“Beck. . .”
“Mom was more than Maggie’s best friend, Eric. She was her blood sister. When Maggie died, Mom broke. You really think that’s coincidence?”
I didn’t answer.
He finally looked at me. “Dad says to let it rest. He’s been saying that for the past eleven years. But he doesn’t want it to rest. He wants it buried.”
“Maybe because digging it up won’t bring her back,” I said hoping to get through to him.
“Or maybe because it would.” His dark eyes, so similar too mine, burned a hole in my chest. I hated to see my brother hurting, but what good was it to live in the past?
His voice cracked around the words. The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.
He reached into his jacket, pulled out his phone, and showed me a photo, it was grainy, headlights in rain. “Traffic cam caught Olivier Bellerose’s truck near the industrial park last night. 1:00 a.m. Guess what’s down there?”
I frowned. “The old repair shop.”
“Yeah. The same one that ordered the steering part for Maggie’s car two weeks before the crash.”
“That place shut down years ago,” I reminded my brother.
“Changed hands. Twice. On paper, it’s a holding company out of Sherbrooke. But the billing address matches. Olivier and Nico were seen turning onto that road.”
I dragged a hand over my jaw. “You think Marcel Bellerose is connected? I was in school with Olivier and Nico. We’re all the same age. They weren’t criminals then.”
“I think we know Marcel groomed them both, and we know nothing good happens in that building after midnight.”
“Dad’s going to hate this,” I warned. After Mom left, he buried himself in even more work. He didn’t even like to hear her name. Even if his heartbreak was clear as day.
“He already does.” Becket took a sip of cold coffee. “Told me again this morning to drop it. Said reopening old files only hurts people. But if Maggie’s crash wasn’t an accident—and if Mom knew something—then that’s not history. That’s unfinished business.”
“You ever stop to think you became a cop because she left?” I asked. “Because chasing answers feels safer than admitting she’s gone?”
He laughed without humor. “You think I don’t know that?”
“Then maybe stop chasing ghosts,” I deadpanned.
He straightened. “I’ll stop when they quit leaving bodies.”
I sighed. “What now?” My brother was stubborn, and I learned long ago nothing I could say would change his outlook.
“I’m heading to the station. Dad wants to ‘review’ the case before it gets reopened officially. I’ll probably get benched for it, but I don’t care.”
“I’ll come with you,” I offered because I knew Dad would be mega pissy about this.
He shook his head. “Stay close to Harmony. If Olivier and Nico are tangled in this, they’ll look for her. They’ll want control back.”
The thought of anyone cornering her again made my pulse tighten. “She didn’t ask for any of this.”
“Neither did Mom,” Becket said, then turned toward his cruiser. “Keep your radio on.”
He drove off, leaving the bridge empty but for the echo of his words.
I stood there, watching the river churn. The same river that had taken Maggie’s car, the same one that might’ve carried more than wreckage downstream. For years, I’d listened to those missing-person podcasts at night. Stories about people who just walked away, voices fading into static. It never felt like entertainment. It felt like research. Like if I listened long enough, I’d understand how someone could leave their whole life behind.
But no number of episodes had ever told me why.
By the time I reached the bakery, Main Street was already awake. Shop doors were propped open, cleanup crews sweeping debris from the storm.
