dinners and the smell alone is enough to make me completely forget the crappy microwave rice bowl I had earlier. And the bourbon is helping take my mind off Zara, though the worry doesn’t completely go away. I just hope she’s being safe.

“Since you’ve been giving everything some thought,” Liam says, leading off again. “Have you decided what you’re doing about your name?”

“Keeping it,” I say without missing a beat. “I like your last name, but there’s no way in hell I’m going around being called Mrs. Coll.”

“Good,” he says. “How would you feel if I took your name instead?”

I pause, having not really considered that before. “Huh. Mr. Liam Slate. I don’t hate it,” I say. “But… won’t your parents be upset?”

He makes a waving motion with his hand. “Eh, let ‘em. What are they going to do? It’s not like they don’t have another son who can’t carry on the family name. Plus, it’s kind of a stupid tradition anyway. Who’s to say that men get to carry on their names and women don’t?”

I raise my glass to his, clinking them. “Amen to that. Yeah… I mean, if you’re sure you’re okay with it.”

“Of course, it might become a problem if we’re working cases together,” he says. He clears his throat and turns serious for a moment. “Hello ma’am. I’m Agent Slate. And this is my partner, Agent Slate.”

I chuckle almost to the point where I spit my drink back out. “Maybe we can go by our initials. E.S. and L.S.”

“The ‘Esses’,” Liam says. “We should have that embroidered on the napkins.”

“Or glazed on the plates,” I say, the alcohol working its way to my brain. I feel… lighter. More carefree than I have in a long time. Usually when I drink it just numbs whatever I’m dealing with. But this time is different. I actually feel… happy. We both giggle in fits until the waiter appears again with the dessert menu. Feeling particularly bold, I choose the item that looks like it has the most calories. Liam is right; this is a celebration. I should treat it like one.

“Oh my God, I am so stuffed,” I say once I’ve cleaned the plate. It was a full four-course meal and with the two drinks I’ve had, I am absolutely ready to pop.

“That is what I like to call sated,” Liam says. “Only good food can do that to you.”

“Thank you,” I say. “For this. It’s been wonderful.”

“We deserved it,” Liam says.

“We did, didn’t we?” I look back out over the water. The sun has long since set and the moon is out, reflecting off the lake, creating a double of itself in the water. The only other lights out there are the lights on the pylons in the shallows to let approaching boats know the beach is there. “Wow, it is dark out there.” Is this what Gareth and Petra Voss saw right before they died? The moon reflecting off the water? A tranquil, quiet life that they’d manipulated into existence? Did they ever expect one of the people they were quietly blackmailing would eventually come for them?

“Em?”

“Hmm?” I ask, turning to Liam.

“Are you working?”

“No, of course not,” I say, scooting my seat back. “Just… admiring the view.”

“It’s okay if you are,” he says. “I know how your mind operates.”

I shoot him a dirty look. “Maybe I need to start being a little more unpredictable. I was just thinking about Gareth and Petra. On the outside, everyone around town loved them. But underneath…”

“Different story,” he says, finishing for me. “You know, the memorial is tomorrow.”

“That’s tomorrow?” I ask. “Where did the week go?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “But we should probably be there. You never know who might show up.”

“You think the killer’s bold enough to show up in person?”

Liam glances around the restaurant. We’re some of the last patrons left, most everyone else having filtered out while we were on our third and fourth courses. The waitstaff have already begun cleaning up and preparing for the following day. He waves our waiter over. “I think whoever did this would be curious about how it’s being received. They’ll want to know how close we are on their tail.”

“Yeah, but there’s no guarantee,” I say. “And even if they are there, how do we separate them from everyone else?”

“We’ll just have to watch everyone carefully,” Liam says as the waiter sets the check in front of him. But before he can take it, I grab it and slip my card in the slot, handing it back to the waiter.

“Hey,” he says. “This was my treat.”

“And it very much was,” I say. “But we do everything together, right? You set all this up. It’s only fair I pay.”

“Em—”

“Don’t argue with me,” I say. “Save those for when you really need them because you’re not winning many.”

As the waiter brings the check back over, my phone buzzes in my pocket. At first I think it’s Zara wanting some backup or for me to come get her, but I frown when I see the name on the screen. “It’s Denham,” I say.

Liam looks at his watch. “It’s ten o’clock.”

“Slate,” I say matching my gaze with Liam for a brief second and smiling. But as Denham talks, my smile fades. “I understand. We’ll be right there.” I hang up.

Liam’s brows are drawn with concern. “What?”

“It’s Zoey,” I say. “She just tried to kill herself.”

Chapter Twenty

After Denham’s phone call I spent the frantic drive over to the Sable Cove Medical Center trying to figure out what we could have missed. He said when he called it was still touch-and-go, and he didn’t have an estimate from the doctors yet. And I keep thinking every second that passes my phone is going to buzz again with the call from him telling me she’s dead.

I can’t quit thinking what if she dies? I should have seen it. I should have found a way to stop it. And could I have been the thing that pushed her to think she had no other option?

As we pull up, Sheriff Denham meets us at the front doors. It’s the same building Dr. Grimmer works out of, but instead of going around the back, we head for the front. It’s not exactly a full hospital, but more of an urgent care unit. It’s only two stories tall, but is probably the newest building in all of Sable Cove.

“Any update?” I ask as we trot up to Denham.

“No,” he says. “Still waiting to hear. I’m sure she’s receiving blood.”

“What happened?” Liam asks.

“Her mother found her in the bathtub about forty minutes ago,” he says with a grim look on his face. “We got her over here as soon as we could.”

“Did you see her?” I ask.

He nods. “Carried her in myself.” It’s only then I notice he’s damp from the chest down.

“And she was still alive?”

“Barely,” he replies. “I tried to wrap her wrists as I tight as I could before I got her here. It would have taken too long for the ambulance to arrive.” I look past the doors to find Carol Hargrove inside, being consoled by one of Denham’s deputies. She looks over at exactly the wrong time and sees us and it’s like a curtain drops on her face. She turns from the deputy and storms outside to meet us.

“You,” she growls with the full contempt of one person ready to kill another. I’ve seen that look before, in the eyes of drug dealers, killers, people at the ends of their rope. It’s the look of desperation and there is no doubt in my mind she means it.

She lashes out but I manage to dodge the punch before Denham wraps his arms around Mrs. Hargrove, pulling her into a bear hug. “Carol,” he says but it has little to no effect. This woman is out for blood. The deputy runs up and tries to assist.

“You did this,” she yells. “You killed my daughter!”

All I can do is stare at her, trying to understand. “Is Zoey⁠—”

“Carol,” Denham says again. “Get ahold of yourself.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she says more to Denham than me. “Arrest her.”

“I don’t understand,” I say. “What happened?”

“You happened!” she yells. “I saw it on my camera. You came over, sat on the porch with my daughter acting all chummy. You’re worse than the Vosses!”

“Carol, I’m not going to say this again,” Denham says. The woman is still fighting to get out of his grasp. “Either calm down or I’m putting you in cuffs.”

“Me? But she’s the one who forced my daughter to do this,” the woman says. “What did you say to her? I told you she was fragile. I said she couldn’t handle anymore but you just had to push her, didn’t you?”

“Mabry, take Mrs. Hargrove inside,” Denham says to his deputy. The man puts a reassuring arm around Carol and leads her back towards the doors, though she continues to stare daggers at me over her shoulder.

“Give her a few hours,” Denham says. “She’s just reacting to a stressful situation.”

“You don’t have to placate me, Sheriff,” I say. “I’ve seen my fair share of despair.” I look at Mabry again, who is trying to calm Mrs. Hargrove inside the glass doors. He shoots me a reproachful glance before leading her to some chairs where she buries her face in her hands.

“That true?” Denham asks.

I turn to him. “What?”

“That you talked to the girl tonight?”

I look the man in the face. “What are you asking me, Sheriff?”

“Just trying to get all the facts straight, is all.”

I motion to Liam. “Yes. We did. We went to speak to her and I can tell you it was a very short conversation.”

“About?”

“That’s part of the ongoing investigation,” I say.

Denham nods, looking off towards the hospital. “And I’m no longer part of that investigation.”

“Not until we verify our findings,” I tell him. “Then I’ll be happy to share everything.”

I don’t miss the shadow that passes over his face. A few seconds later the doors inside the ward open to reveal a man in scrubs. He looks around for Mrs. Hargrove, finding her a second later.

“I better get in there,” he says. “See what we’re dealing with.”

“We’ll stay here,” I say. The man doesn’t argue, just heads in and joins his deputy along with the doctor and Zoey’s mother.

“You know none of that’s true, right?” Liam asks quietly once we’re alone. “What she said.”

“You can’t know that,” I say. “Zoey was upset when we left her. Maybe I did push her too far.” Could it have been something I said? Was Zoey feeling guilty?

“But it’s not your fault, Em,” he says. “You’re not responsible for everyone.”

“I know,” I say. “But that doesn’t change the fact she might have killed herself because I spooked her or accidentally accused her of murdering them.”

Denham places a hand on the doctor’s shoulder and nods a few times. The doctor then leads Mrs. Hargrove back behind the double doors with him, a stricken look on her face. Mabry stays in the lobby as Denham returns to us outside. “The girl is alive,” he says. “Lost a lot of blood, but we got to her in time.”

A heavy breath leaves my chest and I nearly double over, my eyes prickling with tears.

“Is she awake?” Liam asks.

“Resting now. He said to give her at least twelve hours.” He lowers his voice. “I don’t want to overwhelm her. But we’ll need the full story once she’s feeling better.”

“We can come back tomorrow,” I say. There is a desperate urge in my chest to find out what could have pushed Zoey to do something so drastic. I need to make this right—I need to find a way to make up for almost losing her.

“You really think she’ll talk to you again?” Denham asks.

“Fine,” I say, noticing a familiar-looking car pulling up. “Take her statement. But I expect you to share it with us. The girl hasn’t been cleared as a suspect.”

Emilia and her mother both get out of the car and Emilia rushes past us into the hospital.

“Don’t tell me how to do my job, Agent Slate,” Denham mutters as he tips his hat at the approaching Mrs. Cross.

“Is it true?” Mrs. Cross asks. “Is Zoey⁠—”

“She’s alive,” Denham says. “She’s going to be okay.”

The woman puts her hand on her chest. “Oh, thank God. We only heard that—well… we heard. Emilia insisted we come over immediately.”

“I’m not sure they’ll let her back there yet,” Denham says. “But she should be okay to visit tomorrow morning.”

Mrs. Cross nods, then gives both me and Liam a quick glance before heading after her daughter.

“Carol is going to be on the warpath,” he says. “But I’ll wait to hear what the girl says first.” He doesn’t say anything else and instead heads off after Mrs. Cross.

We’re left standing in the parking lot alone. After a few minutes I feel a hand on my shoulder. “C’mon. We should get back. There’s nothing more we can do here.”

I know Liam is right, but I can’t quit looking at the doors to the medical center. If her mother had gotten home only a few minutes later, or Denham hadn’t arrived in time, Zoey would be dead. And it very well could have been my fault.

I barely feel the drive back to the cabin, instead my thoughts are filled with maybes and what ifs and I can feel myself beginning to spiral. I have a sinking feeling had we not been to see Zoey this evening none of this would have ever happened. Which makes it all the worse.

“Not exactly the magical night I’d hoped for,” Liam says as we pull up to the cabin. I notice the other vehicle is here, meaning Zara has returned.

“Still, it was nice,” I say. “Even if it was just for a while.”

He takes my hand in his. “Don’t beat yourself up,” he says. “There is no way you could have known that would happen. It wasn’t like you knew she was vulnerable and pushed her anyway.”

“But we did know she was vulnerable,” I say. “She’s sixteen. She’s a witness in a double murder investigation. Possibly a suspect. You don’t get much more vulnerable than that.”

“Let’s wait to hear what Denham says tomorrow,” he says. “Now we should try to get some rest.” I nod, following him back to the cabin. But the last thing I feel like doing is going to bed. My mind won’t stop racing.

As we enter the cabin, Nadia, Elliott and Zara are nowhere to be found. It’s already nearing midnight so I have to assume they’ve all retired already.

“C’mon,” Liam says. “I’ll make you some hot tea.”

“Thanks,” I say, “But I’d just like to be alone for a while, if that’s okay.”

“Of course,” he says. “I’ll… be upstairs if you need me.” He gives my hand another squeeze before heading up the stairs. I appreciate him being willing to give me space, even though I already know what’s about to happen. I’ve been in this position one too many times and while I’ve gotten better over the years at regulating, I can’t seem to get Zoey’s distraught face out of my head. Did she run right back into the house and do it then? No, she would have been gone long before her mother got home if that had been the case.

Which meant she sat there for hours thinking about it. Going through that mental torture. And finally deciding she was better off not dealing with any of it any longer.

I cross to the other side of the cabin and head outside. The evening has cooled considerably, though I’m just now noticing. The woods beyond the cabin are filled with the sounds of nighttime creatures, all manner of bugs, frogs and everything in between. It’s almost like a miniature symphony. A wooden path leads off from the back deck of the house through the woods. I find myself walking the path, trying not to let the intrusive thoughts win out and instead focusing on the nature itself. A few moments later, the woods open to a wide beach, though the wooden path continues out to the water where it ends about fifteen feet past the shore. The moon is still bright and high, illuminating the entire area.

A lone figure sits on the end of the dock, causing me to pause.

“Z?”

She turns and from the brief reflection, there’s no missing her cheeks are wet. Again.

“Oh, hey,” she says as I approach. She’s barefoot, her feet hanging off the end of the dock, just barely grazing the top of the water. She doesn’t bother to wipe her cheeks this time, just continues staring out over the lake.

I take a seat beside her, though I keep my legs pulled to my chest. “How was Arpel… did you⁠—”

She smiles, shaking her head. “Nah. He wasn’t at the construction site of course because it was way past quitting time so I looked up his home address in the database. But as I was on my way something made me stop and examine my life choices. I guess I’ve been kind of crazy lately.”

“Eh, a little. And honestly, it’s for the best,” I say. “I don’t think it would look too good if you were sleeping with one of the potential suspects on the case.”

“Cleared potential suspect,” she says. “I just wanted something to help me forget, you know?”

I nod.

“What were you two doing out so late? Don’t tell me he took you on a stargazing trip.”

“No,” I say, hesitating before I tell her about the nice dinner. But before she can say anything I explain about Zoey Hargrove.

“Oh, Em,” she says. “That’s terrible.”

“Tell me about it,” I say.

We’re quiet for a few moments, the only sound is that of the waves gently lapping against the shore behind us and the occasional splash of an errant fish somewhere.

“Well… if there were ever a time…” Zara pulls a flask out from somewhere beneath her shirt and knocks one back before handing it to me. I take a whiff.

“Ugh, what is this?”

“Corn whiskey,” she says. “The cheapest possible.”

“It smells like it drained out of an engine.”

“It’s not supposed to taste good.”

“Then why carry it?” I ask, passing it back to her without sampling.

She screws the top on and replaces the flask but doesn’t answer. I can practically feel the static in the air with whatever it is she’s holding in.

“Z?”

“I, uh…” A nervous laugh escapes her lips, but there’s no humor behind it, instead it’s like she’s trying to keep something hidden, something that won’t stay contained for much longer.

I place my hand on hers, much the same way Liam did on mine. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t…” She tries for another smile but it dies immediately. “I think something got fucked up.”

I narrow my gaze. “Fucked up? What do you mean?”

“That drug they gave me at Lazar,” she says. “I think it messed with my head. I’ve been… seeing things.”

“Like hallucinations?”

She nods. “But they seem real. Like I can’t tell where they end and where real life begins.”

“And it started when they started giving you that drug?”

She pulls her legs up, holding them to her chest. “Actually, I think it really started after Janice. And Theo.”

I give her a supportive nod.

“I started thinking about things I haven’t thought about in a long time,” she says. “People I haven’t thought about in a long time. And when they gave me that drug… it just made everything worse. It made them come alive somehow.”

“Who?” I ask, genuinely concerned. Zara’s never talked much about her past. As someone who has a rocky family history, I can respect that. I don’t know much about her formative years other than the few nuggets she’s shared here and there. But I know whatever she went through molded her into the strong, capable woman she is today.

“S-sam,” she says. “Samuel.”

“Who is Samuel?” I ask.

“He’s—he was—my brother,” she replies. “Older brother by a few years. He died about four years ago.”

“I never knew you had a brother,” I say. “I thought you were an only child, like me.”

She gives me a small grin. “That was by design. Our relationship was… complex. And when he died I almost felt this weight off my shoulders. Like I didn’t have to deal with it anymore. Which only made me feel worse.”

“Do you mind if I ask how it happened?”

“Overdose,” she says quickly. “Sam had a drug problem. Started when we were kids.”

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“Don’t be. He deserved it. Might be cruel to say, but he was constantly in trouble. And he almost pulled me down with him.” She pauses. “I think this whole mess with Theo, with him not being the person I thought, dredged a lot of that back up. I’d been thinking about Sam before we got the Lazar case. And then, when they shot that shit into my veins⁠—”

“It all came roaring back,” I say.

She nods. “Not only that, but I started seeing him again. Like he was really there. Like he was really talking to me. It’s kind of stopped since then, but every now and again I’ll wake up and think he’s in the room with me. Like I can feel his ghost stalking me.”

“That’s a lot,” I say. “And you shouldn’t have to bear that all by yourself.”

“I was—I thought you’d be mad,” she says. “Because I didn’t tell you about him earlier. You’ve shared so much of your life with me you could drop me into the middle of your brain and I’d know my entire way around. But I just haven’t… I haven’t been as open with you. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” I say. “It’s your business if you want to share things with me and I don’t begrudge you for that. I’m not going to get upset if you don’t tell me something, not unless that something is something that’s actively hurting you.” I look out over the lake. “It’s been hard for all of us. This whole thing with Janice, the Bureau and now this new division. It’s a lot.”

“I’m scared, Em. I’m having trouble finding the joy in anything,” she says. “Things don’t work like they used to.”

“Then you need to find new things,” I say. “And I’m not saying this is a requirement, but it might not hurt to talk to Dr. Frost.”

“Ugh.” She throws her head back. “I knew you were going to say that.”

“I thought that’s why you brought it up.” I give her a wink. “But seriously. Just to have an outlet. Or if you want to just talk to me, you know I’m always here. And I won’t judge. At least, not for the most part.”

She scoffs. “Don’t be so sure about that.”

“Seriously, Z,” I say. “After everything we’ve seen together. Do you really think you could tell me something that would surprise me?”

“I’m not worried about that,” she says, casting her eyes back to the lake. “I’m worried about you thinking less of me.”

“That’s not possible,” I say.

“You don’t know what I was like as a kid,” she replies. “You don’t know what I did.”

“Did you kill anyone?”

She furrows her brows. “No.”

“Maim them? Torture them?”

“I hurt people in other ways,” she says. “I was selfish.”

“You were a kid,” I say. “No one is perfect, especially not out of the gate. But I know what kind of person you are now. And I don’t care if you did kill someone. Because I know the woman sitting beside me is one of the most compassionate, most capable people I’ve ever met. And I would be absolutely lost without her.”

“You can get really mushy sometimes, you know that?” she asks.

“I know.”

“Nadia’s been covering for me,” she says. “She’s too nice to say anything. But I’ve been missing things. She’s been picking up the slack.”

I take a minute to take it in. No wonder Nadia’s been giving me strange looks the past couple of days. “That’s okay,” I say. “We all need help. Do you want to take a leave from the case? You could head back to D.C. Maybe even take a vacation. I know this great Caribbean island.”

“No way,” she says. “I can’t be alone right now. Like fully alone. I’m—I’m afraid of what might happen. I’ll clean up my act. No more slip-ups.”

“Okay,” I say. “But if it happens again, you know we have your back, right?”

She gives me a tentative nod. I pull her into a hug and can practically feel her trembling. I know that must have taken a lot of courage on her part to admit. It’s a scary thing when your mind turns against you. But I don’t care what’s happening, I’m not going to give up on Zara.

“Give me that flask back,” I say, releasing her.

“Really?” she asks. “It’s the worst stuff.”

“I know,” I say. “But I’m not letting you do it alone.” I take the flask from her and down the contents, though it feels like I’m drinking pure fire. It burns my throat all the way down and feels like its eroding the lining of my stomach. “Good gawd.”

“Told you.”

“Next time, I choose the pity drink.”

She gives me the first genuine smile I’ve seen from her in days. “Deal.”

Chapter Twenty-One

“Good news,” Zara says as I pad my way down the stairs. We got to bed so late that I’m having a hard time waking up. Liam was up before me and is already working on his laptop in the living room while Nadia and Elliott are out on the porch.

And here I am, still in my sleepwear trying to clear the sand out of my eyes. I figured if I could get a strong enough cup of coffee, I could summon the strength to get in the shower. Liam reminded me late last night the Voss Memorial is later today, which is not something I’m looking forward to.

“Didn’t you sleep?” I ask walking past her and into the kitchen.

“Morning,” Liam calls from the living room.

“Mmmgh,” is all I can manage to reply. In addition to getting to bed super late after being up half the night on the dock with Zara, what little sleep I did get came in bouts. I kept waking up thinking something else had happened to Zoey, or that somehow her survival was part of my dream.

