“I'd be concerned if you didn't.”
She returned to her cup, lifting it in a small toast before taking another sip. The sweetness now seemed appropriate. A reminder of the unexpected gifts that came with allowing connections. She didn’t doubt that their conversation wasn't over, but a foundation had been laid.
For now, that would have to be enough.
28
Brooklyn Sloane
January 2026
Sunday — 6:47pm
The church hall hummed with whispered conversations that seemed to swirl around Brook and the team, all of whom maintained their positions in the back of the room. No one appeared outwardly hostile, yet the tension in the air was palpable.
Were they beginning to accept that they had a killer hiding in plain sight?
“I overheard the mayor’s running fifteen minutes behind,” Bit said as he adjusted the strap of his laptop messenger bag to rest more securely on his shoulder. “I figure we have another hour before he opens the floor to us.”
Brook had requested that the mayor ensure talks for the automobile assembly plant take place first. She didn’t want to distract from their concern for the town’s survival. While only about seventy residents had made an appearance so far, there were enough chairs for at least fifty more. Ultimately, the town’smayor and the city council decided whether to allow the auto assembly plant to move forward with their build, but the mayor had requested this meeting to hear out any objections.
Wooden folding chairs, their surfaces worn from years of use, had been carefully arranged in neat rows. They all faced a single podium adorned with a microphone, though there was a table off to the side for those on the city council.
Long tables lined the side walls, covered with carafes of coffee and cups for anyone who wanted a warm drink. There were also bottles of water and cans of soda available. Colorful pastries were arranged neatly on delicate paper doilies for those desiring a snack.
“Second row, right side,” Theo murmured beside her.
Brook nodded an acknowledgment. She had noticed Brett Sorsdal, as well. He’d entered maybe five minutes prior, not wasting time as he took a seat on the opposite side of the room. His shoulders were set in a defensive posture as he scanned the others with the wariness of someone who preferred isolation. He must have taken his brother back to the care facility since Zeke wasn’t present.
Her gaze drifted toward the far wall, where Brian and Jillian Moore stood in conversation with the Wheats. Jillian's hands moved in short, precise gestures as she spoke, while Brian stood slightly behind his wife, his gaze drifting to Brook’s every so often.
“Do me a favor this evening,” Brook requested of Theo. “Keep a close eye on Mr. Moore this evening. We don’t know what memories will be triggered by the profile, and I don’t want a situation on our hands.”
“Understood.”
“Third row, left side.” Theo’s voice was low enough that only Brook could hear him. “Carol Hensley and Clyde Weaver.”
Brook shifted her attention to the pair. Carol sat primly in her chair, her back barely touching the wooden support, hands folded neatly in her lap. Beside her, Clyde slouched, his work boots crossed at the ankles, arms folded across his chest. Neither spoke to the other, yet there was a familiarity to their shared silence that suggested years of mutual tolerance rather than friendship.
Near the refreshment table, Lindsay Sharpe and Stephanie Maddox stood close together, their conversation clearly intense despite their attempts at casual posturing. Lindsay's lips barely moved as she spoke, her eyes fixed on Stephanie's face with uncomfortable intensity. Stephanie kept shifting her weight from one foot to the other, her fingers constantly adjusting her watch strap.
“Was there anything of note in the background check of Lindsay’s husband?” Brook inquired, noting that Sylvie was making her way over to the two women. “Is he even in attendance?”
“As you know, Sylvie and I spoke briefly with him when we questioned Lindsay about her sister,” Theo replied as he folded his arms across his chest. “His background check was clean. Nothing stood out.”
By this time, Sylvie was near the beverage table. She busied herself by filling up two paper cups with coffee while speaking quietly with Lindsay and Stephanie. In less than two minutes, she returned and handed off the hot drinks to Brook and Theo.
“Turns out that Rachel called Desmond after she spoke with Theo on the phone,” Sylvie revealed, peering over her shoulder in the man’s direction. “Lindsay was sharing with Steph that Rachel is coming into town next week to have dinner with him. Let’s just say that big sis isn’t too happy about it.”
Desmond Brewer stood alone near the front of the room. Unlike the others who kept glancing in the team’s direction,Desmond’s sole focus seemed to be on Lindsay. He sipped his drink slowly, seemingly not bothered when the woman shot a glare in his direction.
The sudden swing of the entrance door broke the established rhythm of the room. A gust of frigid air swept in, carrying with it a flurry of snowflakes that melted almost instantly in the warmth of the hall.
Figg Whitlow stood in the doorway.
A light layer of snow clung to his black beanie, and the shoulders of his leather jacket glistened with moisture. He paused at the threshold, his gaze sweeping the room until it collided with Brook's across the distance.
His expression hardened, and she figured word had reached him about her intentions this evening. The profile she'd drafted connected the killer's fixation with his mother, and she planned to reveal that detail with the residents of Harrowick this evening.
