October 2025
Sunday – 2:49pm
Reed's gaze drifted from one photograph to the next, eight young women pinned to the whiteboard like butterflies in a collection. Pearl Shepley's image didn’t seem so muted beneath the harsh fluorescent light.
Was she really the first of eight connected disappearances?
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, unable to accept Hadley’s theory. They were simply isolated incidents that spanned over the decades. And theThreshing Manwas just folklore designed to keep teenagers in line.
Nothing sinister, and certainly nothing criminal.
Reed leaned back in his chair, the springs protesting beneath his weight. He'd spent the morning searching for Lucas Solomon. The young man had been crashing at a bandmate’s apartment in Emberwood after spending some of the evening with Ty Hobbs and Kalen Telfort.
Reed had laid into Lucas, lecturing him on the weighty responsibilities one held toward others. Impressing upon him that every detail, no matter how minute, was of utmost importance in cases like Missy’s. The absence of such particulars could severely impede any chance of bringing her home safely.
Not that Lucas appeared to take Reed’s words to heart. The young man had been hungover, and he would have agreed to march to the Devil’s tune in his effort to hug a toilet in private.
Reed glanced down at the journal in his hand. He’d given Hadley his word that he would read as many of Sarah Cox’s entries as he could this afternoon.
Hadley had started backward, reading the journal notes in the days leading up to and following Missy’s disappearance. Nothing had stood out to Hadley, and his read-through substantiated her claim. He’d done the same with the other dates in question, coming to the same conclusion—there was nothing to find.
Reed pulled one of the floral boxes closer. Instead of focusing on specific dates, perhaps a broader view would reveal something they'd missed in the entries. Instead of working backwards, he intentionally selected the leather-bound volume from 1978, the year Pearl Shepley vanished.
The cover was smooth at the corners from wear, and the pages were slightly yellowed with age. Sarah's handwriting flowed across the pages in elegant cursive. She meticulously documented each day, recording weather patterns, farm activities, and personal observations. At times, she used journaling to channel her resentment over her inability to have children. Other times, she wrote about her loneliness and her fear of losing her husband’s affection.
Reed set the journal on his desk without opening the cover. If he was going to maintain his concentration, he would need some caffeine first. He pushed away from his desk before making hisway into the small kitchen. The coffeemaker that he’d splurged on three years ago was still in perfect condition. He didn’t like the single-serve machines, and he wasn’t the type of man who needed anything fancy.
Plain old black coffee was his pleasure.
He took his time filling the reservoir with water and measuring the grounds into the basket, his movements automatic after years of performing the same ritual. Before too long, the machine gurgled to life, steam rising as boiling water began to trickle through the grounds.
He reached for his favorite mug on the cloth drying mat as the sound of footsteps on the stairs pulled his attention. It wasn’t the weight of Nora’s gait, but rather the continual brushing sound of her hand against the railing that gave her away.
“It’s Sunday, Reed,” Nora said as she appeared in the doorway, her auburn hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. She wore jeans and one of his old flannel shirts, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. “Your day off, remember?”
“I know,” Reed replied, offering an apologetic smile as he set down the mug and reached for her. “I promised Hadley that I would read through those journals. It took me longer than I thought to track down Lucas Solomon. It shouldn’t take me but another hour or two.”
Nora frowned her displeasure as she rested her hands on his chest. She gazed up at him with exasperation and understanding.
“Those journals will be waiting on your desk for you tomorrow, you know.”
“The Harvest Festival is in two weeks. If there's any connection between these disappearances, like Hadley believes, I need to know before hundreds of people converge on the grounds.”
“But you said yourself this morning that you don’t think they’re connected,” Nora pointed out.
“The mayor made a request for someone to take another look at the case, and the State Police granted it.” Reed rubbed his hands up and down Nora’s arms in an attempt to seek understanding. “I can’t ignore Hadley’s theory just because I don’t share her opinion. It deserves consideration.”
Nora's posture softened. She rested her cheek against his chest, and he held her in silence until the coffee maker sputtered out its last drop.
“Two more hours,” Nora murmured before gazing back up at him. “Then the rest of the evening is ours, because I’m heading back to my apartment around eight tonight. I have to be at work earlier than usual, so time with your fiancée is a necessity.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Reed replied before stealing a kiss. He then covered her hands with his. “I'll be done by five. Promise.”
“Five o'clock,” Nora repeated firmly. “I'm making that roast you like with the potatoes, and if you're not at the table, I'm feeding it to the neighbor's dog.”
“My closest neighbor is Mrs. Hollister in the residential area behind the station, and she doesn't have a dog."
“Then I'll get her one.” Nora smiled at their banter.