I reach the espresso maker and start a new brew with a flavor I’ve never tried before, but has double the caffeine as usual.

“Got a hit on that number Zoey called,” Zara says, following me into the kitchen.

“What? How?” I ask. “I thought we were waiting for the records from the phone company.”

“We still are,” she says. “But I have my methods. Just… needed to get out of my own way.”

I turn, glaring at her under hooded eyes. “Did you break into something?”

She points a finger gun at me. “No. But good guess. I requested access through an off-books data miner who is willing to take certain…liberties with private data.”

“Z…” I say, admonishment in my voice.

“It’s no big deal,” she says, waving me off. “He managed to get a copy of the records from the cell phone company and before you say it no, he didn’t steal them.”

“Okay, then how did he get them?”

“I didn’t think asking would lead to anything good,” she admits. “But that’s not what matters. What does matter is he was able to grab the records for Zoey’s number this morning.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. I’m glad she’s feeling more like herself, but if this leads to something, we could taint the whole case by using an illegal records search. “I don’t know.”

“Look, if it leads to something, we’ll go back and do it the right way,” she says. “But wouldn’t it be better to get a jump on this now?”

“Jump on what?” I ask. “Who did she call?”

“Ryan Deats,” she says. “Address has him living over in St. Joseph.”

“Boyfriend?” I ask.

“Probably. But we won’t know for sure until we contact him.”

“Any word on Zoey’s condition?”

“Yo, chef,” Zara calls to Liam. “Any word on Zoey this morning?”

“Haven’t heard anything from Denham yet,” he calls back. “But it’s still early.”

I take a sip of the fresh brew and it’s like someone has injected speed directly into my arm. My eyes actually pop open its so strong.

“Better or worse than the corn whiskey?” Zara asks.

“Definitely better,” I say. “Think we can get over there and back before the memorial?”

“Only if you let me drive.”

Deciding to let Zara drive was a good decision. Mostly because I’m still partially hungover and tired, but also because I believe it focuses her—at least it focuses her better than when she’s in the passenger seat staring out into nothingness. When she’s driving, she’s actively doing something. And she has that music cranked up again, which I’m taking as a good sign.

I’ll admit, learning that she has a dead brother was something of a shock. Every time I’ve ever brought it up, we’ve always commiserated that we’re only children. It was something we had in common. Though, I guess, from a certain point of view she still sees it that way. With her brother gone she is an only child. Yet, it opens up a whole host of other questions now. What else don’t I know about her past? What was she alluding to last night?

But I was dead serious. If we need to go out and hide some bodies, there’s no one else I would rather do it with. Zara is the sibling I never had. The sister I found later in life. And I would do anything to protect her.

“Were you able to pull anything on Deats before we left?”

“Just basic info, age, school district, address, that sort of thing,” she says. “I didn’t have much time for a social media deep dive. I found a few that could be him, still narrowing it down.” She waits a beat. “What do you think he knows?”

“I’m not sure,” I say. “But given he was the first person she called, it tells me they’re close. And that she’s probably shared more with him than we might expect. Maybe even more than she’s shared with Emilia.”

“Ohhh,” Zara says. “Yeah. I can see that. Especially if she really trusts him. But she and Emilia are pretty close. Wait.” She turns to me for a brief second. “Are you saying you’ve shared things with Liam that you haven’t shared with me?”

“Oh, all the time,” I reply. “I usually keep at least one thing per day from you. But Liam? He gets full access.”

“Emily Rachel Slate! I will wreck this car.”

“Obviously I’m joking,” I say though I can’t help but grin. It’s fun to mess with her again. I haven’t been able to do that as much lately. “It’s only one thing per week.”

“I am so going to beat your ass at Centipede later.”

“You’re on,” I say. “If we have time.”

We pull up to the address Zara found for Ryan Deats. It’s a modest home with a couple of lawn flags outside with the words St. Joseph Griffins and Class of ’25 emblazoned across them. We try the front door, but it’s locked and no amount of knocking and ringing the doorbell seems to have any effect.

“Damn,” I say, taking a few steps down and back towards the car. But before I reach it, a friendly voice calls out from somewhere on my left.

“Morning,” a male voice says. “Can I help you folks?”

I turn to see an older man, maybe in his fifties wearing a wide-brimmed gardening hat and gloves. He takes them off as he smiles at us.

“Morning,” I say. “We’re looking for Ryan Deats.”

“Oh,” the man says, smiling. “He’ll be down at lacrosse practice. Never misses it. Just down at the high school over there.” He motions behind us. “He in some sort of trouble?” The voice is friendly, but I can tell when someone is fishing for gossip.

“Nope, just needed to give him a message,” Zara says before I can.

The man nods, the smile on his face fading ever so slightly. “Well, like I said he’ll be down there. His daddy too. Never misses a chance to watch the boy play. He’s taken out a couple of my windows, you know. Nothing serious and always replaces them, but that boy can throw.”

“Which way is the high school?” I ask.

“Just down that way a few blocks, can’t miss it,” he says. “Sure there’s nothing to be worried about? I have his father’s phone number on my refrigerator.”

“No, thank you,” I say. “We’re fine. Thanks for the help.”

He raises a hand to us as we go. “Anytime.”

True to the man’s word, the school is only a few blocks away and we park along the side of the road that runs parallel to the large fields in the back of the school. There are three simultaneous practices going on, but it’s easy enough to find the Lacrosse players with the large sticks and oversized helmets. We make our way across the fields to find the man in charge of the practice. After a brief explanation of what we’re doing there, he blows the whistle and calls Ryan over. A young boy of probably sixteen or seventeen, decked out in full goalie gear trots over to us, covered in sweat and reeking of it.

“Ryan,” the coach says. “These two ladies need to have a word with you.”

I bristle at the word ladies but let it pass. “Hi, Ryan. I’m Special Agent Emily Slate. This is my partner Special Agent Foley. Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“Am I in trouble?” he asks. His voice is deeper than I would have expected.

“No. Just need to chat for a second.” He leads us over to some unoccupied bleachers where he begins removing the most cumbersome of his equipment, including his helmet, which reveals a head of soaking wet black hair plastered to his skull.

“We wanted to let you know there has been an accident. Zoey is in the hospital.”

“Zoe?” he asks, his face going white. “What happened? Is she okay?”

“She’ll be fine,” I say. “It was… an accident.”

“What kind of accident?” he says, pulling off more of his gear. “Where is she? Do I⁠—”

“Hey,” Zara says with a soothing voice. “It’s going to be okay. She’s safe. She’s not going anywhere. She’s at the Sable Cove Urgent Care unit. We already talked to your dad. He said he’d drive you up there if you want.”

The boy looks like he’s on the verge of hyperventilating, but Zara’s calming tone manages to keep him from completely losing it.

“I knew it was too much for her,” he says. “I told her she needed to get out, that she didn’t owe those people anything.”

“What people?” I ask, giving Zara a glance.

“The Voss couple,” he replies. “It was too much stress. And after she found them like that⁠—”

“She told you what she found,” I say.

“Yeah, of course she did,” he replies. “She wanted to know what she should do.” He looks between us. “Wait. Is this going to get her in trouble? Maybe I should talk to her first.”

“We’re not looking to jam her up,” I say. “We know the Vosses weren’t the greatest people. We’re just trying to understand her involvement. Her mother said she was in some kind of youth mentorship program, but we can’t find evidence that program extended to anyone beyond her.”

“Because it didn’t,” Ryan says. “She was the only one. She was doing most of the work for them. And she wasn’t getting anything in return.”

“Wait, rewind a second,” I say. “What do you mean she was doing most of the work for them?”

“She was their eyes and ears,” he says. “Every day she’d go to their place and report on what she’d seen… or heard. Zoey was good about getting around without being noticed. She gave them too much. I told her to just stop, that she didn’t have to do it anymore. But she insisted that she couldn’t quit.”

“What kinds of things was she reporting on?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Like… if people had a problem, or they’d gotten themselves into something they couldn’t get out of,” he says. “She’d pick up the info and pass it along.”

“And then they’d use that information to help people out of a mess, before blackmailing them for it later,” Zara says, pulling it all together.

“Yeah, I guess,” Ryan says, pulling off the last of his equipment.

“What exactly did she say to you that morning?” I ask. “After she found them on the beach.”

“She wanted to know what she should do. She thought about running, that someone must have finally gotten sick of them and taken them out. She was afraid whoever it was would come for her next. I tried to tell her to just lay low and not say or do anything. I don’t think a lot of people knew she was involved. I said if she just kept out of it, it would all go away.”

That explains her interviews with us and Denham. And why she wouldn’t let Emilia get a word in. “Did she say why she couldn’t stop working for them?”

“Because of her situation at home,” he says. “Her mom is a deadbeat. Everyone knows it. Zoey was the only reason they weren’t out on the street. But I told her the Vosses should be paying her, not her mother. She was basically a slave.”

The boy is passionate; I’ll give him that much. And from the looks of it, he’s strong too. “Can you tell us where you were last Friday night?” I ask.

He stills. “Why?”

“It’s a routine question,” Zara says. “Nothing to worry about.”

He hesitates again.

“Ryan,” I say. “We just want to help Zoey. I agree with you. The Vosses never should have been using her like that. But we need to figure out what happened. And the best way we can make sure Zoey is safe, is if we do that. Right?”

“I guess,” he says.

“You said Zoey was worried someone might come after her too. Did you talk to her on Friday night too?”

“I… saw her,” he says. “I went into Sable Cove—took my dad’s car. But I didn’t get there until like ten-thirty or eleven. I had to wait for him to fall asleep.”

“You were at the party?” Zara asks.

“Just to see Zoey,” he says. “We don’t get a lot of time together, living in different towns. I needed to head back by one ‘cause I had practice the next morning.”

“Then you two were together Friday night,” I say.

He nods. “Yeah, but you can’t tell her mom. She’ll lose it if she knows Zoey was at a party. I also really don’t want my dad finding out.”

This complicates things. Ryan Deats clearly had a motive to stop the Vosses from using Zoey, though I’m not sure he’d be willing to kill to do it. But we can’t ignore the possibility. And he just admitted to being near the scene of the crime that night. Instead of eliminating suspects we seem to keep adding them to the list.

“Did anyone else see you there?” I ask.

“Maybe a few kids,” he says. “I dunno. We went off by ourselves as soon as I got there. We were out on the beach until I had to leave.”

“Did you hear or see anything while you were out there?”

“You mean like whoever offed the Vosses?” he asks. “No, we were too far away. That place was like a mile from the party.”

“Okay, let’s go back to your relationship with⁠—”

“Listen, I really need to go to see her,” he says, standing up. “I don’t know what else to tell you, but Zoe needs me.” He gathers his equipment and I feel the opportunity slipping away. So far he hasn’t told us anything other than Zoey was the one gathering the Vosses’ information. And the fact that he himself might be a suspect. Though, given how causally he’s talking about it, I’m already doubting it.

“Did Zoey ever say anything else?” I ask. “Did she ever talk about any of the Vosses’ clients who were upset with them?”

“No,” he says, already walking away. “But it shouldn’t have mattered. They had that guy protecting them.”

“Wait, what guy?” I ask, following him.

“I dunno his name. Just that’s he’s a deputy with the town.”

“Wait, you’re saying the Vosses had one of the town’s deputies working for them?” I ask.

“Yeah, Zoey said he was always at every meeting in case something went sideways. The Vosses were kind of paranoid." He pauses. “I mean, I guess now I see why.”

“This deputy, do you know what he looked like?” I ask.

“I dunno,” he replies. “She never said much about him. Just that he was always there. I gotta run.” He trots off to the coach, presumably letting him know he’ll be gone for the rest of the day before heading off at a near sprint back down the road in the direction of his house. More than likely he’ll beat us back to Sable Cove.

“Well,” Zara finally says. “Guess it’s a good thing we came down here after all.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

By the time we get back to Sable Cove it’s already past noon, which means the memorial service has already begun. Zara and I drive there immediately, finding our other team vehicle already on the scene.

The memorial is being held in an area just outside town known as Temple Heights. The area is mostly a wildlife sanctuary but there is a nearby building that acts as both a learning center as well as a community center which is adjacent to one of the small local rivers. Even though there is plenty of parking, the place is packed, and I catch sight of one of Denham’s people directing traffic to get everyone in and out safely.

I can’t help but eye them with a bit of suspicion as we pass.

Thinking back on what the kid told us, I recall what I’d originally thought about the Vosses: that it would have been beneficial if they’d had someone on the inside keeping their hands clean. When we first began this investigation, I had assumed that person would have been Denham. But now I see it makes much more sense for it to be one of his deputies. Denham would be insulated from any scandals and a deputy would be much more likely to stay off the radar. The town looks to Denham, but his deputies are virtually invisible.

“Jeez, think there’s anyone left in town?” Zara asks as we pull into one of the few free spots.

“Let’s just get in there,” I say. “My bet is the killer is a lot closer than we originally suspected.”

“That kid could have been talking out of his ass,” Zara says. “We don’t have any evidence one of Denham’s people was working private security for the Vosses.”

“Zoey could confirm it,” I say. “Maybe that’s what she was so worried about. Especially if this person knew what she was doing for the Vosses. She’s the only one who could finger him.”

“Then we need to get someone on Zoey watch,” Zara says, turning the car off.

“Already on it,” I say. “I sent Nadia over there to keep an eye on things while the rest of us are here. I’ve already informed Liam and Elliott of what we found.”

“You don’t think anyone’s actually going to try anything here?”

“No, but I think if one of Denham’s deputies is involved, this is a perfect opportunity for us to find them.”

We both get out and join the few stragglers who are heading into the community center. It’s a long, flat room where a bunch of folding chairs have been set up for the audience. Off to the right, large, floor to ceiling windows overlook an expansive pond. I spot both Liam and Elliott, who have positioned themselves on opposite sides of the room, giving them a perfect vantage point of everyone in the audience. I also catch sight of Wilkinson, with his notepad in hand as he observes the ceremony. He shoots a quick glance my way before returning to his report.

At the very front of the room are two large portraits sitting on easels, one of Gareth and the other of Petra. They’re both smiling almost as if they were looking at each other. I can’t tell if the images were cut out from a social media post of some kind or were actual studio pictures they had professionally made.

“Program?” A man hands me a small, folded piece of paper. I take it and examine the schedule. It consists mostly of people speaking about the Vosses interspersed with a few multimedia presentations.

Zara and I take up positions similar to Liam and Elliott. I spot three of Denham’s deputies also stationed around the room, though two of them are sitting with the crowd. Though the one deputy I don’t see is Mabry—the one who was with Mrs. Hargrove last night. He must still be at the hospital. Denham stands near the front of the room, speaking with an older couple.

I also catch sight of Sandra Okafor who turns and gives me a small wave. I don’t wave back.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming,” the man at the small dais says. “If we haven’t met personally, I’m Mike Pierce, head of the Sable Cove Tourism Board and I’d like to welcome you to this celebration of life.” He looks around with a fake smile plastered on his face. “To many of us, Gareth and Petra weren’t just neighbors, they were close, close friends. It cannot be overstated just how much good they did for this community in the time they were part of it. To lose them in this way is not only tragic, but a blow to the future of Sable Cove. But like I always say, as long as we stick together, we will come through this terrible tragedy stronger than ever before.”

Seriously? Man, this guy has some ego.

“We’d like to begin the program with a quick presentation from the historical society, who have graciously put together a short film celebrating Gareth and Petra’s accomplishments here in Sable Cove.” He holds out a hand and moves to the side as the lights go down and a projector hanging from the ceiling clicks on. At the front of the room, the entire wall becomes a screen which begins to show video from a series of social events.

And for the first time I get a solid look at Gareth and Petra Voss. In the videos they are unmistakable. Always the center of attention, both of them beautiful and magnetic, and surrounded by friends. There isn’t a scene where they aren’t smiling or laughing, or toasting to some accomplishment. Even though this is just a clip reel, it feels very intentional not to show them in anything that could be construed as a bad light.

I scan the crowd as they watch. Most people are paying attention, and a few are wiping away tears. Though there are a few on their phones.

As I’m mentally cataloging the people not really paying attention, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to see a message from Liam.

Your 3 o’clock. Ray Curran.

I look up and find the man he’s talking about. He’s one of the ones engaged on his phone while the woman next to him watches the movie, her attention completely on what’s on the screen. I wonder if she was the one who dragged him here, otherwise I can’t imagine why he would even want to show up.

Scanning the crowd, I don’t see any sign of Glen Arpel. I guess he wasn’t kidding when he said he’d had enough of the Vosses. I can’t say I blame him. From what I’ve seen on screen, they come off as almost narcissistic; clearly enjoying all the praise and attention.

I wonder if that’s what it was really about. Maybe it wasn’t the money at all, but all the praise that comes along with “helping.” But those feelings must have been short-lived, as they’d always need to recoup their money. So they’d move on, always chasing the feeling and building a stellar reputation in the community while doing it.

And yet, there’s no doubt in my mind at least half the people in this room know what was really going on. The scam they were running, bilking people like Sandra Okafor out of their money. But in the end, it didn’t matter. They’ll be remembered as community leaders who did their best to help.

As the presentation ends and Pierce comes back to the mic and keeps everything on schedule, I look for anyone who might not belong. Given what happened to Zoey, I’m willing to rule her out as a suspect, especially after what we learned from Ryan. She hadn’t made a call to cover up a murder; she’d called her boyfriend because she’d been terrified about finding her former employers on that beach. And if she had been the killer, it wouldn’t have made sense for her to lead Emilia there either. Unless she was trying to create artificial doubt, but even Zoey didn’t strike me as that devious.

My eyes keep finding Denham’s deputies. One of these people worked private security for the Vosses. And as far as I know, they were doing it right under Denham’s nose. At the very least, they would know who the Vosses met with on Friday night an hour or two before they were killed. They might even be the culprit themselves; it’s impossible to tell.

What I do know is the Vosses hurt enough people that someone finally put a stop to it. I just need to find who.

However, as I look out over the crowd, I check again for Mabry, my pulse ratcheting up. There’s no sign of the man.

At the front Pierce continues talking, gushing over the Vosses while I slip out the back, pulling out my phone.

“This is Kane,” Nadia says on the other end.

“Nadia,” I say, almost breathless as my mind starts to imagine the worst possible scenario. “Are you at the hospital?”

“I am,” she says. “But there’s been a development. I was just about to call you.”

My heart practically stops. “What kind of development?”

“Mrs. Hargrove won’t let me anywhere near Zoey,” she says. “She threw the fit of the century, said she would sue you, me, the federal government and everyone under the sun if we didn’t stop badgering her.”

I let out a breath. That sounds about right. “Fine, whatever,” I say. “Is one of Denham’s deputies there? A man named Mabry?”

“No,” she says. “There wasn’t anyone here when I arrived except Emilia, her mother and this Ryan kid.”

I take a second and lean against the nearest car. For a moment there I thought we might have inadvertently let our guard down and allowed the Vosses’ killer to get too close to Zoey. But it seems I was wrong. Still, that doesn’t mean Mabry is in the clear. None of Denham’s deputies are.

I pause, thinking for a moment. “Okay, just… stay there for a while, okay? I don’t care what Carol Hargrove or anyone else says. Don’t let Zoey out of your sight. We got a tip one of Denham’s deputies may have been running security for the Vosses and I don’t want her alone right now.”

“What, really?” Nadia asks. “You don’t know which one?”

“Not yet,” I reply. “I’m working on it now.”

“Good luck. They have Zoey under observation,” Nadia says. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t leave my field of vision.”

“Thanks.”

I hang up, relief flooding through me. I was sure there for a second that Mabry might have used Carol’s grief to get close to Zoey. I guess I was way off.

As I head back to the memorial, the doors bust open and Denham’s deputies come running towards me. For a brief second I feel like I’m being rushed and my hand goes to my weapon, only for them to run past me and head for their cars.

Liam and Elliott come running out behind them.

“What the hell is going on?” I ask as Denham’s deputies pile in their cars and speed off.

“Just got a call over the scanner,” Liam says. “The Voss house is on fire.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

I see the smoke before we clear the tree line. It’s a huge black plume, cutting through the clear blue sky like a scar on the dome of the world.

“Holy shit,” I say as Liam drives up to the property. We’ve made it over here in record time, right behind Denham’s truck and the other police vehicles running full sirens. The fire department is already on the scene, two large trucks with hoses going full bore, though it’s clear they’re fighting a losing battle. The entire house is engulfed in flames. There’s no way it won’t be a total loss. As best I can tell, the fire department will be lucky to keep the flames from spreading beyond the property.

What was once their immaculate landscaping has been destroyed from the heavy vehicles driving over it and the gate has been broken open on its hinges, no doubt by the fire trucks in their determination to get here as soon as possible.

Denham pulls up just beyond the gate, about a hundred yards from the house itself. He leaves one of his men at the entrance to control the crowd that’s already formed there. We pull in behind him. Liam and I get out of the car and the heat from the burning house hits me like a furnace. Even though we’re a hundred yards away, it feels like we’re right next to the flames. I don’t see how the firefighters are managing it.

“Was there anyone in the house?” I ask as Liam and I join Denham. We left Zara and Elliott at the service in case this was some kind of diversion.

