“I need to speak with Zeke.”
“Brett made it pretty clear he didn't want us involving his brother,” Sylvie warned as she reached behind her to reposition the pillow. “You're going to get resistance.”
“I’ll drive over there tomorrow while the two of you interview Whitlow and Brewer,” Brook said, catching the way Sylvie and Theo exchanged concerned glances. “Don’t worry. I’ll contact the sheriff’s office and have a deputy meet me out there.”
“Speaking of Desmond Brewer, what’s this about him showing up at the diner during your breakfast with Heather’s friends?”
“Yeah, it was odd,” Sylvie replied to Theo’s inquiry. She lifted her knees so she could rest her tablet against her legs. “I have no doubt that he was trying to overhear our conversation. I think?—”
The generator outside hiccupped briefly, causing the side lamp to flicker before stabilizing. Such momentary power fluctuations had become routine, and Bit’s frustration level had lessened over the past few days. She figured he’d still rather be anywhere than Harrowick.
“Incoming video call,” Bit announced, spinning his chair to face the primary monitor. He pressed a key and then flashed a grin. Brook retrieved her fresh mug of coffee before making her way around the table, mindful of Theo’s shoes. “What’s up, Gumshoe?”
“I can’t see you, Bit. I can see my own face, but how do I…”
Bit launched into an elaborate explanation about how Arden needed to tap anywhere on the phone’s screen except his own face. Arden’s frustrated attempts to follow the instructions weren’t anything the team hadn’t witnessed before, and Brook took her time maneuvering in between the table and bed. She came to a standstill behind Bit while ensuring she wasn’t in Theo’s line of sight.
Arden was currently jabbing at the screen like he was trying to poke a stubborn balloon into submission.
“Not your face, Gumshoe! Any other place on the screen.”
“I don’t think this is working. Bit?” The screen currently displayed only his forehead and eyes, magnified to the extreme, as he continued to hold the phone too close to his face. “Maybe you should call me back. I’ll just end the video and?—”
The image on screen suddenly jostled and tilted wildly before settling into a more conventional framing of Arden's face. His salt and pepper hair was slightly disheveled, and a smile gradually appeared underneath his mustache at the realization that the video connection had finally resolved itself.
“There you are,” Arden stated in satisfaction. He cleared his throat a few times when he spotted her standing to the right of Bit. She’d pulled Arden aside before the team had departed D.C. He had nothing to be ashamed of when it came to his relationship with Elizabeth Elliott. She’d made sure he understood her position on his private life, and she’d also imparted her opinion that Graham had simply been taken by surprise. All he wanted was for his mother to be happy. “Per yourrequest, I’ve been going through the death certificates issued before and after the murders. You all mentioned that something instigated the murders, as well as ended them. So, to be on the safe side, I pulled records from the year Heather was murdered to the twelve months following Lila Hartman’s case. Low and behold, I believe I found something that I think can help you.”
“What did you find, Gumshoe?”
“A marriage license application.” Arden held up a piece of paper as if they could read the small words printed on the front. “Filed approximately seven months before Heather's murder.”
“Heather was going to marry someone?” Sylvie asked before scooting to the edge of the bed. “Was it Figg Whitlow?”
“No,” Arden replied, his brow furrowing until the rough salt and pepper strands of his eyebrows practically knitted together. “Not Heather. I’m talking about Desmond Brewer.”
“What about Desmond Brewer?” Brook had learned long ago that patience was needed with Arden. He was an old-school private investigator. His mind connected the dots, and he assumed everyone else could do the same with limited information. “Nothing in Desmond’s background check indicates he is married.”
“Oh, he’s not,” Arden replied, waving the piece of paper in victory. “You see, the application was filed by Mr. Brewer, but the actual license was never picked up. The marriage never took place.”
“And who was the intended spouse, Arden?”
By this time, everyone was fixated on the screen. Arden pulled the phone close, causing everyone to instinctively pull back in unison.
“That's where it gets interesting,” Arden replied as they got up close and personal with his forehead. “The woman was Rachel Sharpe. Lindsay Sharpe’s younger sister. And that’s notall. You see, Rachel left Harrowick abruptly eleven years ago. Three weeks before Heather Moore was killed.”
17
Sylvie Deering
January 2026
Friday – 8:36am
The bell above the bakery door chimed as Sylvie entered, a wave of warmth and the scent of fresh pastries greeting her after the chilly winter air. She brushed the snow off her boots while taking in the busy room, noticing the locals gathered around tables with their hot drinks. Their quiet chatter paused when they spotted newcomers, then resumed with a hint of curiosity. Theo stepped in behind her, his height—more likely, his leather eye patch—drawing a few glances from the patrons.
“I’m so glad the snowplows hit the back roads last night,” Sylvie murmured, unzipping her jacket as the warm air from the overhead heater made her have an instant hot flash. She chalked up the unusual reaction to the extreme fluctuations of the outdoor and indoor temperatures. “I wasn't looking forward to another day trapped in those cabins.”
The first part of the storm front had dumped nearly six inches overnight. Fortunately, the town's infrastructure hadresponded with surprising efficiency. She hoped they would do the same when the second wave of snow was set to hit, either Sunday night or Monday morning.