“I don’t know,” Denham says, staring at the fire. “Someone on the lake spotted it.”

“Wait,” I say, turning to him. “Someone on the lake called it in? Like in a boat? Who?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “Does it really matter?” He continues staring at the flames.

I turn to Liam. “Can we get in touch with the local 911 dispatch office?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Gimme a second.” He pulls his phone out and heads beyond the gate while I stay with Denham.

“Who could have done this?” he asks. It’s like he’s somewhere else right now, seeing something else. He seems transfixed by the fire as the flames continue to dance and lick around the frame of the property.

“Someone looking to make a statement,” I say. “Or trying to hide something.”

He turns to me. “But your people already pulled all the evidence, didn’t they?”

“I don’t know if we got all of it,” I say, thinking back to what Glen Arpel said. He told us the Vosses had been interested in building a secret compartment in their house, like an underground bunker. He’d refused the job, but that didn’t mean they didn’t get someone else to do it for them.

“I just don’t understand what’s going on here,” Denham says. “This kind of thing doesn’t happen in Sable Cove.”

Or maybe it does, and the Sheriff is just blind to it.

“Em,” Liam says, getting my attention. He motions to his phone.

I take it and head out of earshot of Denham. “This is Special Agent Emily Slate with the FBI. Who am I speaking with please?”

“Ester Crump,” the woman on the other end says. “Local dispatcher.” The woman sounds like she’s probably in her sixties or seventies. Someone who has seen a lot of action and the kind of person who isn’t fazed by much.

“You received the call about the Voss fire?” I ask.

“About thirty-three minutes ago,” she replies. “Came through the 911 channel.”

“Who reported it?” I ask.

“Didn’t give a name,” she says. “Just said he was on the lake and spotted the fire from there.”

“Then it was a man,” I say. “If you had to estimate, how old would you say he was?”

“Probably older,” she says. “We always ask for identification on our 911 calls, but he hung up before giving any information.”

“Thank you, Ester,” I say. “You’ve been a big help.” I hang up and hand the phone back to Liam. “C’mon,” I say. “We need to make another stop.”

“You sure about this?” Liam asks as we get out of the car. I stare up at the sign for the Sable Cove Marina.

“Trust me,” I say. “I’ve got a hunch.” We make our way over to the building adjacent to the marina—the one with the large fish over the door. Inside the home of the Sable Cove Yacht Club we find a meeting area with a small stage and in the back, a rental office that seems to be more of an afterthought than anything else. A girl with black hair and a series of earrings running from the top to the bottom of her ear sits in the booth, playing on her phone.

“We need a boat,” I say to the girl.

She barely looks up, instead pulls out a form on a clipboard. “Here.”

I place my badge on the desk between us. “No. We need a boat. Right now.”

She glances at the badge, then at us, her expression barely changing. “What kind of boat?”

“What do you have?” Liam asks.

“Pontoon, cruiser, sailboat, speedboat… if you want something bigger you’ll have to go down to the other cove. Nothing over twenty-five feet here.”

“Speedboat,” I say.

“Slip sixteen,” she says. “Other side of the road. But you’ll have to sign a waiver against damages.”

“Fine,” I say, taking the form and signing it. She hands over the keys and goes back to her phone.

I lead Liam back out to the other side of the road and find slip sixteen, which is only a few down from where Zara and I met Walt Cready the other morning. The boat is bright green, and still has a cover on it protecting it from the weather.

“Do you know how to drive this thing?” Liam asks.

“How hard can it be?” I ask, pulling the cover off. The fact is I’ve only ever driven a boat once in my life, and I sure as hell haven’t ever parked one. But we have a very limited window here and I don’t want to lose it. The boat is facing the shore, which means we’ll have to back it out. After taking a minute to familiarize myself with the controls and watching a quick YouTube video on seafaring basics, I start the engine, letting it run for a minute before putting the boat into reverse and backing it out of the slip slowly.

The controls aren’t what I’m used to in a car, and I find I have to keep overcompensating to get it to do what I want. As I’m backing out of the slip, I accidentally scrape the side of the boat on the wooden dock on the far side.

“Good thing you signed the waiver,” Liam says.

“Shut up,” I say with a smile as I finish backing up. Finally, we get moving forward but due to the no-wake zone it’s excruciatingly slow. Once we’re out of the cove and beyond the marina, I open up the engine and almost lose my balance as the speedboat rockets forward.

“Whoa!” Liam yells. I look behind me to see him hanging on to the seats around the lounging area in the back. I grin again and punch the throttle harder, pushing the boat even faster out onto the lake. It’s not as calm as it’s been the past few days, and there’s a little chop which we begin to jump due to the speed.

Water sprays at my face as I continue to push the throttle, forcing the speedboat faster and faster through the small chop and the wind. My hair is now a wild, tangled mess but at least it’s out of my eyes. And for a brief second as we hit one of the waves we’re both launched into the air and I experience zero G before coming back down.

I can see why people get addicted to this. I think I read something about an annual race on the lake somewhere and some inert part of me feels the pull to keep pushing the boat even harder.

But we’re not here to satisfy whatever this is. We need to find one very specific boat—one I’m sure hasn’t made it very far.

There’s a sailboat on the horizon, a couple of larger boats in the distance, and a yacht off to the south. A couple of fishing boats stick close to the shore or the Jefferson River where we just came out, but not the one I’m looking for.

We ride parallel to the shore for about ten minutes before I spot the Voss house in the distance. It sticks out like a sore thumb with the pillar of black smoke still erupting from the property. As we approach, I catch sight of multiple boats of different sizes bobbing about a hundred yards from shore, all of them with people watching the firefighters continue to work to put out the blaze. I’m relieved to see they seem to have gotten it under control.

Unfortunately, I don’t see my target. The Second Shift.

Once is a coincidence. Twice is a conspiracy. From the person Ester described, I’m sure the person who called in the fire was Walt Cready. And there was no way he just “happened” upon the fire either. He was either responsible, or he knows who was.

“He can’t have gotten very far in that piddly little thing,” I say more to myself than to Liam. Then I remember, Walt left town right after the Vosses were found dead. He said he’d gone north to Brempton. Maybe he’s decided on a similar tactic, at least until the fervor dies down.

Walt’s an old dog, and for old dogs, habits die hard.

I push the throttle again and head north, scanning the water for his boat on the horizon. The wind continues to whip at my face, drowning out all but the loudest of noises, which is mostly the speedboat motor. It feels like the calm weather we’ve been enjoying has taken a turn, though I don’t see a cloud in the sky. Just the sun making its slow march towards the horizon.

About thirty minutes after leaving the Voss property I spot it, running near the shore with the motor going at full speed. But it’s little more than a fishing boat and can’t be moving more than ten or fifteen miles per hour. The speedboat rockets forward and we catch up to the man in practically no time. He spots us coming up beside him and his eyes go wide as I get ahead of him and pull the speedboat into a full stop, blocking his direct path. He could easily maneuver around us, but he’ll never be able to outrun us.

Instead, he does the smart thing and cuts his engine, allowing his boat to come to a stop about fifteen feet from ours. “Agent,” he calls out.

“Mr. Cready,” I reply. “I think you and I need to have a talk.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

“I don’t understand what I’m doing here,” Walt Cready says as we take a seat in the restaurant portion of the Sable Cove Yacht Club. I’ve just finished returning the speedboat keys to the desk along with an apology for the superficial damage to the boat. I neglected to mention how much work Liam and I had to do to get the boat back into the slip in one piece, a lot of which was Liam physically pushing the boat on one side or another to keep it from smashing into the slip.

Maybe it wasn’t my finest moment in front of Walt Cready, but it wasn’t like he could have run off while we were busy getting the boat back in. And to his credit, he hasn’t said a word about my lack of seafaring skills yet.

“We’re here because you’re the one who called in the fire at the Voss house,” I say. “Which is the second time you’ve magically been in the right place at the right time.”

He leans back in his seat as a waiter comes over to our table but I wave him away. “You don’t have any proof.” It’s not a denial.

“Don’t jerk me around,” I say. “We both know it was you. You’re still a cop at your core and you know as well as I do that if you hadn’t, the fire could have spread to the surrounding areas. Maybe even taken out a few other houses. What happened? House more flammable than you expected?”

“What makes you think I set that fire?” he asks. Another deflection. And this is why I hate interrogating cops.

“It fits, doesn’t it?” I ask. “You could have pulled up to the dock, made all the preparations without anyone seeing you and then been back on your boat and away from the house just as the blaze was taking hold. You didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing a car or any of the private security cameras on the road catching you. You also conveniently manage to bypass the Vosses’ main gate.”

He scoffs. “Got it all figured out, do you? What’s the motive?”

“Because you wanted to make sure there wouldn’t be any other evidence that pointed back to you. Maybe you already knew we raided the house for their documents and maybe you didn’t, but I’m willing to bet the Vosses had a secret on their property. Something that could only be destroyed using something as volatile as a house fire.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he says. “I was the one who found the Vosses on the beach. What would I be covering up?”

“Because you were running private security for them,” I say. “You were present at all their meetings, making sure everyone played fair. But you missed something, left too early that Friday, didn’t you? Someone got by you and killed the Vosses. And you needed to do some cleanup.”

He crosses his arms. “Not a bad theory, Agent,” he says. “But you’ll never prove it. Especially because it isn’t true.”

“Let’s see what the fire investigators come back with,” I say. “Fire is destructive, but it always leaves a trace. I’ll also need you to come in so we can do a forensic test on your hands and clothes to see if we can find any residual traces of soot or accelerants.”

He shakes his head. “The sheer hubris of the federal government. I’m not going anywhere. And without a warrant, you’ve got no reason to hold me here,” he says. “I know my rights and you’re not getting a thing from me. And no judge is going to side with you either. Not unless you come up with something more concrete.”

As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. I don’t have any evidence he was the one running security for the Vosses, though it would explain why he would be able to without Denham knowing. But I have a secret weapon that he doesn’t know about. As soon as Zoey IDs him, that will be the only evidence I need.

“Okay,” I say. “How about you and I just sit right here until my partner here gets that warrant you’re so sure we can’t get. Then we’ll see who is so smug.”

Cready furrows his brow. I nod to Liam. “Get Nadia on the phone, see if Zoey is awake and talking.”

“Wait,” Cready says before Liam can get out of the booth. “The Hargrove girl?”

I nod. “Don’t know if you heard or not, but there was an incident last night. She’ll be okay, they got to her in time. But we know she was present at some of these meetings you provided security for. She’ll have no trouble giving us a positive ID.” I motion for Liam to get moving.

“Stop,” Cready says, uncrossing his arms and leaning forward. “Just… hold on a second.”

“Sorry, Walt,” I say, more than a little pleased with myself. “This is happening. You can either be an active participant, or we can do it the hard way.”

“You don’t understand,” he says. “I’m not lying. I didn’t set the fire.”

“Liam,” I say. “Call Nadia.”

“Wait, wait,” Cready says, more urgently now. “I didn’t. But I know who did.”

I pause. “Who?”

“I need assurances,” he replies.

“Such as?”

He looks from me to Liam again. “There are… mitigating circumstances. He didn’t have a choice.”

“Who?” I ask.

“My nephew,” he says before casting his gaze back to the table.

“Who is your nephew?” I ask.

“Neil… Mabry,” he says. “He’s one of Denham’s deputies. I… got him the job.”

Damn. So Mabry was the culprit. And the reason he wasn’t at the memorial was because he was at the Voss house, trying to destroy evidence. “Why would he set the fire?” I ask. “Unless… he was the Vosses’ private security?”

He nods.

I turn to Liam. “Contact Nadia. Tell her Mabry may be coming for Zoey.” Shit. He was there with them last night.

“No, you don’t understand,” Cready says. “He won’t hurt the girl… I don’t think.”

Liam gets out of the booth and puts his phone to his ear.

“You don’t think?”

Cready purses his lips. “He’s not prone to violence.”

“According to you, he just set a mansion on fire!”

“Yes,” Cready replies. “But that was because he didn’t have a choice.”

“Are you saying someone put a gun to his head and told him to do it? The Vosses are dead. The only reason he would do that would be out of self-preservation… a way to keep people from finding out—” Then it clicks. What if my earlier suspicion was true, that the person who killed the Vosses was the very person they had employed to protect them? It would be the perfect cover—one they would never see coming.

“Neil isn’t like that,” Cready says. “He was only working for the Vosses because they were blackmailing him.”

“He was the one who told you about them being on that beach, wasn’t he?” I ask. “He asked you to call it in. So it wouldn’t look as suspicious.”

Cready lets out a long breath. “Yes. He called me. He found them… originally.”

I shake my head. “You can’t know he didn’t kill them.” I pull out my phone and call Zara. “Z. We need an APB out on Deputy Mabry. But keep it quiet, we don’t want to spook him.”

“What about Denham?” she asks.

“I don’t know if we can trust him,” I say. “For the time being, keep it internal only. Let’s just find him before anything else happens.”

“Em, what’s going on?” she asks.

“I’ll explain later. Just find him.”

“On it.” She hangs up.

“You don’t understand,” Walt says, his combative demeanor completely gone. “Neil is a good kid. He just got in over his head.”

“You’re not impartial in this,” I say. “And you’re an accessory. How long was he working for them?”

“I… don’t know,” he admits. “I only found out about it last year. But I feel like it was longer.”

I was right. The Vosses did have a hand in Denham’s office. A way to control the narrative if necessary. They probably figured they’d never need it for themselves. Mabry was probably the one on cleanup duty, making sure none of the people they were leaning on ever made it as far as Denham. “How many people knew about his involvement? How many of their victims?”

“I don’t know that either,” Cready says. “I found out by accident. I was coming back early one morning from fishing and passed the property. I saw Neil out there talking to Gareth. He spotted me; there was no mistaking it. He just said it wasn’t a big deal and that he was doing some work during his off-hours.”

“But that wasn’t all it was,” I say.

“No. He was working for them whenever they needed. When I told him to just stop, to not ruin his career by doing this, he told me he didn’t have a choice. The consequences of going against the Vosses would have been a lot worse than just doing what they asked.”

“Did you know the Vosses were blackmailing people all over town?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Word had gotten around.” I give him an accusatory glare. “What was I supposed to do? I’m pushing seventy. It wasn’t like I could force the kid to quit.”

“You could have exposed him to Denham,” I say. “All of it.”

“I didn’t want him getting hurt,” Cready says. “He’s my sister’s son. I was trying to watch out for him.”

“I’m sure he’ll thank you once he’s in a jail cell.” I turn to see Liam making his way back over.

“No sign of Mabry at the hospital, but Nadia says Zoey is awake and ready to talk. If we can get past Carol Hargrove.”

“Leave Hargrove to me,” I say, standing. “Okay, Cready. Up. You’re under arrest for aiding and abetting and for concealing the details of a crime.”

The man curses and turns around, his arms behind him. Thankfully he doesn’t fight me as I restrain him and lead him back outside. The people working at the Yacht Club look on, their eyes wide.

I have to admit there’s a certain amount of satisfaction taking Cready into custody. It feels like we’re finally starting to get somewhere with this case. At least now our goal is clear: find Mabry and bring him in for questioning. Whatever he was hoping to accomplish by destroying the Vosses’ house has just cast a huge spotlight on him. Maybe if he hadn’t bothered, we never would have figured out he was the one Ryan Deats was talking about back at the lacrosse field.

But it begs the question: what was he trying to hide? And why go to such lengths to hide it? We’d already raided the house of all the Vosses’ personal documents. At least... that’s what we assumed.

Maybe we missed something. And given the size of that fire, it must have been something big.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Instead of taking Cready to the station, Liam and I drive him back to the cabin temporarily. At least until we know we can trust Denham. If we walked in with Cready in cuffs and Denham was covering for Mabry, he could give the deputy some kind of signal that we were onto him and we don’t need this getting more complicated than it already is.

I really want to sit down with Zoey, but until we have a lock on Mabry I don’t feel comfortable doing that. Thankfully, Nadia is keeping watch at the hospital while Elliott and Zara are out looking for the deputy.

As we bring Walt Cready into the cabin, the sun is just beginning to reach the tops of the trees on its slow march towards the horizon. I move Cready’s restraints to the front and plant him on the couch. Hopefully this won’t take very long. I really don’t want to babysit this man all night.

My phone buzzes as Liam fixes Cready some coffee.

“Z?”

“Nothing yet,” she says. “But since it’s really only the two of us it could take a while. He’s not at his home and he’s not at the station. Any idea where else he might be?”

I turn to Cready. “Where does your nephew like to hang out on Saturday nights?”

He scoffs. “Like I would know?”

“Do what you can,” I tell Zara. “If I find anything else out, I’ll let you know.”

“Ugghh,” she says. “Okay, but we’re switching shifts at midnight.” She hangs up.

Liam brings the coffee to Cready, who takes it carefully. He then motions for me to follow him back to the kitchen. “What if Mabry already ran?” he asks.

“Then we’ll have to put out a nationwide search for him,” I say, but even I know if he’s left Sable Cove the likelihood of us catching up with him dwindles by the minute.

“What if we bring Denham in on this?” Liam suggests. “He’ll probably know where he is.”

“And if Denham’s an accessory?” I ask.

“I think that’s a risk we have to take,” he replies. “If you want to track down Mabry quickly.”

As much as I hate to admit it, I think he’s right. This entire time I’ve been keeping Denham at arm’s length. Maybe it’s finally time to get up close and personal with the man and figure out what’s really behind those dark eyes of his. See if he really has what’s best for this town at heart or if it’s all nothing more than an act.

“Okay,” I say. You stay here and keep an eye on him. I’ll deal with Denham.”

“Don’t you want some backup?”

“We’re stretched too thin as it is,” I say. “Plus, if he sees his old boss and colleague like this it probably won’t do us any favors. Just—” I point to Cready. “—let me know if he says anything else.”

“Be careful out there,” Liam says and grabs my waist, pulling me in for a quick kiss.

“I’ll keep you updated,” I say and head back out the door to the car.

I make my way back over to the Voss property, only to find once I’m there that Sheriff Denham has already left and there’s nothing but a few fire trucks remaining, keeping a watch on the fire that looks to be out. I have a few words with the fire chief and ask him to take a closer look at the property as soon as it’s safe. He assures me they will, but it won’t be until tomorrow as we’re quickly losing light.

My next stop is the Sable Cove Sheriff’s Department, but Denham isn’t there either. I consider calling the man, but I’d rather find him first. I don’t want him to get the slightest suspicion something is wrong.

Though if he is covering for Mabry, he may already be ready for me. As I’m on my way to his residence, I pass the same diner where I met Wilkinson. Dolly’s. The parking lot is packed. And among the cars is Sheriff Denham’s truck.

“Bingo,” I say, pulling behind the building. I park and get out, making my way around to the front. Inside the entire wraparound counter is full, along with most of the booths.

“You’re back. Gonna eat this time?” a waitress asks as she sets down a plate of food and comes over to meet me.

“Just looking for the sheriff,” I say.

“Sure, he’s at the counter.” She makes a motion with her head and I look around the crowd to see Denham sitting at the very last stool right up against the wall.

I head down the aisle and pass quite a few people I recognize from the memorial earlier. They do their best not to stare at me, but I see it anyway. I’ve always had a second sense for when people are watching me.

“Evening, Sheriff,” I say, taking up a position behind him.

He barely looks over his shoulder. “Agent Slate. You sure left in a hurry.”

“I had something come up. But I swung back by before coming here,” I say. “Chief thinks it should be good for the night. They’ll start combing through the rubble in the morning.”

“Mmm.”

“Hell of a day, huh?”

“You don’t strike me as the small talk kind of person,” he says finally turning on the stool to face me.

“Fine, I’ll get right to it. How well do you trust the people working for you?”

He glances at the man next to him, who is doing his best not to look like he’s eavesdropping on our conversation and doing a terrible job of it. “Come with me.” He stands and pushes through the door to the kitchen where he leads me through the labyrinth of cooking areas until we reach the door to the outside, beside the dumpsters. “Now. Why don’t you just say what you mean to say instead of dancing around it?”

“Okay,” I say. “I think someone on your payroll is dirty. The Vosses were running a massive blackmailing operation in this town. Apparently without your knowledge. But there’s no way they could have covered themselves if they didn’t have help from someone in your office.”

“I have good people working for me. Career officers,” he says. “People who put their lives on the line for this community.”

“I don’t doubt that,” I say. “But the Vosses were masters at manipulation. You saw everyone in that community center today. People they were actively harming and yet their reputation is stronger than ever. Despite the fact I’d be willing to bet at least half the town was either being squeezed or knew someone who was. But social pressure is a powerful tool. And the Vosses wielded it expertly. Your department may be full of some of the best people in the world, but no one is perfect. And if Gareth or Petra found something that could have compromised one of your people, you can bet your ass they would have used that.” I watch him carefully for any tell that he already knows what I’m talking about. I catch a flash of anger on his face, though that’s not surprising. I’d be more worried if he’d had no reaction at all. I’ve basically just accused his department of being part of a criminal enterprise. But he at least has to admit he turned a blind eye to what was really going on here. No one could have missed this unless they wanted to.

“I think you better leave, Agent Slate.”

I lean forward, lowering my voice. “I have a witness in custody who can back up my claims.”

He levels his gaze at me as a cool burst of air blows across his face, rustling the stiff hairs on his head.

“Did you know?” I ask, lowering my voice.

“No,” he replies.

“Never had any idea it was happening?” If I’m going to get to the bottom of this, I have to keep pushing. It’s the only way to get to the truth. But I can practically feel the anger radiating off the man.

Denham closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before addressing me again. “You may think we’re just a bunch of hicks out here, Slate. But I can assure you, I take the law seriously. I always have. If what you say is true… then I missed it. But I sure as hell won’t let it go any further. Tell me who I need to arrest.”

I search his face for any sign of deception and find none. He believes what he’s saying. And the fact he’s willing to take responsibility for it gives me some confidence. But I can’t let him off the hook, not until I’m a hundred percent sure.

“Just like that? No pushback?”

“What do you want me to do? Stand here and argue with you?” he asks. “I’m not perfect, nor do I pretend to be. If something this large has happened on my watch, then that’s my responsibility and when it’s all over, I’ll hand in my badge. But not until it’s finished. This is my mess, and I’m going to clean it up.”

I fold my hands together, still keeping my voice low. In a town this size, information moves quickly. And every wall has ears. “Mabry.”

His gaze darkens. “No.”

“I have it on good information he started the fire. The only reason he would do that is to cover up evidence that could implicate him.”

Denham runs his hand down his jawline as he considers the possibility. “Neil—I’ve worked with him for almost seven years. You’re sure?”

I nod.

He sighs. “Walt is going to be devastated.”

Not as devastated as you think. But I don’t want to get bogged down with that right now. Denham will learn the full truth soon enough. “I need to find Mabry,” I say. “He’s not at home or on duty as far as we can tell. Where would he be on a night like this?”

Denham checks his watch. “Probably out bowling. He and some of his friends from school usually get together on Saturday nights.”

“He wasn’t at the memorial,” I say.

“I figured I’d kept him out late enough last night with the Hargrove girl,” Denham replies. “So I gave him the day off.”

“And we see what he did with it,” I reply. “You’re sure he’ll be bowling?”

“We’re all creatures of habit, Agent Slate. Sometimes we just can’t help it.”

I follow Denham over to the local bowling alley which I would have missed had I not been paying attention. It’s little more than a sign outside a row of three-story buildings near downtown. There look to be apartments in the floors above, but the lower floors are taken up by a barber on the left and the bowling alley on the right. It’s quaint in a way, reminding me of a time I never personally experienced. But I’ve seen places like this in old movies.

When Denham said “bowling alley” I thought he meant more of a modern version, like a freestanding building with fifteen or twenty lanes and a hundred parking spaces. But as we enter the small space, I realize there are only three lanes which extend towards the back of the building. The front is a bar and gathering space, full of stools and high-top tables. The sound of balls striking pins is barely audible over the classic rock playing over the old speakers. Faded plaques and pictures decorate both walls, along with a few old trophies that have been hung for posterity.

I spot Deputy Mabry at the first lane with three other guys, all of them laughing as they rib each other over a gutter ball. For a hot second I start to doubt Walt’s claims, wondering if maybe he implicated his nephew to save his own skin. How could someone nearly start a forest fire and then act like nothing happened a few hours later, just having a few drinks with friends?

But the second Mabry spots us, his entire demeanor changes. A shadow falls over his face and he says something to his friends before getting up and approaching us.

“Neil,” Denham says.

“Sheriff,” he replies with a nod before looking to me. “What’s this about?”

“Going to need you to come down to the station,” Denham replies. “And I’d rather not make a big production out of it. Especially not in front of Ronnie and the others.”

Mabry looks over his shoulder at the men watching us before turning back to us. “Mind if I ask why?”

“I think you know why,” I reply.

“She put you up to this,” Mabry asks without acknowledging me. “Sheriff, you know me. Whatever she said⁠—”

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” Denham replies. “Let’s go.”

“Can’t believe you’re taking the word of some fed bitch over your own man,” Mabry says, raising his voice. “You always told me the feds operate on their own agendas. C’mon, Bill. This is bullshit and you know it.”

Denham sighs. “Don’t make me get the cuffs out. You can still walk out of here with your dignity.”

Mabry blows out a long breath, putting his hands on his hips as he looks at the ground. I see him tense a millisecond before he moves and gut-checks me with one elbow while knocking Denham out of the way with the rest of his body. He bolts for the door as I struggle to suck in air, doubled over. But I’m more surprised than actually injured and I recover faster than Denham. A second later I’m out the door after him, and catch sight of Mabry running for a nearby vehicle, struggling with something in his pocket.

I take off after him, running him down quickly and take him down on the concrete, his keys scattering across the pavement into the middle of the street. “Neil Mabry, you are under arrest for arson and conspiracy,” I tell him before reading him the rest of his rights. He’s strong, but he’s slightly inebriated, giving me the edge. Denham catches up a minute later, huffing.

“Really wish you hadn’t done that,” he says, out of breath.

“Whatever she said, she’s lying!” he shouts as I get him up on his knees, his hands bound behind is back.

“Then you just shot yourself in the foot,” Denham says. “Shoulda just let us work it out.”

“She’s poisoned you, Bill. It’s all part of the agenda!”

Okay, maybe he’s more inebriated than I originally thought.

“I’ll take him down and let him sweat it out in the drunk tank overnight,” Denham says. “Want to swing by in the morning?”

“Actually,” I say. “I’ll need to come by this evening anyway. I’ve got a drop-off as well.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

The following morning Zara and I are back at the Sheriff’s station. Last night I accompanied Denham and Mabry back over, the entire time Mabry throwing more unhinged obscenities in my direction until Denham got him into one of the cells in the back of the station. Thankfully, Liam met us over there to drop Cready off, which saved me another trip.

As soon as he brought Cready in, I could see the surprise on Denham’s face, though the man didn’t say another word. Just put Cready in an adjacent cell and told us to have a good night.

I barely remember sleeping, just waking up to the smell of fresh coffee this morning, courtesy of Zara. She was up earlier than everyone and was actually working on breakfast when Liam got up to help. She seems to be in a better place—at least for the time being. I still don’t know what to make of the situation with her brother, but that’s something we’ll unpack in the future. Right now, we have an interrogation to run.

Nadia is still obsessed with finding out who the third contested Voss file belongs to, though I suspect we’ll eventually find out it was Mabry—it gives him motive for the murder and the fire. She and Elliott are back at the cabin while Liam headed over to keep an eye on Zoey at the hospital. While I’m reasonably sure the girl is out of danger, I don’t want to take any chances. Not until I can be a hundred percent sure.

And the only way I can do that is with a confession. Or at the very least, an explanation.

“Morning,” I tell Denham as we walk in. The man gives us a nod, though the dark circles under his eyes tell me he probably didn’t get much sleep last night. Probably questioning how he could have missed something so monumental from both Mabry and Cready. Given how far Walt Cready was willing to go to protect his nephew, if I were Denham, I’d be questioning everything about the department going back thirty years.

“Neither one has been very talkative this morning,” he says, standing. “Except to tell me they want their lawyers.”

“Do they already have representation?” I ask.

“Neil does. He’ll be here in a few minutes but it’s provided by the department. Walt… I don’t think so.”

“Okay,” I say. “Let me talk to him before the lawyer gets here. Let’s see if I can get him to break.”

Denham creases his brow but doesn’t argue. He just heads to the back and returns with Mabry, taking him into one of the two interview rooms. Mabry stares daggers at me the entire time.

“Ready?” I ask Zara.

She rubs her hands together. “Yeah. This one’s gonna be fun.”

We enter the interview room, finding Mabry sitting at the far end of the only table in the room. He stares at us with a contempt that would make most people’s hair curl.

“Rough night?” I ask as Zara closes the door behind us and takes up her regular position at the back of the room.

“Go to hell,” he says. “I want my lawyer.”

“Troll alert,” Zara says, crossing her arms.

He glares at her. “What is that supposed to mean?” She just shrugs.

“You’ll get your lawyer,” I say. “I just have a few questions for you.”

“Let’s save everyone some time,” Mabry replies. “My only two answers are fuck and you.”

“Spicy this morning,” I say, settling into the chair across from him. “I guess I would be too if I knew I was on the hook for arson.”

“It’ll never stick,” he says. “My uncle is a crazy old man who doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Wow.” I glance back at Zara. “One minute in and he’s already throwing his uncle under the bus. Bold.”

“You’re just looking for a scapegoat because you can’t do your job properly,” he says. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“No?” I ask. “I wonder what the Vosses would say about that? Oh, right. They’re dead. And you were seen burning their house down. Now, let’s just put the whole arson thing to the side.” I regard him, then put on a more playful voice. “What on Earth could cause a man to go to such lengths? Could it be he’s hoping to destroy some evidence, perhaps?”

Mabry’s eyes bore into mine. “Kiss my ass.”

“Rather not, I’m sure it hasn’t been washed in a while,” I reply. “I mean, the arson is bad enough. But this doesn’t make you look very good for the murders either. Remind me, where were you last Friday night between oh, say, ten and midnight?”

The man only continues to grow redder in the face, but I have to admire his restraint.

I make a fake movement to look over my shoulder. “And what about your boss? Denham, I mean. Not Gareth or Petra. You’ve been working with him for what, six, seven years? And you’ve managed to go behind his back this entire time? Talk about betrayal.” Mabry grits his teeth. “Or, do you want to claim that he knew all about your little side venture this entire time? Maybe throw someone else under that bus as well?”

“You’re a fucking disgrace,” he says. “You and your girlfriend.”

I give him a terse smile. “Because I’m not sure you’re smart enough to have figured it out yet, let me tell you how this is going to go. Your lawyer will come in here and end this conversation. Then you will be formally charged and booked with arson, which, in Michigan, can carry a life sentence. Not only that, but you’re looking very good for the murders of Gareth and Petra Voss. I’m going to make it my mission in life to prove that your little stunt was some half-assed attempt to cover up evidence that you were actually the killer. We already know you ran security for them and you had easy access to them on Friday night.”

“You don’t have any evidence.”

“Oh, you’re wrong about that,” I reply. “Your little fire wasn’t nearly as successful as you think it was. And I think once that evidence comes to light the arson won’t even matter anymore. You’ll be on the hook for a double homicide.”

“You can’t do that,” he says. “I didn’t have anything to do with their murders.”

“So start talking then,” I reply. “Give me a better theory.”

He grits his teeth again, glancing at the door. Probably praying for his lawyer.

“Z,” I say. “You got anything else? Because otherwise I think we’re done here.”

She shakes her head, her arms crossed. “Nope. I’m good.”

“Okay, wait,” Mabry says. “Yes, I worked security for them. But you don’t understand. I didn’t have a choice. They blackmailed me into it.”

“Yeah, we figured out that much for ourselves, bucko. But thanks anyway. Oh, and you just gave yourself a motive. Good job.” I stand.

“Wait,” he says, more urgently this time. “I didn’t kill them, okay? I don’t know who did.”

“Then why set the fire?”

He looks to be on the verge of saying something, but thinks better of it.

I shrug. “Okay, your funeral.”

The door to the room opens, revealing a small man in a pinstripe suit and glasses. “Alright,” he says. “This interview⁠—”

“We’re already done,” I say, moving past the man for the door. “Your client was most helpful.”

He looks at me slack-jawed. “You can’t use anything he said in here against him,” the lawyer demands. “You interviewed him without counsel present. I’ll bring this to the…”

He continues talking as Zara and I ignore him and head for Denham’s office. His door is slightly cracked and I find the man sitting behind his desk, looking out the window. He turns as soon as he hears us at the door, motioning for us to come in.

“Did you get anything from him?”

“Denies killing the Vosses, but confirmed he was working security for them. So Cready’s story checks out. He didn’t exactly admit to the fire, but considering his uncle was the one who turned him in, I don’t think we’ll have a hard time getting that to stick.” I wait a few beats. “He knows more that he’s not saying. Whatever he was trying to cover up with the fire… it’s important. And he’s scared of it.”

“I’ll speak to Chief Kesich this morning to see when they plan to get back out there to dig through the rubble,” Denham says. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

I nod. “How are you doing?”

“Other than facing the fact I’m a failure in this job, you mean?”

“We all have bad days,” Zara suggests softly.

“Have you ever been so betrayed by someone you trusted and had no clue?”

I exchange a knowing glance with Zara. “In fact, we both have. And it sucks. But we didn’t quit.”

“If anything it pissed us off enough to make us keep going,” she adds.

Denham runs a hand through his hair. “I just don’t know,” he says. “This job… it was all I had after Molly. If it turns out I can’t even do this, then who am I?”

“We all do the best we have with what we’ve got,” I say. “I believe you have good people working for you, Sheriff. They’re not all like Mabry. Look at Walt. The kid practically grew up in his shadow and still… sometimes there’s nothing you can do.”

“I guess you’re right,” he says. “Doesn’t make me feel any better though.”

“It probably won’t ever feel right,” I reply. “But we learn to live with it and move on. Either that or you stay stuck forever.”

“What now?” he asks.

“We’re going to try our luck with Zoey Hargrove again,” I say. What I don’t tell him is this time I plan on being a lot less abrasive, knowing what the girl has been going through. I never should have approached her like a suspect in the first place, but just like Denham, I can’t change the mistakes I made in the past. All I can do is try to do better with the future.

“Let us know if he lets anything else slip,” Zara says.

“Don’t worry,” Denham replies. “I won’t be letting him out of my sight.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

When we arrive at the Sable Cove medical center, Liam is already outside waiting for us. He flags us down.

“She just took Zoey,” he says as Zara rolls her window down.

“Who did?” I ask.

“Carol. She insisted on taking Zoey with her. I couldn’t stop her.”

“Did she say where they were going?” Zara asks.

“No, but I expect that was the point,” Liam replies. “I checked with the doctor. He said they couldn’t legally hold her here any longer without a guardian or parent’s permission. And you can guess how that went.”

“Yeah,” I say, recalling my last conversation with Carol the other night. After her “warnings” I ordered everyone to keep their distance. And since we haven’t been slapped with a lawsuit yet, I think that means we’ve done a good job with that. But it seems like my mission today is to piss off a bunch of lawyers, so I might as well get it over with.

“Damn.” I turn to Zara. “Any ideas?”

“If you were missing, where’s the first place your chef over there would look?” she asks.

“Oh, right,” I say, pulling out my phone. I call Deborah Cross, who picks up on the first ring.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Cross? It’s Agent Slate. We’re looking for Zoey. Do you happen to know where she is?”

There’s a brief hesitation on the other end of the phone. “She’s here. Carol just dropped her off. Zoey told her she didn’t want to be alone in that house.”

“Would you mind if we stopped by?” I ask. “We just have a few quick questions for Zoey and we’ll be out of your hair.”

The woman huffs on the other end and I can practically feel her reluctance. “She asked me not to let anyone see Zoey.”

I’m not surprised; she has to know we want to speak with her. But even this is taking things further than I would have assumed. And why drop her off instead of stay with her after what they’ve just been through?

“I really don’t want to have to get a court order,” I say to Mrs. Cross. “But I will if necessary. Or we can make this quick and easy. Your call.”

“Fine,” she says. “But you need to make it quick. These girls have already been through more than enough. They need to be allowed to move on.”

“We’ll be as quick as we can,” I say. “Thank you.” I hang up and turn to Zara. “Good call.”

“I know.” She grins.

“Would you mind heading back over to the Voss property?” I ask Liam. “They should be sorting through what’s left of the house this morning. I want to make sure nothing gets overlooked.”

“Sure,” he says. “Keep me updated on your progress.” He gives me a quick kiss through the open window before heading off.

“You two are sickeningly cute,” Zara says. “If I weren’t so enamored I’d throw up.”

“Think we can get a straight answer out of Zoey with Emilia there?” I ask, pulling back out of the parking lot and heading for the Cross house.

“Let’s hope so,” she says. “I’m sure she’s dealing with a lot of emotions right now.”

She’s right. I just hope we don’t make things worse.

Zara provides the turn-by-turn directions that take us to the Cross house. It’s modest, but also impressive at the same time. When we get out, Mrs. Cross meets us out on the front porch, her arms wrapped around her.

“Please understand, you’re not supposed to be here. Carol has made her wishes clear and I think maybe you should get that court order. She’s not my child, after all.”

“Fifteen minutes,” I say. “That’s all we need.”

“Is it really that important?” she asks.

“We just need to ask Zoey about a few discrepancies—things she would have witnessed while working for the Vosses.”

“What sort of things?” Mrs. Cross asks.

“We can’t really talk about it,” I say. “But I promise we’ll be quick.”

The woman finally nods and moves to the side to allow us inside. Zara leads the way back to Emilia’s room, where we find the two girls sitting on opposite ends of the bed, talking in low whispers. They both turn as we appear at the cracked door. Zoey is wearing an oversized sweatshirt that covers the injuries on her wrists.

“How are you feeling?” I ask Zoey. She shrugs but doesn’t say anything else.

“How about you?” Zara asks Emilia.

“Scared,” she says.

“Zoey, I want to apologize for the other night,” I say. “I didn’t mean to upset you so badly.”

Zoey glances at Emilia. “It… wasn’t your fault,” she says. “I just… I have a lot going on.”

“We just have a few quick questions for you and then we’ll be gone, okay?” I ask. Zoey nods.

“Should I…” Emilia glances at the door.

“No, you’re fine,” I tell her. “I know what a comfort it is to have your best friend by your side when things are tough.” I turn back to Zoey. “Do you know who the Vosses used for their personal security? Anyone from around town?”

She nods. “Yeah. It was that deputy. Mabry. I saw him at their house a lot. He’d always come over before they had a big meeting.”

“Do you know if he was with them on Friday night? The night of the party?” I ask.

“I’m not sure. I didn’t do any work for them that day so I wasn’t over there.”

“This work you did for them, you were gathering information, weren’t you?” She drops her head. Emilia reaches over and Zoey takes her hand.

“I didn’t want to. But they said they’d cut my mom off if I quit.”

“Can you tell us specifically what you did for them?” Zara asks.

Zoey hesitates, looking away. I’m beginning to think there might be more to this than just a lot of eavesdropping.

“Zoey, I want to reiterate that you’re not in trouble. And you’re not a suspect. Whatever they had you do, that’s not your fault, okay?”

She nods. “They…uh…” She glances at Emilia who gives her a small nod. “They had me follow people. Watch them.”

“Watch them? For what?”

“For when they slipped up,” she says. “Like when Coach Henderson was messing around with Mrs. Peters. I uh… I knew what they were doing… I mean, most people knew what they were doing. But I was the one who set up the camera in the supply closet and got the recording.”

“Wait a second,” I say. “I’m assuming these two people aren’t married to each other. And the Vosses asked you to get proof of their infidelity?”

She nods. “Not just them. And not just people having sex. There was all sorts of stuff. Politicians on drugs, abuse, that kind of thing.”

“How did they know all this was going on?” Zara asks.

“The people they forced to pay—if they couldn’t pay, the Vosses told them to either give up their secrets or get outed. The thing was, it didn’t have to be a secret about themselves. It could be about anyone they knew.”

So the Vosses were using their own network of blackmail to push it one step further, and then used Zoey as their information gatherer. We’d been close, but I had no idea it went this deep. But the problem was we didn’t find any evidence like this in the folders we found.

“Do you know where they kept this evidence?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “Somewhere in the house,” she says. “But I don’t know all the details. I just delivered the files to them.”

I turn to Zara. “That’s why Mabry torched the house. To get rid of the stuff we hadn’t found yet.”

“Makes sense,” Zara says. “And he might have succeeded. But that’s probably why he started to crumble when you faked him out with that evidence maneuver.”

I turn back to Zoey. “This has been very helpful, thank you.”

“That’s it?” Emilia asks.

“Why, was there something else?”

“No,” she says. “I just… I thought there would be more questions.”

“We already have Mabry in custody,” I tell her. “We just needed Zoey to confirm he worked for the Vosses so we could move forward with the investigation. Given everything you’ve told us, I think we have a solid case to charge him with their murder.”

“They weren’t bad people,” Zoey says. “I mean, they weren’t good people either. They were just trying to survive.”

“You don’t have to make excuses for them,” I say. “They used you. And a lot of other people. They didn’t deserve to die for it, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t bad people.” I want to reach out and give her a supportive pat on the shoulder but I’m afraid she might react badly, so I just give her a reassuring smile instead. “Thank you again. This has been very helpful.” I glance at Emilia. “If things get tough again, know you can always count on your friends. I don’t know where I’d be without mine.”

“Okay,” she says, half-heartedly. Honestly, I’m just happy to get a response out of her at all.

As we head back through the house, I thank Mrs. Cross, who seems more than happy to be done with us. Given everything we’ve learned, Mabry is going to have a hard time arguing against what most certainly looks like a murder-slash-coverup. If Nadia can verify that the third contested binder is his, we’ll have him by the balls.

“Agent Slate, wait up.”

We turn to see Emilia come trotting up to us, her bare feet getting wet in the still-dewy grass.

“Is everything okay?” Zara asks.

“There’s something else. Zoey never would have said anything, but she told her mom she wanted to quit working for the Vosses.”

“When was this?” I ask.

“About a month ago,” Emilia says.

“Do you know what her mother said?”

“She said she would take care of it but… then nothing happened. I think… I think Zoey thought maybe she didn’t care. Or that she wanted the money too much. Ever since Zoey has been working they’ve had a lot more money. But Zoe never wants her mom to buy her anything.” She takes a shuddered breath.

“Why didn’t she say anything?” Zara asks.

“She’s embarrassed. I think because she sees how my mom is. I think she hopes that one day her mom will come around.”

“Emilia,” I say. “Did something happen with Zoey and her mom the other night? The night she… went to the hospital?”

“I don’t know,” Emilia says. “She won’t talk about it.”

Part of me wants to go back in there and ask her, but I’m not about to retraumatize the girl. She’s already taken way too much of this burden. “Thank you for telling us,” I say. “We appreciate it.”

“I feel like such a bad friend,” she says, more to Zara than me. “I didn’t see this happening. Not in a million years.”

“Usually the people suffering the most are the ones with smiles on their faces,” Zara says, causing me to pause a moment. “You’re there for her now. That’s what matters.”

“Thanks,” Emilia says, gently biting her lip before heading back in the house.

As she does, a cold wind pulls through the air, whipping my hair back.

Zara turns to me. “Carol Hargrove. She could have tried to pull Zoey out and hit a brick wall with the Vosses.”

“She told us Zoey was happy with the arrangement.” I stop at the car, my hand on the door. “But if Zoey did ask her mom to get the Vosses to let her go, and Carol tried and they wouldn’t, that would give her a very good motive, don’t you think?”

“Except with Zoey no longer working for them, she loses her cash cow,” Zara says. “And Carol Hargrove doesn’t strike me as the kind of person willing to give all that up for her daughter.”

“I don’t know,” I say. “You never know what a mother will do for her child. I think it’s time we find out, don’t you?”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

It’s funny. We spoke to Zoey to get confirmation that Mabry was our primary suspect, but after Emilia’s revelation I’m not so sure anymore. Carol Hargrove is a hothead. I could see her easily flying off the handle and killing both our victims in the heat of the moment. But we have to weigh that with the payments she was receiving from them. It’s like Zara said, if she killed them, even in a blind rage, she had to know she was shooting herself in the foot in the long run.

Still. That never stopped a lot of other killers.

Zara puts her phone away. “She’s not answering.”

“Of course she isn’t,” I reply. “She wants nothing more to do with us.” We’ve already been back by Carol Hargrove’s house but there was no one there. And given that it’s Sunday, tracking her down is going to be a challenge.

“Give me a second,” Zara says. “Maybe I can ping her cell and we can triangulate the general vicinity. Sable Cove isn’t that large.” She pulls out her laptop and gets busy with work that I still consider in some respects to be black magic. She seems more focused than before and I wonder how much all this stuff with her brother has been hindering her. How long has Nadia been taking the reins?

“Emilia really seems to have taken to you,” I say. “She kept looking at you before she spoke. I think if you hadn’t connected with her, she might not have told us about Zoey’s mom.”

“Poor kids,” Zara says, her fingers flying over the keyboard. “This is going to be with them forever.”

For a brief second I see that faraway look in her eyes again. The same one she had the night she told me about her brother. She hasn’t mentioned him again and I haven’t broached the subject again. Though I feel like it’s pretty monumental. “What was he like? Your brother.”

“A pain in the ass,” she replies. “He used to get me into trouble all the time. Always in trouble with the law. In some ways, he helped inspire me to join the FBI.”

“Really?” I ask. “How?”

She grins and closes the laptop. “By not wanting to be anything like him. I think I got a ping.” She pulls out her phone and calls the number again. This time a set of coordinates show up on her phone. “Close enough. 42.186291, -86.406370.”

“Got it,” I say, putting it into the GPS. “Shall we start by looking street by street?”

“Works for me,” she replies.

“Hey,” I say before putting the car in drive and pulling away. “I’m really glad you told me about him. I hope you don’t regret it.”

She pauses a moment. “You may not be so generous once you hear the whole story.”

“Z—”

“Let’s just finish this,” she says. “I’m getting vengeance itch with all this chaos and I want to make sure we nail the right person.”

My mind goes back to what Zara said to Emilia, that thing about the people suffering the most wearing the biggest smiles. And for the longest time that’s been Zara herself. She’s always been quick with a joke or a quip, and while that’s always been her personality, I see now recently it’s been something more. Which explains the extreme behavior on both ends.

I drive to the coordinates without mentioning him again. She’ll tell me when she’s ready. And just like Emilia was to Zoey, I just need to be a good friend to her. And let her know I’m here. No matter what.

Even though Zara’s coordinates are very precise, they still cover a large swath of ground, though it’s an area adjacent to downtown Sable Cove. I just can’t believe how many layers this case has. What started out as a straightforward double murder has twisted and turned back on itself multiple times. It just goes to show how much destruction two people can cause when they’re really dedicated. And while I don’t know a lot about the Vosses, I do know their methods were sophisticated. And they were building for something bigger.

“Nothing,” she says as we head down the fourth perpendicular street. At this point it feels like we’re throwing darts in the dark. There’s no telling if we’ll actually find her or not. And even if we do, that will be the easy part. Getting her to talk to us without calling her lawyer will be the real trick.

“Wait, hold up,” Zara says. “Back up a second.”

I put the car into reverse as a massage parlor comes into view. There’s no parking on the street and I don’t see any sign of her car. “You think she’s in there?” I ask.

“I think it’s the kind of thing she would do. She dropped Zoey off.”

“To go get a massage?” I ask, incredulous.

“Em, Carol Hargrove is not a complicated person. And she told us exactly who she was that day in her kitchen. She pulled Zoey out of the hospital so we couldn’t badger her. But that doesn’t mean she wanted to spend time with her own kid.”

“Doesn’t sound like someone who would kill to protect her daughter,” I say.

Zara purses her lips. “You never know. Parents are funny. She might not be nurturing, but she could be the kind who will do anything to protect her kid.”

I think back to the other night when we arrived at the hospital. Carol had been ready to claw my eyes out. “Yeah, okay,” I say.

I pull over on the next street and we hike back to the parlor. As we enter, I’m virtually smacked in the face by the smell of patchouli. A portable waterfall off to the side runs while soft bell-like music plays from the nearby speakers.

A young woman sits at the desk in the lobby which is complete with signs like Two-for-One Special, Bring your BFF! and Tuesday is Ladies’ Night. Half price off Hot Stone Massage.

“Hi,” the girl says, standing. “Are you here for an appointment?”

“As nice as that sounds,” Zara says. “No. We’re looking for someone.”

“Oh,” the girl says as we show her our badges. “Oh.”

“Is Carol Hargrove here?” Zara asks.

The girl’s eyes flit to the screen on her side of the desk where we can’t see it. “Um… I don’t think I can tell you that. Patient confidentiality.”

“That’s psychiatrists,” I say. “Not massage parlors. Or we can just go back ourselves and search room by room.”

“You will do no such thing,” the girl says. “I’ll… I’ll call the police.”

“Tell Denham I say hi,” I say, making my way around the counter to the door that heads to the back.

“Hey!”

Zara and I ignore her as we’re faced with a hallway with rooms on either side, six in total. Only two are closed with the little lights above the doorways on. I knock once on the first one and crack the door. “Carol Hargrove?”

“Excuse me?” a man says. “Who the fuck⁠—”

I close the door, cutting him off before Zara and I head to the second door which is on the other side of the hallway a little further down. Again I knock and crack the door. “Carol?”

“What the⁠—”

Recognizing her voice, I open the door to find her face down on the table, covered by a heavy sheet while a man works on rubbing her traps.

“Hey, you can’t be in here,” the masseuse says.

“Relax,” I say, showing him my badge. “We need a minute with your client here.”

“Absolutely not,” he says. “This is an invasion of privacy. I’m calling the police.” He heads out to presumably join the girl at the counter.

“Great,” I say. “We get some time alone.”

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I would sue your asses to kingdom come,” Carol says not bothering to even move. “My lawyer is going to tear you a new one.”

“C’mon Carol,” I say. “We both know you can’t afford a lawyer. If you could, we’d have already started receiving your wrath through him.”

She barely lifts her head to glare at me. “You just think you can do anything you want, don’t you? You don’t care that you’re destroying people’s lives in the process.”

“We’re just trying to get to the truth,” I say. “This would all go a lot easier if you’d just be honest. It seems when we first spoke you lied. And if you didn’t know, that’s a felony. So I can either arrest you right now and lead you out of here in a towel so we can talk down at the station, or you can humor me for five minutes and answer our questions.”

She hesitates and I can’t help but wonder if she’s actually weighing her options. She’s obstinate enough that I wouldn’t put it past her to refuse just to spite us.

“I never lied,” she says a little softer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Zoey,” I say. “She told you she didn’t want to work for the Vosses anymore.”

Even though she’s face-down, I see the slight contraction in her back muscles. “Why did you tell us she was perfectly happy working for them?”

“Because,” she says, her voice losing all its strength. “It was five days after the Vosses had been murdered. If I’d told you Zoey came to me complaining she didn’t want to work for them anymore, how would that have made me look? Like a mother willing to do anything to protect her child? I don’t have an alibi for that night. I was home alone. And Zoey has already lost so much. I didn’t want her to lose her mother too.”

“And yet as soon as she gets out of the hospital you leave her with someone else,” Zara says.

“Because that’s what she wanted!” Carol takes a deep breath. “She and Emilia are attached at the hip. It’s been a long time since she’s confided anything to me. I knew if I fought her on it and forced her to go back home it would only make things worse. So of course I dropped her off.”

“And promptly booked yourself a massage,” I say.

She pushes herself up on her elbows, glowering at me. “I have had a very trying week, Agent. My daughter tried to kill herself. And it was probably my fault. So yeah, I came and got a massage. Sue me.”

“Why do you think it was your fault?” Zara asks.

“Isn’t that how it always is?” she asks. “It always comes back down to the mother one way or another. Something I did or said that stuck in that little underdeveloped brain of hers that caused her so much pain she ‘couldn’t take it anymore.’ Is that what you wanted? Happy now?” She lowers herself back down.

Her blatant disregard for her own daughter’s mental well-being is damning. I believe in my core that this woman was more than happy to keep letting her daughter work for the Vosses regardless of how much anguish it caused her. Yes, she did her duty and saved Zoey’s life, but Carol is a selfish, narcissistic person and my heart goes out to Zoey. Thankfully she has Emilia’s mother for support.

“Send Hugo back in. Unless I’m under arrest.”

“Yeah, about that. Get up,” I say.

She looks back up at me. “What.”

“You heard me,” I say. “You are under arrest. For child endangerment.”

“You can’t be serious,” she says.

“Wanna make things worse?” I say. “Keep laying there arguing. Now get up, put your clothes on and get ready to call that fancy lawyer of yours.”

She sneers at me. “You bitch. Child endangerment? You were the one who caused Zoey to try and take her own life. I saved her. Like a mother should.”

“I don’t think one five-minute conversation made Zoey do anything,” I say. “But it’s a moot point. You allowed your daughter to work for criminals. And when she wanted to stop, you refused her. If nothing else that’s negligence. Now get up.”

Instead of getting off the table, she pushes up and launches herself at me, her fingers poised like claws, the sharp nails aimed directly at my face, despite the fact she has nothing on under the towel covering her. But before she can get to me, Zara tackles her from the side, the two of them tussling to the ground. Carol Hargrove kicks and screams, causing the masseuse to open the door. “What is going on in here?!”

Zara and I wrestle Carol to the ground, getting her hands behind her back. “This is official FBI business,” I say. “Stay back.”

But the masseuse sees two clothed women “attacking” a naked woman and decides to intervene, trying to grab at me.

“I am a federal law enforcement officer,” I say with his hand on my lapel, attempting to pull me away. “Let me go or I will arrest you for impeding an investigation.”

He thinks better of it and lets me go, stepping back. “The police are on their way,” he says, though his voice is a little less confident than before. Zara manages to get Carol’s hands behind her back and secured and I toss her a robe that we drape over Carol, despite her thrashing and kicking. Finally she calms down and we get her on her feet.

“You have made the biggest mistake of your career, Agent,” she says. “You just lost everything. Attacking a defenseless woman whose daughter just barely survived a suicide attempt?”

“An attempt you very well may have exacerbated,” I say. “We’ll let the courts figure it out. In the meantime, let’s go.” I grab her by the arm and we lead her out in the robe to the protestations of the massage parlor employees.

In the parking lot, Denham gets out of his vehicle just as we leave through the front door. He takes one look at Carol Hargrove, then looks between me and Zara.

“Do I want to know?”

“I’ll explain once we get back to the station,” I say.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“So you believe Carol Hargrove was instrumental in her daughter’s suicide attempt?” Denham asks.

We’re back at the station, having secured Hargrove in the last of the station’s three cells, beside where Mabry and Cready still wait.

“Emilia told us Zoey tried to quit working for the Vosses and her mother wouldn’t allow it,” I say. “After the Vosses were killed, Zoey feared for her life. She was afraid whoever came for them would eventually come for her as well. I think the stress of the investigation on top of everything else may have pushed her over the edge.”

“You’re going to have a hard time proving negligence without the child’s testimony,” Denham says. “I’m assuming you don’t suspect Carol Hargrove killed Gareth and Petra Voss?”

“Highly unlikely,” I say. “Given they were the ones footing her bills. Had Zoey quit, she would have had to return to work or else found herself out on the street. She told Zoey she would speak to the Vosses about changing the arrangement, but I don’t believe that ever happened. She knew what her daughter was doing and benefited from it, despite the fact it was illegal.”

Denham sighs. “But didn’t she claim not to know what Zoey was doing for the Vosses?”

“That’s what she claimed,” Zara says. “But you’d have to be pretty dense to think it was all on the up and up. From what we’ve found, the Vosses were paying Zoey three thousand dollars a week.” She clears her throat. “I’m sorry, they were paying Carol three thousand a week for Zoey’s work. At the very least I think the DA should be able to hit her with contributing to the delinquency of a minor. Maybe even an accessory.”

“Ugh, what a mess,” Denham says.

“The Vosses were using Zoey, and Carol was happy to let it happen,” I say.

Shouting from somewhere outside the office catches my ear just as another one of Denham’s deputies opens the door. “Sheriff,” she says. “Better get out here.”

Denham gets up and we follow to the source of the commotion. The shouting is coming from the back holding cells.

“You told me everything was going to be fine. Does this look fine to you?” Carol yells. She’s red in the face and gripping the bars of the cell so tightly her knuckles are white.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mabry yells back.

“What is going on in here?” Denham demands, coming into the cells. Hargrove and Mabry are in the two outermost cells with Cready in the middle one. He sits on the single bed looking miserable while Carol and Mabry trade insults at one another.

“He did it, Sheriff,” Carol says, pointing at Mabry. “He killed them.”

Mabry looks horrified, all the color draining from his face. “I… what?”

“Just hold on a second,” Denham says. “What are you talking about?”

“He told me the other night, when we were at the hospital,” Carol says. “He said we didn’t have anything else to worry about anymore. He said he would take care of everything. I didn’t know what he meant at the time, but now it all makes sense. He killed them, and he was cleaning up his mess by burning down their house.”

“That’s hardly an indictment,” I say.

“Shut up! No one is talking to you,” Carol snaps before turning back to Denham. “He did it. I know it.”

“We already know Deputy Mabry started that fire,” Denham says. “It doesn’t mean he killed the Vosses.”

“I overheard him,” Carol reiterates. “Just now. Him and the old man.”

“This is ridiculous,” Mabry says. “Sheriff, you don’t actually believe any of this, do you?”

I check the corners of the holding area. There are cameras in here so we can review the footage, but I doubt they would pick up any audio.

As Denham works to calm Carol and figure out who said what, my phone buzzes with a text from Liam asking how it’s going. I motion for Zara to follow me out but from the grin on her face I can tell she’s enjoying the show too much. I call as I duck out of the room.

“Hey,” I say, “Find anything?”

“Nothing substantial yet, but they think there may be something under the basement level of the house. Chief said something about strange burn patterns, like the fire didn’t move the way it was supposed to.”

“What the hell does that mean?” I ask.

“Beats me, but I’ll keep on him,” Liam says. “I’m sure you have more important⁠—"

“No,” I say, too quickly. “I’ll come help. Trust me, I’d rather be anywhere other than here right now.” Carol begins screaming over everyone.

“Is everything alright?”

“It’s been a long morning,” I say. “And I need a break and some fresh air.”

“Then you might want to go somewhere else,” he says. “Because this place smells like the worst wet dog you can imagine.”

“Trust me,” I say. “Anything is better than here.”

As I pull up to what’s left of the Voss house I’m struck by the contrast between now and when we first saw it. What was once a beautifully curated and maintained home with a picturesque view of the lake beyond has been transformed into nothing but a pile of cinders with pockets of smoke still simmering from the wreckage.

There is still a fire truck on the scene, along with the fire chief’s vehicle and a bevy of other vehicles I don’t recognize. I get out, the smell of wet ash and smoke filling my nostrils. Liam was right, it smells terrible. If nothing else, Mabry will go down for this.

As I make my way up the driveway I spot a couple of men removing rubble by hand. Below, a backhoe sifts through the damage. Liam stands near the wreck of the home, his arms on his hips as he surveys the area. He’s standing on the hill part of the property, looking down at what was once the Voss’s beautiful gardens and outdoor swimming pool. Now it’s nothing more than a pit filled with black debris. As best I can tell, the only thing not touched by the fire was the dock that leads out to the water.

“Hey,” I say, coming up beside Liam. We’re only about five feet from where the house used to stand, and there’s little more than a tangle of burnt wood beams and debris in front of us.

“Hey,” he says, staring down at the backhoe, which sits on some of the rubble while the crane arm on one end pulls up debris, moving it to the side. Two long dumpsters have been moved into place and are slowly filling up with the remnants of the house. A foreman directs the man inside the vehicle while the fire chief stands nearby, helping to coordinate while a couple of other workers mill about to help move things by hand if necessary. The firemen stand close, supervising in case something gets out of hand.

“They’re worried about running into pockets that might flare up,” Liam says. “Chief says it’s usually better to wait awhile to do work like this.”

“Unfortunately, I think the longer we wait, the worse this gets. Did you see the paper this morning?”

“Yeah, Wilkinson just left,” he says. “He spoke with the local affiliate out of St. Joseph. The news crew will be here by this afternoon to cover the fire. Apparently word hadn’t reached the large news organizations that the house belonged to the ‘murdered couple’ until he connected the dots for them. It’s only made things worse.”

“Ugh,” I say. This is about to get a lot more complicated. Wilkinson I can handle. National attention brings its own set of problems. I motion to the backhoe. “What did they find?”

“There’s something buried under all that,” Liam says. “It looks like an access point, though they’re not sure yet. We’re trying to get everything out of the way first so they can investigate.”

“An access point for what?” I ask.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he says. “How did it go with Carol?”

“She’s in jail,” I say, sighing. “Along with Mabry and Cready. And all three of them are at each other’s throats.”

“Let’s hope this gives us something to work with,” Liam says as there is a massive crack somewhere on the property. The foreman and fire chief start yelling at the backhoe operator, who moves the vehicle just in time as a portion of the debris the vehicle had been sitting on collapses about a foot. Had the vehicle still been on it, it would have been stuck or possibly have fallen further.

The fire chief looks up at Liam and me, holding his hands out wide, almost in an accusatory gesture.

I give him the same gesture back. “What does he want us to do?” I ask. “This has to be done.”

“I think he’s just worried about the safety of the guys down there,” Liam replies. The backhoe begins again, digging in the spot that just partially collapsed to move the material out of the way.

“I don’t want anyone getting hurt,” I say. “But Mabry burned this place to a crisp for a reason. I want to know why.”

As the backhoe continues its work, there seems to be some commotion as the men below begin gathering closer to the location. The fire chief motions for us to join them without looking back. Liam and I head back around to the side of the property and carefully make our way down the hill until we’re just beyond the perimeter of the house.

The chief heads over to meet us. “I think we have something,” he says. “The backhoe was sitting on that access point we were looking for. I think it may have caved in a roof.”

“Shit,” I say. “There was a hidden room under the house?”

“Looks that way,” he says. “They’re clearing it as best they can now.”

“Make sure they don’t disturb anything that could be evidence,” I call after him as he heads back to the workers but he doesn’t acknowledge me. “Dammit,” I say, following him across the debris.

“Em!” Liam calls but I ignore him, catching up to the fire chief.

“You can’t be out here,” he says. “It’s not safe.”

“We have to preserve the custody of evidence if there’s anything down there,” I reply. “And I’m pretty sure your men aren’t trained to do that. He burned this house for a reason. And I’m betting the reason is in that hole.”

The chief just sighs and seems to give up, which I take as a good thing. I can be damn stubborn when I want to be. Making my way across the debris, I can still feel the residual warmth from the fire. Some of the beams still emit a small amount of heat and I’m careful to test where I step as I make my way to the backhoe and the crowd gathered around it.

As I get to the machine, I see the hole that almost swallowed it up. It’s a concrete bunker of some kind, but at the moment it’s full of broken wood, soggy drywall and bits of burnt home accents. I look around, trying to orient myself. From the looks of it, we’re close to the Vosses’

home office that had been locked. “Was that the gym?” I ask, pointing to a small portion of the site just adjacent to this one.

“It was,” a familiar voice says. I turn to see Glen Arpel with the foreman helmet on.

“Arpel?”

He nods. “Ironic, right? They called in my company to come clean up this mess.”

I narrow my gaze, immediately suspicious. “How long have you been on site?”

He raises his hands in defense. “Don’t worry. I’m just here to do a job, Agent. No ulterior motives.” I glance at the fire chief. I suppose if they’ve all been here there wasn’t much chance for Arpel to do something nefarious. Still, I can’t just dismiss the coincidence.

“Your other partner not joining you today?” he asks, nodding at Liam.

“You sound disappointed,” I say.

“She struck me as… tenacious.”

“For Zara, that’s an understatement,” I reply. “She’s… working another angle at the moment. But if you like, I can let her know you asked about her.”

“Heads up,” another worker says as the backhoe lifts a large piece of debris out of the hole and moves it to the side. It opens up enough of a passage that someone can get down into the room.

“Give me your hardhat,” I say to Arpel.

“What? No,” he says. “We need to finish clearing the site. It could collapse any second.”

“Listen. Whatever the Vosses were hiding, it’s down there. If it hasn’t already been destroyed by the fire or the water. I need to secure it.”

“Lady, you shouldn’t even be out here. It’s not safe.”

I turn to him, squaring my jaw. “There is something down there I’m not supposed to find. You said yourself the Vosses wanted an underground bunker. It looks like they found someone else to do it for them. And because this is a crime scene, I can’t trust that you or your men won’t contaminate whatever they hid down there,” I say as Liam comes up behind me. “Now give me your hard hat and help me down into that hole.”

“Uh, Em,” Liam says.

“It’s fine,” I tell him. “If there’s something down there, we need to secure it quickly.”

“It’s not safe,” Arpel says again. “The whole thing could come down on you.”

“Exactly,” I reply. “And destroy what I’m looking for. I need you to let me down there.”

Arpel looks to the fire chief who shakes his head. “She’s not a civilian,” he says. “I can’t make her not do it.”

Arpel motions for one of his men to join us and hand me his hard hat.

“Okay, she’s going in,” he says. “Let’s brace everything we can.” He turns back to me. “Do not put your weight on anything down there. Don’t lean on anything. Test every step before putting weight on it. And for the love of God, do not crawl under something that could collapse on you. You’ve got five minutes and then you get back out, understood?”

“Got it,” I say, affixing the helmet on my head.

“Also, by going down there, you’re waiving any responsibility of anyone else for your safety,” Arpel says. “I can’t afford to be sued by the federal government.”

“Em, maybe we should just wait,” Liam says.

“I know,” I say. “It’s dangerous. But we are running out of time. We can’t wait another day for them to do this the right way. I will be super quick.” I peck him on the cheek.

“This is insane,” Liam says, looking over the edge. It’s only about six or eight feet deep, but I need to be careful.

“Here,” Arpel says. “We can lower you in and pull you back out.” We walk to the edge of the hole. “Everyone, stop moving,” he calls out and the site goes silent. “Ready?”

I nod, taking Liam’s arm with one hand and Arpel’s arm with the other. They help me over the edge and I back down like a mountain climber until I’m hanging free from just their arms. They continue lowering until my feet brush the ground.

“Okay to drop,” I say and I hit the floor lightly. Down here it smells even worse than outside. It’s clear there’s been a lot of smoke damage. Solid concrete runs under my feet, so at least I don’t have to worry about anything else collapsing beneath me. I duck under what was probably a structural beam and enter into the main part of the room which seems to be some kind of storage area. A few black rubber totes sit off to the side, covered in dust and water, but as far as I can tell they’re undamaged. As I make my way closer, there’s a subtle creak and groan from somewhere above me. I look up only for bits of dust and debris to rain down, coating my blazer in gray particles.

Okay, maybe this wasn’t the best idea. I admit I sometimes charge a little too headstrong into things. But from the moment we arrived in Sable Cove this case has been aggravating me and I’m not putting up with it anymore.

As I head to the bins, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, thinking it’s Liam trying to warn me about something. “Yeah, go.”

“Agent Slate, glad I caught you,” the voice on the other end says. “Is now a good time to schedule your pre-trial interview?”

Are you freaking kidding me? “No. This is literally the worst time imaginable,” I say before hanging up. The nerve of that guy. Yes, I’m aware Fletch’s trial is coming up. But I have more pressing matters to deal with right now, like not getting crushed.

As I reach the rubber bins, I pull off the top, sloshing water off to the side. Inside are nothing more than clothes. Winter clothes, it looks like.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say.

“What?” Liam calls down.

“Nothing,” I yell back. Winter clothes? That’s what I’m risking my life for down here? Why the hell would they build a secret underground bunker for closet storage?

I lift the first bin and move it to the side, opening the second only to find more of the same. Linens, clothes, old trinkets. Stuff from the Vosses’ previous lives, tucked away for safekeeping. But as I look at the edge of the bin, I notice something along the back wall. It’s dark down here, only a little light filtering through the openings above. I pull my phone out and using the light examine the wall behind the container, noting there is something in the back wall. I pull the container to the side, though the sound itself causes more debris to rain down on me.

There’s a small compartment behind both bins built into the wall.

I reach in and pull out what seems to be an external data drive. And as far as I can tell, it’s still dry. I pull an evidence bag from my inner blazer pocket and place it inside, sealing it from the elements.

Above me there’s a shudder as one of the beams creaks again, a loud cracking sound coming from somewhere.

“Em!” Liam yells.

“Yeah, coming,” I say and make my way back towards the opening, only for everything to shift. It’s like the whole world moves at once and I drop to all fours more dirt and pieces of burnt house rain down on me. I crawl as fast as I can under the main beam to the opening where Liam and Arpel are already reaching down with their arms.

“C’mon, quick,” Liam says. I have to stand and jump to clasp his arm, but as soon as I do, he and Arpel hoist me out of the hole quickly, practically yanking me back on my feet on the level above. Behind me, the debris above the hole collapses in all at once, producing a dust cloud we all shield ourselves from.

Once it settles, I remove the hard hat and hand it back to Arpel.

“Well?” Liam asks. “Anything?”

I pull out the baggie with the drive in it. “Let’s hope so.”

Chapter Thirty

Thirty minutes later, Liam and I are back at the cabin, having rejoined Nadia, Elliott, and Zara, who witnessed Carol Hargrove’s meltdown in person. The woman had turned into a blubbering, crying mess by the time it was all over and she hadn’t managed to do anything except implicate herself in her own daughter’s self-harm. She, Mabry and Cready were all still being held at the station until things were sorted out.

“Risked your life for this, huh?” Zara asks, holding up the external drive before connecting it to her laptop. “Let’s hope it’s not all porn.”

“Pretty elaborate hiding place,” Nadia says from her own computer. She and Elliott are still working on putting together the pieces of the Vosses’ filing system. “It was under the office?”

“Seemed to be,” I say. “We must have missed an access door. Probably had a small ladder or staircase that led down there. But from what I could tell, the only things inside were a couple of bins of belongings and this thing.” I point to the drive.

“Gotta run a malware program first,” Zara says. “Never know what could be on here.”

“Do we have any idea of who constructed the room?” Elliott asks.

“No, but according to Arpel it must have been shortly after he refused the job. It had been there a while. Strange they didn’t move their entire operation down there.”

“Probably too much of a pain in the ass to get in and out of,” Zara says. “Easier to just do it from the office. After all, who was going to come and check?”

I shrug. “You’re probably right. By the way, Arpel asked about you.”

Her eyes go wide. “What?”

“Maybe you’ve got more of a shot than you first thought.”

Her computer beeps, distracting her for a second. “We’re coming back to that. Okay, clear for malware. Lemme see what’s—oh. Oh, shit.”

I make my way around to the other side of the table to look at her screen. The drive is full of video files. Zara has the first one pulled up and it’s a shaky video taken through a window of two people who are… involved.

“Damn,” Zara says. “I didn’t actually think it was porn.”

“It’s not,” I say. “It’s leverage. Or blackmail. This is what Zoey was talking about. It’s the evidence she gathered for the Vosses. What they had her working for.”

Liam joins us, as does Elliott. Nadia squeezes in around the side. “Huh,” Elliott says. “Very limber.”

“Can you tell who it is?” Liam asks.

“I mean, whoever it is, they’re clearly enjoying themselves,” Zara replies.

“She looks familiar,” Nadia says. “Hang on a second.” She heads back over to her computer and types a few things in before coming back with an image on her phone. She holds it up to the woman in the video, which is the only person clearly visible. The man is on his back, but blocked by the lower part of the window sill.

“Is that Dr. Grimmer?” I ask.

“I think it is,” she says. “Looks like a pretty close match.”

“Shit,” I say. “The Vosses were obviously looking to pressure her. But for what?”

“Coverup,” Zara says. “Maybe they were holding this in case they needed it in the future. In case a body came through they didn’t want anyone looking at too closely.”

“That’s a disturbing thought,” Liam says. “Then they were in the process of escalating.”

“Hang on,” Zara says. “Let me pull a few more of these. They can’t all be for one person.”

Opening the next video, it turns out she’s right. This one is at night, what looks like a night-vision lens down a long alleyway. At the end stands a man taking a suitcase from another man, clearly neither wants to be seen.

“What the hell is that about?” Liam asks.

“Who knows.” Zara goes to the next video. This one is from overhead, taken from what was probably a security camera or maybe even a personal home camera. It’s of a living room, showing a table with three white lines on it. Two people come into the frame and waste no time snorting two of the lines.

“Seems like the Vosses were building quite the collection,” Nadia says.

“But from what we’ve seen, they hadn’t acted on anything like this,” I say. “They were only taking payments from people who they had performed a service for. Not people they’d caught doing something they shouldn’t.”

“It just keeps going,” Zara says, going through the next few videos. There’s another of someone cutting into a person with a knife, though the other person seems to be enjoying it. One of a man physically abusing his wife, though I have no idea who either person is. A lot of videos of people having sex, which I have to assume are probably not married.

“It’s like Sable Cove Vice,” Liam says as Zara continues to go through the videos. “They probably have something on almost everyone in town.”

“So the question is, why didn’t they use it?” I ask. “Why sit on it?”

“Maybe this is how they enforced their payments,” Zara suggests.

“But why go to the trouble of doing a ‘service’ for someone if you had this the entire time?” I ask. “It seems like a lot of extra trouble to go through.”

“For their reputation,” Elliott says, causing us to all look at him. “They wanted the prestige of being loved in the community. While at the same time having control over it. Had it just been this ‘evidence’, they would have been reviled. At least by half the town. But as benefactors, they could keep their reputations intact.”

“That… actually makes a weird kind of sense.” I take a seat beside Zara, thinking. Maybe the Vosses came to town looking for a new start, a way to make a name for themselves in the community. But a small place like Sable Cove is very insular. So they had to start reaching out, helping where they could. And maybe they over-extended themselves. So then they began asking for repayment. But people don’t repay goodwill just because they’re asked. Especially if they’re already stretched thin.

They need a threat.

This is the final piece we’ve been missing. “I think Elliott’s right. I think this was the whole backbone to the entire operation. Without this, everyone in town would have become like Ray Curran and Glen Arpel. And my guess is we won’t find either one of them on those videos.”

“Haven’t seen them yet,” Zara says. “Doesn’t mean they’re not on here. Someone was under Dr. Grimmer.”

“No, they wouldn’t have risked it if the Vosses had something that could truly ruin them,” I say. I turn to Nadia. “Did you ever find who that third contested file belonged to?”

“I can’t crack it,” she says. “There aren’t enough common cryptographs to make a codex.”

“Could you do it if you knew the name of the person?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Sure, but doesn’t that defeat the point? Don’t we need the codex to find the name?”

“Try Mabry,” I say.

“Already did,” she says. “No good.”

“Hargrove?”

She shakes her head. I continue to watch Zara scroll through the videos. They’re becoming almost rote at this point; despite being shocking, I find I’m getting more and more used to them. Sable Cove is not the sleepy little town I thought. Then again, I don’t guess any place is really, not once you peel back the surface. People are going to be people no matter where they live.

“Whoa, jackpot,” Zara says as she gets to the next video. It’s what looks like another security cam video of the inside of someone’s apartment. In it we see a man we should all recognize, walking to the front door.

“Mabry,” I say. “Is there a timestamp?”

“Let me pull the raw file data,” she replies.

On the video he opens the door, but from the angle we can’t see who he’s talking to. But a second later, another person’s arms wrap around his neck and push him further into the room, their lips locked together.

“Mabry’s got himself a girlfriend,” Liam says.

I can’t see the woman’s face as the back of her head is to the camera, but it seems immediately familiar. A second later, Mabry flips her around and begins undressing her and Zara pauses the video, our jaws collectively dropping open when we see her face.

“Holy shit,” I say. “That’s Deb Cross.”

All the color drains from Deputy Mabry’s face as he watches the video on Zara’s laptop. She and I sit across from the man at the small table in the interrogation room, while Denham stands at the back, his arms crossed, watching his former deputy.

After discovering the video, we decided to come back and put pressure on Mabry before confronting Deborah Cross. After all, this not only provides clear motive for the fire, but for the Vosses’ deaths as well.

The video ends and Zara turns the computer back to us, closing it.

Mabry stares at the table for a few minutes, his breathing measured. I would love to know what’s going through his head right now.

“I want a deal,” he finally says.

I have to hold back a laugh. “A deal? For what?”

“I know who killed Gareth and Petra,” he says. “But in exchange for that information, I want my freedom.”

“Not happening,” I say. “You’re an arsonist. And I have all the evidence I need to convict you for the deaths of Gareth and Petra Voss. You clearly had a reason to want this evidence destroyed and a jury won’t have a hard time seeing that they were squeezing you to the point where you couldn’t take it anymore. They blackmailed you into working for them and held you on a leash with this video.”

“That’s not what happened,” he says, more emphatically this time. “I didn’t kill anyone.”

“We can sort that out in court,” I say. “Unless you’d like to save everyone a lot of trouble and confess now.”

“Think you’re so damn smart, don’t you?” he asks. “You’re not part of this town. You don’t know the people here. You’re nothing but an outsider.”

“Oh, I think we’ve seen quite enough of this town,” Zara says. “Your video was not unique. There are literally hundreds.”

He shakes his head. “A jury won’t convict. Not on a double murder charge. You have no proof I did anything. I’m your best chance at catching the real killer, because I was there that night. I was with the Vosses on Friday for their meeting on the dock.”

I exchange a glance with Zara. “You know who they met with?”

He nods. “I want immunity.”

I turn to Denham, who speaks up. “Neil, you know that won’t happen.” He doesn’t move from where he’s planted himself. “You’re a criminal. Criminals pay for their transgressions.”

“Fine,” he says. “But I want a reduced sentence. No more than two years served. And I want full protection from what I’m about to tell you.”

Denham sighs. “I’ll have to talk to the DA. He’s not going to like this. That fire could have gotten out of control. You’re already looking at millions of dollars of property damage. And I’m sure the family members can’t wait to sue your ass off for it.”

“They’ll be fine; they had insurance. I’m not worried about that,” Mabry says. “But the criminal charges go away.”

“Agent,” Denham says. “A moment, please?” I follow him into the hall and join Denham by the coffee maker.

“How long would it take to get a deal in place?” I ask.

“A few hours,” he says. “But what’s your sense? Is this even worth it?”

“You tell me,” I say. “You’re the one whose worked with the man for six years.”

Denham stares at the empty pot of coffee as if he’s willing it to fill itself by some kind of magic. “I’ve known Neil most of his life. I never thought he could do something like this. He was always so strait-laced, by the book. To be honest, I had hoped when the time came, the town would choose him to replace me as Sheriff.”

“People aren’t always what they present themselves to be on the outside,” I say, thinking back to Zara. “We all have secrets.”

“With this evidence against him, you’ve backed him into a wall,” Denham says. “And whenever Neil is against a wall, he doesn’t panic. He’s level-headed. I believe he knows who really killed those people. I think the only reason he’s just now saying something is because it’s his only way out.”

“Okay,” I say. “Then let’s get him his deal, see what he has to say. But if it turns out to be a nothing burger, we’ll have just handed our murderer a get-out-of-jail free card.” I motion to the cells.

Denham sighs. “Very well.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Two hours later, we return to the interview room where Mabry has continued to sit this entire time. He’s barely moved from the last place we left him, I’m sure aware that all his movements are being recorded. Having been on that side of the table myself a few times, you become hyper aware of everything you’re doing, down to the tapping of your foot. You don’t want to look too nervous, but at the same time it’s one of the most nerve-wracking things someone can experience.

“All right,” Denham says, slipping a packet of papers over to Mabry. “You have your deal. Sign away.” He lays a pen on top.

Mabry, to his credit, takes a moment to review the documentation signed by the local judge. Denham spent half an hour on the phone with the DA. convincing him that while the Arson was important, no one had died in the fire and we still had a murderer to find for the deaths of Gareth and Petra. In the end, the DA. was satisfied with a conditional deal that only granted Mabry a reduced sentence if it led to the arrest and conviction of the Vosses’ killer.

“This isn’t what we talked about,” Mabry says as he turns to the last page. “I can’t control what a jury does.”

“Take it or leave it,” I tell him. “It’s all you’re going to get.”

He hesitates a moment, then grabs the pen and signs the document before pushing it back to me. I hand it to Zara. “Talk.”

“Deb Cross killed Gareth and Petra,” he says, matter-of-factly.

“The woman you were having an affair with. Really.” I’m so deadpan I could practically be at the bottom of the barrel.

“It’s true,” he says. “She met with them that night.”

“Why?” I ask. As far as we’ve found, except for the video, the Vosses had no deal with Deborah Cross or any member of her family.

“To ask them to let Zoey go,” he says.

“Why would she⁠—”

“Because Carol never would,” he says. “Deb has been like a second mother to that girl. The mother she deserved, not the one she got.”

“How did she even know what Zoey was doing for them?” Zara asks.

“Because Zoey told her. After she went to her mother and nothing happened, she turned to Deb. Not because she wanted Deb to do anything, but because she was frustrated with Carol’s lack of response. She was frustrated with her mother all the time. Deb has been listening to it for years.”

“How do you know all this,” I say. “It’s nothing but hearsay.”

“Ask her yourself,” he replies. “She came to me for advice. She asked me what she should do because she knew that I was already underwater with the Vosses. I told her to set up a meeting with them, ask them to find someone else. Someone who wasn’t a sixteen-year-old girl. I told her I would be there because they always had me present at their ‘client meetings’.”

“So the meeting that Friday night, that was with Deborah Cross. Anyone else?”

“No,” he says. “Just the four of us.”

“And what happened?”

He waits a beat, observing us. “They refused. I tried to help Deb, to convince them that it was in their best interest to let Zoey go. That the longer they kept using her, the worse things would get. But Petra—she was determined to keep the girl under her wing. Said Zoey was the perfect spy because no one ever noticed her.” He shakes his head. “That woman was a piece of work.”

“Go on,” I say.

“When Deb insisted, Gareth pulled out the video. He had a copy on his phone. He showed it to both of us and told us in no uncertain terms that things would not be changing. I’d suspected they’d had dirt on us from the beginning, but I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes until then.”

“So when did she kill them?”

Mabry spreads his hands out on the table. “They ended the meeting, and insisted I escort Deb back to her car, which I did. But I could tell something was wrong; she wasn’t saying anything. I tried to tell her that we could try again, that eventually they’d get bored with Zoey and move on, but she didn’t believe it.” He sighs. “To be honest, I didn’t either. I didn’t know what else to say.

“About an hour later she called me. Said she needed to see me. It wasn’t on our schedule as Mark was still in town.” He glances to the side. “We only met up when he was off on a business trip.”

I turn to Zara. “Get Nadia to pull Deborah Cross’s phone records.” She begins typing on her phone.

“I arrived at her place and she was already outside. She said she needed to show me something and we drove back down to the Voss house. But we didn’t take the normal way. She drove us around the other side, near the power lines.”

“Over where Sandra Okafor lives,” I say and he nods. “What time was this?”

“Around midnight. Maybe one,” he replies. “Deb led me down to the beach and that’s when I saw them. They were both already dead when I got there. She said she didn’t know what else to do, but she was afraid for Zoey. She didn’t know how much more the girl could take and that it needed to end.”

“What did you do?” I ask.

He glances at Denham. “For a brief second I thought about calling it in. But I couldn’t do that to Deb. I’d made a promise to her that I would always be there for her. She was so scared, but she was also determined to put an end to everything they’d done. She wanted my help to look for their phones. It took some searching, but we found both of them and smashed them, though I knew those weren’t the only copies of the video. So we went back to their house and looked, but the sun was starting to come up and we were running out of time. We left around four.”

That explains the car Sandra Okafor heard early Saturday morning.

“Honestly,” he says. “I thought when you raided their place, you would have found the videos. But eventually it became clear you hadn’t. And then Zoey just… snapped. Deb was very upset. Moreso than Carol, I think. She was convinced someone would find that video, and the others eventually. And she didn’t want the community going through that. So we decided torching the house was the best option. That way it would take care of any remaining evidence.”

He glares at the two of us. “Guess we weren’t thorough enough.”

“No,” I say. “You just underestimated the Vosses’ paranoia. They’d built a bunker beneath the house. The primary drive was in there.”

He nods, looking up to the ceiling. “Guess I shot myself in the foot on that one.”

“Which one of you moved Petra Voss’s body?” I ask.

“I did,” he says. “Deb had struck her in a way that she’d landed in the water. We didn’t want her body drifting out on the lake. I said it was better if they were found together.”

“And you arranged your uncle to do just that,” I say.

“I asked him if he wouldn’t mind patrolling the shore on Saturday morning. I told him I’d gotten reports overnight of a party and I wanted to make sure everything was on the up and up. He didn’t know about it.”

“But he figured it out, didn’t he?” I ask.

Mabry glances at the wall a moment. “Uncle Walt was always perceptive. He confronted me. I told him what you already know. The Vosses were bleeding this town dry. If Deb hadn’t done it, someone else would have. Eventually. I thought he would go to you, Sheriff. But he never did.”

“And the fire?” I ask. “Did you ask him to report that as well?”

Mabry shakes his head. “No. He didn’t know about it until I’d already done it. He called it in because it was getting out of control. He was right. That house went up like kindling.”

“Open floor plans kind of do that,” Zara says.

“Look, I’m not saying it was right, but it was necessary.”

“Because you’re the arbiter of what is right and just in the world?” I ask.

He nods. “That’s right. I’m an officer of the law. It’s my job to make sure the world is fair.”

“Neil,” Denham says, speaking up for the first time. “Your job was to enforce the law. You don’t get to decide what it is.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” he replies. “You were blind to what was going on. I kept it that way. I didn’t want you compromised. Because I knew if the Vosses got to you, this town wouldn’t have a chance.”

“As admirable as that is,” I say. “It was still illegal. You covered up a double murder. Then conspired to destroy evidence connecting to the guilty parties.”

He holds out his hands as if to say: What are you gonna do? “It doesn’t matter what you say. I protected this town and its people. I did my job.”

I stand, looking down at him. “You did what was necessary to save your own skin,” I say. “Nothing more.”

Zara and I leave him as he stares back after us. Denham joins us back outside. “I never would have thought it.”

“We need to bring in Deb Cross,” I say. “See if we can find any evidence that backs up his story.”

“You think he was lying?” Denham asks.

“No, but we’ll need more than his word. I want actual, physical evidence. Then again, she might come clean on her own. The point is we need to get her here.”

“It’s funny,” Zara says. “Mabry’s going to get off on a lighter sentence than his uncle.”

“Both men conspired as far as I’m concerned,” Denham says. “And trust me, I’m not letting this go. Mabry may think he’s gotten away with it, but I’m not done with him yet.”

Zara glances at me, her eyes wide. I’m not sure what Denham means by that, but I’m happy to leave him to it.

“Let’s see if we can’t take her into custody quietly,” I say. “The last thing I want to do is upset Zoey and Emilia any further.”

“Yeah, good plan,” Zara says. “Wellness check?”

I nod. “Seems like a good cover to me.” I turn to Denham. “We’ll be back with her shortly.”

“Good luck,” he says. “I’ll be waiting.”

As we pull up to the Cross house, I note how normal everything looks. How suburban. It’s hard to imagine a killer could live within those walls, but if we take Mabry at his word, Emilia’s mom is someone who has the capability to perform terrible acts, even if they are to protect someone.

We make our way up the short path to the front door, ringing the bell. A moment later Deb’s face appears in the window and she gives us a quick smile before opening the door. “Agents,” she says. “This is a surprise. What can I do for you?”

“Can we talk for a moment,” I ask.

“Of course,” she says. “Would you like to come in?”

“Better if we do this out here,” I say. Zara is strategically positioned behind me, in the event Deb tries something.

Her brow creases, but she steps onto the porch and closes the door behind her. “What’s this about?”

“Neil Mabry has been arrested,” I say and her face falls. “He has… made some accusations. We’d like you to come down to the station with us.”

She looks at the door, but really I know she’s looking past it, back into the house. “But the girls, they’ll be alone. My husband won’t be home for a few hours.”

“The accusations,” I say. “They’re pretty serious.”

She hangs her head. “He told you, didn’t he?”

“What would he have told us?”

She leans back against the door and for a second I think it’s because she might faint. But she just continues leaning there, letting the door support her before she looks up to the sky. “Ah, dammit.” She takes a few breaths. “How…uh. How does this happen?”

“First I need to inform you that you’re under arrest for a double homicide,” I say. “You have the right to remain silent and you have the right to an attorney. If you don’t have an attorney, one will be provided for you.”

She waves me off. “We have a family attorney I can use.”

“Okay. Well, next we’ll take you back to the Sheriff’s station and interview you,” I say. “You can have your attorney present if you wish. Depending on how that goes, we may need to get a grand jury indictment. We’ll get a search warrant for your home to find any evidence to back up our theory and we’ll⁠—”

“No,” she says. “I’m not putting the girls through that. Not after everything. I’ll…cooperate.”

“You understand what you’re saying?” I ask. “Does this mean you’re formally confessing to the murders of Gareth and Petra Voss?”

She lets out a shaky breath. “Yes. I just… I can’t make Emilia go through all that. She and Zoey have been through too much already. I need… I need to call my husband and tell him.”

“We can inform him from the station,” I say. “I’m sure the girls will be fine on their own for a few hours.”

“Okay,” she says. “Let me just tell them I’m leaving.” She opens the door again. But when she speaks her voice is completely in command, not the shaky, nervous voice she’d had only a moment ago. The woman is a true chameleon. “Girls? I’m headed out for a bit. Mark will be home in a few hours if you need anything.”

“Okay, Mom,” Emilia calls back.

“I love you,” Deb says.

“Love you too,” Emilia says but I can hear the teenage annoyance in her voice. A single tear falls from Deb’s eye. She closes the door once more.

“Okay,” she says. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

“Man, I really hate we didn’t get to play this more,” Zara says, looking at the arcade cabinet situated in the corner of the room. “I really thought we’d have the time.”

“Maybe it’s best we didn’t,” I say. “The case kind of took over everything.” I’ve been packing up our stuff for the past hour. How do we have so much when each of us only brought a small suitcase with us? She heads into the kitchen to grab some more boxes.

Liam pads his way down the stairs, suitcase in hand. “That’s everything from our room.”

Nadia sits at the long dining room table, her laptop still open. “Hey, Dee, everything good?” I ask as I pass. “We’re supposed to be back on the road to DC in an hour.”

“I know,” she mutters. “I just don’t like leaving things unanswered.”

“The contested case file?” I ask. She nods. “Sometimes we don’t get all the answers,” I say. “Deb Cross gave us a written confession for the murders. And we have Mabry on the hook for the arson. The county DA is taking over. Our job is done here.”

“Ugh,” she says, closing the laptop. “Just feels like we’re leaving something behind.”

I shrug. “That’s the job. We’re not going to close everything all the time. To be honest, I’m glad we managed to cut through this one. Given the number of suspects we had in addition to the complex nature of the Vosses’ operation, it’s a wonder we solved it at all.”

The door opens, revealing Elliott, who pauses as soon as he’s inside. For a second he looks like a deer frozen in the headlights. “Everything okay?” I ask.

He nods. “Just tying up loose ends with Denham. Mabry has already been transferred to the county lockup while Cross remains in custody. He has her in there beside Hargrove.”

“He decided to bring charges against Carol?”

Elliott nods. “Denham seems to have taken up a crusade on the matter. He didn’t like the idea she had been such a distant parent and could have contributed to Zoey’s lack of well-being. It’s hard to say if it will stick or not.”

Zara passes him, carrying three shoulder bags, each with a different computer in them. “Lady is better behind bars if you ask me.”

“Yeah, except it leaves Zoey without a guardian. I would have thought the Crosses might take her in, but now…”

“It’s funny,” Elliott says. “The two of them side by side in those cells. They are staring daggers at each other.”

“I bet,” I say. “I don’t think there’s going to be any love lost between those two. Considering what Deb thought of Carol.”

“As I was leaving, Carol was berating the woman over the whole affair, complaining Zoey didn’t need anyone to take care of her. To which Deb responded that it was clear no one ever had, which was why she’d tried to take her own life.”

I wince at the implications. Maybe I should go sit down with Zoey again before we leave. Make sure she’s going to get the help she needs. With both Carol and Deb in jail, I’m sure the girls must be spiraling.

“Though,” Elliott says after a beat. “She also said ‘I did what you never would have. I protected that girl.’ Which, I suppose she did. But it came across oddly.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I’m not sure,” he replies. “It just seemed like she was just very insistent that she get credit for helping Zoey.”

“Huh,” I say. “Well, I mean, she did, in a way. She got her out of a bad situation. Not the way I would have gone about it, but⁠—”

“Oh, come on,” Zara says, nudging me with her arm. “You’ve run into your fair share of people you wouldn’t mind beaning over the head with a big rock.”

“The point is, I wouldn’t do it,” I say.

“You mean you wouldn’t get caught doing it,” she adds, winking.

“Technically, neither did she,” I call after her, but Zara is already giggling as she takes her stuff out to the car. Looking back, I wish this case had more evidence tying Deb to the crime, but when a signed confession lands in your lap, you generally take it.

And yet… I think back to all the moving parts of this case. Of all the people the Vosses were manipulating. When you get right down to it, if we didn’t have the confession from Cross, we still wouldn’t have a solid suspect. Mabry would be our next closest, but again, the evidence isn’t there.

“Did we recover the phones?” I ask, pausing as I gather up the rest of our stuff from the table.

“What?” Liam asks. “What phones?”

“The Vosses’ phones, were they in evidence?”

“Not to my knowledge,” he says. I turn to Elliott who gives me a small shake of his head.

“Mabry said they smashed them on the beach that night. So what happened to them?”

“Cross probably threw them in the lake,” Liam says. “Easiest way to get rid of them.”

Yeah, that makes sense. Still. We found Mrs. Voss’s phone case and no phone. Why would they leave the case there and not get rid of the whole thing?

“Em, I know that look,” Liam says. “What’s going on?”

“Hey, Nadia,” I say, coming around to see her computer. “Did you try Deb Cross’s name for the codex?”

She nods. “As soon as you ID’d her as a suspect,” she says. “Nothing.”

Now she’s got me doing it. The case is closed. I should leave it alone. But I’m very much the same way when it comes to these things. I don’t like to leave dangling threads.

I pull her laptop towards me and I type a name into the folio, unlocking the codex immediately.

“But… that’s… what does it mean?” Nadia asks.

“It means we need a search warrant. Right now,” I say.

It’s a beautiful sunny afternoon. The wind coming off the lake is nothing but a soft breeze which has pushed away the cold morning. There’s not a cloud in the sky and as I walk down to the beach, I catch the sight of at least a dozen ships out on the water. The weekend may be over, but people are still clearly taking advantage of the good weather.

Down near the water I spot them, sitting on a large log covered with a towel. A portable speaker plays something I don’t recognize, though given how much nineties and 2000s music Zara makes me listen to, I’ve fallen behind on what’s popular these days.

“Hey,” I call out, causing both people to turn from the shore and shield their eyes as I approach.

“Agent Slate?”

“Zoey,” I say. “Emilia. Your dad said you’d be down here.”

Zoey shrugs. “It’s a nice day. Didn’t want to waste it.” Her wrists are still bandaged, though the bandages are considerably smaller than they were even two days ago. And she’s still wearing a long sleeve button-up shirt that covers most of her arms, though only two of the buttons are fastened, revealing the tank top underneath.

Emilia’s in a similar tank top and shorts. Though the lake has to be much too cold for swimming at this time of year. “Doing some tanning?”

“Just enjoying it out here,” Emilia says. She gives me a resigned look. I can’t really blame her, considering I was the person who put her mom in jail. Though Zoey doesn’t look at me with the same disdain. In fact, it’s almost appreciation. “Is something wrong?”

“We need to talk,” I say, circling around and taking a seat on an empty log not far from theirs, though it still faces them.

“About what?” Zoey asks.

“About the work you were doing for the Vosses,” I say, causing her to immediately drop her gaze. “I want to be clear; I’m not blaming you. These people used you. And you tried to get out, didn’t you? Told your mom you wanted to be done with it all.”

She gives me a quick nod.

“You tried to do the right thing. But she didn’t listen.”

“Not a big surprise,” Zoey mutters.

“It’s funny. When we arrested your mom,” I turn to Emilia. “She said Zoey told her she wanted to quit working for the Vosses. But that isn’t true, is it?”

Emilia glances furtively at Zoey. “I…”

“We found their file on you,” I say, addressing Emilia again. “It was encoded. But they were going to start using you the same way they used Zoey, weren’t they? And they showed you the video of your mother and Deputy Mabry to make you comply.”

Emilia’s face turns red. “How⁠—”

“The file was a dossier, keeping track of you. Following your movements, and planning on expanding their operation. They’d had success with Zoey and they wanted more. When did they approach you?”

“Two weeks ago,” Emilia says. “A few days before they died.”

I nod. “Your mother didn’t just go to them on Zoey’s behalf, did she? She went there to try and convince them not to use you.”

“I tried to talk her out of it,” Emilia says. “She said she wouldn’t let it happen to me. But… she didn’t know about the video. When she came back home she had this look on her face… and I knew they’d shown it to her.”

I nod. “She couldn’t do any more for you than Zoey’s mom, could she?”

Emilia shakes her head, tears falling down her cheeks.

“Then it’s understandable why she killed them. To protect you.” I watch Emilia carefully. “She had to stop it before it happened. And now, she’ll spend the rest of her life in jail. But at least you’re safe.”

More tears fall down Emilia’s cheeks. “She didn’t do it,” she says softly. “I did.”

“Emy?” Zoey asks, her eyes wide.

I wait a beat, though I had expected this might be the case. “What happened?” I ask gently.

She wipes her eyes with the back of her arm and turns to her best friend. “I couldn’t do it. I knew what they’d been doing to you. And I just… I couldn’t let it go on. Your mom wasn’t doing anything about it. And my mom couldn’t—not unless she wanted my dad to find out and then they’d get a divorce anyway.” She sniffles as more tears come. “I… I had to. It was the only way.”

“You snuck away from the party too, didn’t you?” I ask.

She nods. “When Zoey was off with Ryan. I ran down the beach and waited. They were out there, laughing and drinking wine on their dock. Like they weren’t out here actively ruining people’s lives.” Some anger and heat have slipped into her voice. “I waited until they were headed back from their walk and I just… did it. I thought… I thought it’d be harder.”

I nod, finally getting the whole story. “And when you got back home?”

Emilia shakes her head. “I was a wreck. I told my mom everything. She said…she said she’d take care of it.” She turns back to Zoey. “Zoe, I’m so sorry.”

Zoey pulls Emilia close and wraps her in a hug. “Why would you do that? Why?”

“For us! For you! They were never going to stop. And you were miserable.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Zoey asks. “I thought…” She releases Emilia and looks at her wrists. “I thought someone was coming for me.”

“Zoe, believe me, if I had ever thought you were under that much stress… I just wanted to protect you. Isn’t that what best friends are supposed to do?”

“Emilia,” I say, standing.

“No!” Zoey positions herself in front of her friend. “You can’t!”

“I’m sorry, Zoey. I have to. It’s my job.”

“Can’t you just… I mean, no one has to know, right?” Behind them, Zara makes her way down the path to the beach, followed by Liam and Emilia’s father.

“We will do everything we can to help her,” I say. “But we can’t just pretend like it didn’t happen.”

“Why not?” Zoey yells. “You know how terrible they were. You know what they were doing to people. Didn’t she make things better for everyone?”

My heart goes out to the girl. She’s already lost so much. And now she’s about to lose her best friend too. “I’m sorry, Zoey.”

For a brief second I see a flash in her eyes, like she might do something, but then the defeat takes over and she moves out of the way.

“Emilia Cross, you’re under arrest for the murders of Gareth and Petra Voss,” I say, pulling her arms behind her and securing them. She feels so fragile and I have to remind myself that she’s just a kid as I read her the rest of her Miranda rights.

“What’s going to happen now?” she asks as the rest of my team joins us.

“We’ll take you to Sheriff Denham’s station. Your mother is already there with your lawyer.”

“Then what?” she asks.

“I don’t know.” And I truly don’t. It will be up to the DA to determine how he wants to handle the case. Being a double homicide, she’ll most likely be tried as an adult. There are a lot of mitigating circumstances to take into account. A lawyer worth their salt could even try to argue self-defense in some capacity, given Emilia had exhausted all her other options.

Emilia doesn’t look at her dad as I lead her past. The man’s face is a mixture of grief, disbelief and horror. She just stares at the ground, her head hung low. Had Nadia not been so dogged to find that last “Contested” file, we might not have ever realized it wasn’t a contested file at all. It was a dossier on Emilia, like a workup. The Vosses had done a lot of legwork before deciding she would be their next spy. Which probably included getting Zoey to set the cameras that would film Mabry and Emilia’s mom. But the worst part of it all was Emilia was about to let her mother take the fall for her.

And from what I know about Deb, she would have done it and never spoken another word about it.

Chapter Thirty-Three

“Aaaagh! My boyfriends!”

The dogs charge the front door as Zara steps through, both of them barreling into her at the same time as she devolves into a blubbery mess of kisses and pets, giving the dogs more love than they can possibly handle. “I’ve got my own reverse harem going on here. You need at least one more,” she says between licks.

“Do I even want to know what a reverse harem is?” I ask, popping the cork on a bottle of wine.

“Read a book once in a while, you plebe,” she replies and finally releases both Rocky and Timber. “Is that Cab Sav? Gimme.”

I pass her a glass as she tosses her stuff onto one of the stools. She raises the glass to me. I clink mine with hers. “I know it was a successful case,” I say. “So why don’t I feel like celebrating?”

“Probably because we had to arrest a kid,” she replies. “And if we hadn’t found the Vosses’ phones in her room with that search warrant, I don’t know what we would have done. You saw Deb when we brought Emilia in. She tried to convince everyone she had done it. Right to the very last minute.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I guess that’s what a good mother always tries to do. Protect their child no matter what.” I pause. “Do you think Zoey will be okay?”

“I hope so,” she replies. “Her mother is still going to be charged with child endangerment. I don’t know what that looks like long-term, but I don’t think Denham will leave her out to dry. He and I worked on making sure she had the resources she needed—at least for the short term. I found a good therapist in the area for her.”

“You did?” I ask. “Why didn’t I know about that?”

“Because you were too busy with everything else,” Zara says. “You know, trying to hand over the Voss blackmail case and all those Financial Crimes agents running all over town. They are going to have a mess to untangle.”

She’s not wrong. The Vosses had their hands in everyone’s business and trying to sort it all out is going to take years. Despite being dead, it doesn’t absolve them of their responsibility to the community. And the head of Financial Crimes is looking into this one himself, trying to get a semi-permanent team set up in Sable Cove to deal with the years of fallout. The Vosses took millions from those people. And it’s going to be a long road to get it all returned, if that’s even possible.

“Plus,” Zara says, interrupting my thoughts. “Running Raptor Squad is a big responsibility. Not to mention everything you need to do for the wedding.”

“Trust me,” I say. “We are in no hurry. We’ve decided we want a winter wedding, so it’s going to be at least eight or nine months.”

“Oh, you should make it a destination! What about that place we went up in Vermont?”

“I’m not made of money, you know,” I say, taking a sip of wine.

“That’s the best part! You get all the guests to pay for it,” she says. “Minus me, of course. Maids of honor are technically exempt from such things.”

“That’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” I say as she’s mid-sip.

Her eyes go wide. “What?”

“The maid of honor position,” I say. “It’s already been filled.”

She sets her glass down so fast I’m afraid it will crack the flared base, but it doesn’t. “Are you shitting me?”

“Yes, yes I am,” I say, smiling.

“Emily Slate, I am going to throw this wine right in your face,” she says.

I grab her glass and gulp it down in one. “Can’t now.”

Her mouth hangs open. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“Why? You’re rubbing off on me. Finally.”

She eyes me for a minute. “You know what I think? I think you’re actually happy for once. And it’s starting to show.”

“Oh, is that what this is?” I ask.

“It’s something all right,” she says, grabbing the bottle and refilling her glass. She looks around. “Where is the chef anyway?”

“Out with Elliott,” I say. “They went bowling.”

“Bowling?” she asks. “Well hell, get Nadia over here. I don’t want her to feel left out.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I just… I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh, because of that stuff from before?” she asks. “Look, that’s just… that’s ancient history. I try not to think about it.”

“Fair,” I say. “I’m just worried about you.”

“You don’t have to be,” she says. “I’m fine.”

I smile, though I know I’m just placating myself. “Can’t help it.” Even though she’s been “better” the past few days ever since we got back from Sable Cove, I can still see something is off with Zara. Which is part of the reason I suggested Liam take a break this evening so I could get some one-on-one time with her. I keep going back to Emilia and Zoey, and how determined Emilia was to protect her friend from the truth. She may not want to admit it, but I feel like that’s what Zara is doing right now. Whatever this thing is that’s going on with her, I don’t think it’s something that can just be turned off and on. And I’ve never seen her as rattled as I have these past few weeks. Not even after she was almost killed by that psychopath Simon Magus.

“After dealing with this case, I can definitely use a girl’s night,” Zara says. “Pizza?”

“You don’t have to force me this time,” I say. I want to say something else, but I know if I do it’ll come off as being too overbearing, and that’s not what Zara needs right now. All I can do is stand by and be there for her when she needs someone. But I can’t help but think in the back of my head that this thing, whatever it is, isn’t even close to being finished yet. But she has to find her own way through it. I can’t do it for her.

“Hey, Nadia,” Zara says, her phone to her ear. “Up for some pizza? And don’t tell me you and Elliott have plans because I know better.” She waits a beat. “Great. Meet at Em’s. See ya.” She puts her phone away. “She’ll be here in twenty.”

“I’ll get the food ordered,” I say. “Pick your poison.”

Zara’s smile fades for a brief second, but then it’s back. “What? Oh. You know I’m good with whatever.”

“Pineapple and ham?”

She points at me with her glass. “Hit me with it.”

I place the order for the food, trying not to think too hard about the next few weeks. We’re going to be pulling some long hours. Given our success rate, Pendergast and Vostov want to start expanding the program. Which means bringing on more people to manage. Part of me hates to do that because the five of us work so well together as a unit. But at the same time, Fletch’s trial is coming up and there’s no telling how long that will pull both Zara and me from active duty. I’ve already got two more emails from lawyers sitting on my laptop about scheduling those damn depositions.

But as I watch Zara lounge on the couch with both Timber and Rocky snuggling up against her, I decide not to focus my energy on that. No, I choose to spend my time on my friend.

And no matter what happens, I will do anything to protect her.

Anything.

Nadia arrives in due time and the three of us celebrate a job well done. At least, as well as can be expected. Finally, Zara goads us into playing one of the random board games Liam has in the closet that I’ve never touched. I can’t help but admit I’m having fun. Maybe it’s because I don’t feel so much pressure anymore. Despite everything we have going on, I feel like I’m settling into a good routine, one that I feel like might even be sustainable.

Who knows? I might make it to retirement after all.

Zara and Nadia are on their third glasses of wine while I’ve switched over to something a little lighter when my phone buzzes. At first I think it’s Liam, letting me know they’re headed back from bowling, but I don’t recognize the number on the screen.

“This is Slate,” I say. “Who am I speaking to?”

“Agent Slate, this is Jim McCrumbe with the U.S. Marshals at the Alexandria holding facility,” the man on the other end says. “There’s been an incident.”

“What kind of incident?” I ask.

“I’m sorry to inform you,” he says. “But Joaquin Fletch is dead.”

To be continued…

Ready for Emily’s Next Adventure?

He framed her once; his death might destroy her.

Six months ago, Emily Slate was framed for a bombing that nearly leveled FBI headquarters in Washington D.C. The mastermind behind the chaos? Joaquin Fletch—a phantom who goes by the alias Solitaire.

Finally, the dust has settled. Fletch is behind bars awaiting trial, and Emily has been thriving at the helm of her new division.

Until Fletch is found dead in his cell. And Emily was his only recorded visitor.

Refusing to be a scapegoat a second time, Emily forces her way into the suspicious death investigation. The District Attorney is eager to sweep the murder under the rug, but Emily and her new defense lawyer know the facts don’t align.

Worse, her frantic search for the truth is derailed when a string of bodies is found at an exclusive local golf resort. Torn between hunting a potential serial killer and unearthing a sprawling conspiracy, Emily begins to see the invisible thread connecting the two cases. Solitaire might be dead, but his grand design is already in motion.

With the walls closing in and her sanity pushed to the breaking point, Emily must unravel the labyrinth of lies before it destroys her for good.

To get your copy of No More Chances, CLICK HERE or scan the code below with your phone.

New Book Alert!

I hope you enjoyed A Deadly Promise! While you wait for the next installment in Emily’s story, I wanted you to be the first to know about an exciting new book coming out early next year!

Buried Embers is a brand new series following Federal Fire Investigator Calla Rowe. Eight months ago, Calla watched her partner die in a blaze everyone believed was an accident. But Calla—one of the best fire investigators in the country—knew it was murder. She just couldn’t prove it. Unable to perform her job any longer, Calla relocates to a remote Oregon town, trying to shake the nightmares of her partner’s death and find peace.

But when a suspicious wildfire breaks out, the town’s sheriff calls her to the site, despite his reservations about her. Not only does he have an arson on his hands; he’s also investigating the disappearance of a local activist. Against her better judgement, Calla is pulled into an investigation that looks open and shut on the surface. But as more fires burn, Calla is drawn deeper into a web of treachery bigger than she ever could have fathomed—and she may be the next target.

Not only is Buried Embers a brand new story, but it is my traditional publishing debut, being published by Harper Perennial, a division of Harper Collins. This means you’ll be able to purchase this book in bookstores all over the world!

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Bonus

STRANGER GAMES

“Oh crap,” I say, looking up at the sign on the building.

“Yep,” Zara says. “You’re screwed.”

“I thought we were going to a movie,” I reply.

“That was just to get you to let your guard down,” she replies, grabbing my arm and pulling me through the double doors. “C’mon, time to face the music.”

We approach the front counter where a bored teenager is playing on his phone. He looks up. “Two?”

Zara slaps down her credit card. “All day.”

“That’ll be thirty-eight dollars,” he replies, taking the card.

“Thirty-eight dollars?” I ask, incredulous. “I thought these things took quarters.”

Zara takes her card back and thanks the kid. “Oh, dear, sweet, Ems. Still stuck in the past. This is the twenty-first century.” She says it like she’s talking to a five-year-old.

“I know what century it is,” I say, looking around the room at all the machines and flashing lights. There are only about ten other people in here, but each one is standing at a different arcade cabinet or a pinball machine and there’s loud rock music playing over the speaker system which does nothing to drown out the cacophony of noise from everything else.

“C’mon, Grandma,” Zara says, pulling me along again. “Let’s get you lubed up.”

“Please don’t say that in public,” I reply as we reach the bar. It looks like the kind of bar you’d see in a pub or any other similar establishment; it just so happens this one is in the middle of an arcade. Though this isn’t really what I’d call a traditional arcade. At least not the kind that I used to go to when I was a teen. First of all, that one was in the mall. Flippers is situated in an older building downtown, something that probably once housed a bank or a shoe store. But has been repurposed into a trendy arcade where anyone can play as many games as they want for a flat fee.

Zara has been ribbing me ever since we got back from Michigan. Apparently, she was dissatisfied with how little time we got on the single arcade machine at the Airbnb and wants to make up for lost time.

“Two bourbons, straight up,” she says, slapping down a twenty on the counter.

“You. Drinking a bourbon,” I say.

She shrugs. “I gotta keep things fair. I don’t want you accusing me of not being as drunk as you when you lose your ass.”

“I’m gonna lose my ass anyway,” I say. “You’re the one who is an expert at these things!”

She gives me a grin and pinches my cheek like an older woman would. “That’s exactly why we’re here, to hone your skills.”

“And I’m going to do that drunk?”

“You’re going to do it slightly tipsy,” she says as the bartender sets down our drinks. I catch him wink at me, which reminds me to pull my ring out from under my shirt and let it hang visible on my necklace.

“Subtle,” she says as she hands me my drink and we head over to the first bank of machines. “Okay, let’s start with something easy, something you can warm up on⁠—”

But before she can finish, there is a massive crash from somewhere behind one of the walls. Both the bartender and the kid at the counter look over in alarm, and even a few patrons look up from their games.

The bartender heads to the back only for a string of expletives to return in his place. I exchange a glance with Zara as he comes back out. “Taylor, call the police. He’s back.” The kid nods and begins dialing on his phone.

“Who is back?” Zara asks, approaching the bartender again.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” he replies, “Sorry I interrupted you.” But I can see the worry on the man’s face. It’s not just “nothing.”

“Sir, we’re FBI agents,” I say. “What’s going on?”

“Oh,” he says, slightly surprised. “We’ve… we’ve been having problems with a looter. Keeps breaking into our storeroom.”

“And he’s back there now?” I ask.

“He was. Left another trail of destruction in his wake.”

I set my untouched drink on the counter. “Do you mind if we take a look?”

He moves to the side. “Help yourself. It’s the third time this month. He’s costing us a small fortune in alcohol.”

Zara grabs my arm. “What are you doing?”

“There’s been a crime,” I say. “Obviously.”

“Em, we are off the clock, we have no jurisdiction, we’re not cops and…” She trails off. But a moment later she purses her lips and sets her glass beside mine on the bar. “Fine. Lead the way.”

I smile. “Thank you.” We head to the back storeroom to find the lock on the cage where the alcohol is kept has been cut with a pair of bolt cutters and lies on the ground. About half a dozen smashed bottles litter the floor. There are a couple more knocked over on the shelves that haven’t rolled off yet. Beyond the cage, the back door to the building is slightly ajar.

“How many bottles does he end up stealing?” I ask as the bartender follows us to the back.

“Only three or four, as many as he can carry. But every time he smashes more than he takes. Three or four wouldn’t be a big deal, if it weren’t for the damage he leaves behind.”

“You ever get a look at him?” I ask.

“Nah, just some kid in a hoodie,” he says. “He’s quick, though. Usually in and out in under a minute or two.”

“Z, check the back door,” I say as I head for the cage, pulling out my phone and using the flashlight to get a better look at the broken lock. “What do the police say?”

“Not much,” he says. “We have an alarm and we’ve changed the locks on the doors three times, but the kid keeps getting in. He’s gotta be some kind of lock-picking genius.”

“Can you tell what was taken?” I ask, running my light over the room. There’s not a lot of space and he has to squeeze past me, though he’s careful not to touch anything. “Looks like maybe a bottle of tequila, couple of whiskeys. I won’t be sure until I check the inventory. Probably lost a dozen bottles here.”

“Security cameras?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I’ve asked the landlord, but they still haven’t gotten around to doing it. They don’t care, as long as we pay the rent. Plus, this is a desirable spot. If we went out of business they’d just rent it to someone else.”

“I don’t think this lock was picked,” Zara says, coming back in to join us. “There aren’t any scratch marks on the outside. Not that there has to be, but generally picking a lock will leave a couple of marks.”

“I know the door was locked,” the bartender says. “I did it myself after I took out the trash.”

“Police ever dust for prints?” I ask.

“The first time. But they never came up with anything. I swear, if this keeps happening we won’t have a choice but to close. I won’t be able to afford to keep the place open.”

“Oh,” I say, turning to look at him again. “I didn’t realize you were the owner.”

He shrugs. “It’s not something I advertise. Mac.” He holds out his hand.

I shake it. “Special Agent Emily Slate. This is Special Agent Zara Foley.”

“Well,” he says. “I doubt you came in today to deal with this,” Mac says. “Cops should be on the way. Eventually.”

“Eventually?” I ask.

“It’s not like we’re a high priority,” he replies. “That kid is long gone.”

I glance towards the back door.

“Dammit,” Zara says under her breath.

“What?” Mac asks.

“She’s got that look.”

“Look?”

“Em,” Zara says, taking my shoulders in both hands and turning me to face her. “This is not our job.”

“I know,” I say. “Still, kinda weird, right?”

“Ugh,” Zara replies before letting me go. She turns back to Mac. “Okay. If we can find out who is doing this, would that be good for two lifetime passes?”

His eyes go wide. “You mean if you can track down the thief and prevent us from closing? Yeah, I’d say that’s worth you guys coming in as much as you want. On the house.”

I nudge her, dropping my voice. “Z. That’s technically bribery.”

She narrows her gaze before turning back to him. “Never mind. Forget the passes. I guess.” Zara turns back to me. “Proceed.”

“Just like that?”

“Just cause I know you won’t shut up about it if we don’t catch this guy,” she replies. “The sooner we get it over with the better.”

I nod towards Mac. “If the police show up, let them know we’ll be outside.”

“Sure.”

We head towards the back door and I open it, making sure not to put my bare skin anywhere near the handle. It opens into an alleyway that runs along the back of the building, connecting all the buildings on this street with a service entrance.

The alley is completely empty. I turn and look at the door itself. There’s only the spot for the deadbolt and a handle that doesn’t turn. So unless the door was unlocked, which Mac insists it wasn’t, then the perp either had a key or was a very precise lock picker.

“What are you thinking?” Zara asks.

“Former employee,” I say. “Could have copied the key before they were fired or quit.”

“Yeah, but breaking in for a couple of bottles of booze? Is that really worth it?”

“If you’re desperate enough, I guess it is,” I say. Still, she’s not wrong. Something about it feels… off. “Also the break-in was in the middle of the day, during business hours. Why not wait until night when there’s no one here? There aren’t any cameras to catch you.”

“Maybe they’re really desperate,” Zara replies.

“Or maybe they’re reckless,” I say. “Maybe they want to get caught. I’m not sure this is about the booze at all.”

“You think someone is attention-seeking?” she asks.

“No, I think someone was trying to deflect attention.” I look down at a pair of tire tracks left on the cracked pavement. They’re relatively fresh given the alley is full of puddles from a recent rain. “C’mon,” I say, following the tracks. They reach all the way to the end of the alley and turn left, where they dry out quickly, but not before heading down to a stoplight at the corner of the street, right down from Flippers. There’s a traffic camera mounted on top of the stoplights, but it only covers the parallel traffic, not anything that would have been approaching from this direction.

“Camera,” I say.

“I see it,” Zara replies.

I check the time on my phone. “Think we can get the footage for the past thirty?”

She pulls out her own phone. “Let me call Nadia.”

The elevator dings and we step into the lobby, headed for the reception desk. A young woman sits behind it, flashing us a smile. “Hi there, how can I help you?”

“We’re here to see Wade Boylyn,” I say.

“Mr. Boylyn is in a meeting,” she replies. “But if you’d like to leave a message, I’ll make sure he gets it.”

I show her my badge. “How about we speak with him now?”

Her eyes go wide and she picks up the phone. “Mr. Boylyn? There are two FBI agents here to see you. Yes, sir.” She hangs up. “He’ll be right out.”

A moment later a man in a pinstripe suit and suspenders comes out to meet us. His dark hair is slicked back and he’s got the steely-eyed look of someone who suspects just about everyone he interacts with.

“I’m Wade Boylyn,” he says, taking a look at us. “What’s this about?”

“Could we speak to you in your office?” I ask.

“As soon as you tell me why you’re here,” he says.

“How about solicitation, conspiracy, extortion, burglary, theft and vandalism?”

He gives me a terse smile before glancing at his secretary. “Let’s go in my office.” He turns and leads the way for us to follow down the hall and into an opulent space. It’s clear Mr. Boylyn isn’t hard-up for money and he’s not shy about letting everyone know about it.

“Now, care to explain why the FBI is in my office hurling salacious claims in my direction?” he asks, taking a seat behind his desk as Zara closes the door, sealing us off from the rest of the office.

“We know what you’ve been doing. But I wanted to give you a chance to come clean before we file official charges.”

“Come clean about what?” he demands, going slightly red in the face.

“Flippers Arcade,” I say. “You know, the place that rents in the building you own.”

He looks at me, then Zara. “I don’t understand. What does the FBI have to do with any of this? Aren’t you supposed to be off chasing murderers?”

“Special interest,” I say. “The arcade is part of an internal operation of ours. And you’ve just stepped all over it.”

“What?” he asks, pulling at his collar.

“We know the whole game,” Zara says. “Your son?”

“Jason? What about him?” Ward asks.

“We know he’s been breaking into Flippers,” I say. “Under the guise of stealing. But that’s not what this is really about, is it? He’s been working under your direction, and you told him to destroy their inventory. But make it look like he was just a sloppy thief. But no one who is that precise and quiet getting in somewhere would make such a mess on purpose.”

“This is ridiculous,” he says, though his complexion has reddened even further. “Where do you get off with these accusations?”

“They came from your son himself,” I say. “He’s currently in a holding cell, having waived his right to a lawyer.”

Boylyn grits his teeth. “Stupid little shit.”

I glance at Zara. “I’ll take that as an admission. My only question is why sabotage one of your own tenants?”

He leans forward. “Do you realize how much noise a place like that generates? Do you know how much I’ve had to spend on soundproofing that somehow still isn’t good enough? They signed a five-year contract and we’re only in year two.”

“So you decided you’d try to ruin the business and force them out so you could get a quieter tenant, is that it? And you gave Jason a key so he could come and go as he pleased.”

“Makes sense why you kept refusing to install security cameras,” Zara says.

“Look,” he says, spreading his arms wide on his desk. “I’m sure we can work all of this out. This doesn’t need to leave this room. If my son agrees to take the fall, can we make this all go away?”

It’s not often I’m surprised on the job anymore. But it does still happen. “Stand up. You’re under arrest.”

“Agent,” he says. “Surely we can⁠—”

“You have the right to remain silent,” Zara says. “And if I were you, I’d shut up right now.”

Ten minutes later we’ve escorted Ward Boylyn out of his office in handcuffs and hand him off to the Alexandria Police waiting outside. This is technically their case, but I managed to convince them to let us assist, seeing as we were the ones who located Jason Boylyn’s car leaving the arcade via the stoplight camera. We were also the ones to track him down, though it did take a full day’s work. I was planning on handing him over once we got him in custody, but he started blubbering and confessing before we could even get him back to the station. So we figured we might as well finish it out.

“Feel better?” Zara asks as we watch the police cruisers pull away from the property management company.

“Yeah,” I say. “Now I’m ready to kick your ass at Flippers.”

“Ugh,” she says. “I’ll get a rain check. I’m too tired.”

“What?” I ask, incredulous. “You’re going to pass up a chance to kick my ass at video games? When you have your willing participant right here?”

She narrows her gaze. “Okay, missy. You’re on.”

The Emily Slate FBI Mystery Series

Free Prequel - Her Last Shot (Emily Slate Bonus Story)

His Perfect Crime - (Emily Slate Series Book One)

The Collection Girls - (Emily Slate Series Book Two)

Smoke and Ashes - (Emily Slate Series Book Three)

Her Final Words - (Emily Slate Series Book Four)

Can’t Miss Her - (Emily Slate Series Book Five)

The Lost Daughter - (Emily Slate Series Book Six)

The Secret Seven - (Emily Slate Series Book Seven)

A Liar’s Grave - (Emily Slate Series Book Eight)

Oh What Fun - (Emily Slate Holiday Special)

The Girl in the Wall - (Emily Slate Series Book Nine)

His Final Act - (Emily Slate Series Book Ten)

The Vanishing Eyes - (Emily Slate Series Book Eleven)

Edge of the Woods - (Emily Slate Series Book Twelve)

Ties That Bind - (Emily Slate Series Book Thirteen)

The Missing Bones - (Emily Slate Series Book Fourteen)

Blood in the Sand - (Emily Slate Series Book Fifteen)

The Passage - (Emily Slate Series Book Sixteen)

Fire in the Sky - (Emily Slate Series Book Seventeen)

The Killing Jar - (Emily Slate Series Book Eighteen)

A Deadly Promise - (Emily Slate Series Book Nineteen)

No More Chances - (Emily Slate Series Book Twenty)

At All Costs - (Emily Slate Series Book Twenty-One)

The Ivy Bishop Mystery Thriller Series

Free Prequel - Bishop’s Edge (Ivy Bishop Bonus Story)

Her Dark Secret - (Ivy Bishop Series Book One)

The Girl Without A Clue - (Ivy Bishop Series Book Two)

The Buried Faces - (Ivy Bishop Series Book Three)

Her Hidden Lies - (Ivy Bishop Series Book Four)

One Dark Night - (Ivy Bishop Series Book Five)

The Hale Hastings Mystery Thriller Series

(with Ash Mercer)

Free Prequel - Away From Her (Hale Hastings Bonus Story)

In Her Bones - (Hale Hastings Series Book One)

Over Your Grave - (Hale Hastings Series Book Two)

Before She Knew - (Hale Hastings Series Book Three)

After the Fall - (Hale Hastings Series Book Four)

The Calla Rowe Series

Buried Embers - (Calla Rowe Book One)

The Oak Creek Thriller Series

The Darkest Game - (Oak Creek Thriller Book One)

Never Strike Twice - (Oak Creek Thriller Book Two)

Standalones

The Forgotten Wife

A Note from Alex

Hi there!

As soon as I finished writing The Killing Jar I couldn’t wait to start working on the next Emily book and so I immediately dove into A Deadly Promise. This was one of those books where I thought I knew how it would end, only for the real culprit to keep surprising me over and over again.

It’s funny how that works. You’re probably saying to yourself, “But Alex, you’re the author, don’t you know how your own book ends?”. The honest answer is not always. Sometimes the characters surprise me. Which is a little unnerving, since they’re in my head. And very often I will want them to do one thing, and they’ll turn around and do the exact opposite. Very often I feel more like the passenger than the driver when I’m writing and sometimes I’m just as surprised as you are when we get to the end.

That being said, I’m really excited as we move into the last few books at the end of “season 3”. Joaquin Fletch, our big bad for this season is dead? How can that be? And what happens next? I hope you’ll stick around for the next installment No More Chances, because this story is still heating up.

Until next time,

Alex

P.S. If you haven’t already, please consider leaving a review or recommending this series to a fellow book lover. Your support is crucial for continuing Emily's adventures. Thank you, as always!