“Lucas? He hasn’t breathed a word about you making advances on an underage girl,” Hadley stated matter-of-factly, interrupting him to make her point. A subtle flinch crossed his features. “I think it’s time we had an honest conversation, don’t you?”
“I was just being nice,” Brock replied defensively, keeping the pool table between them. “Missy was taking guitar lessons from Lucas, and one day, she seemed down. I offered to?—”
“If you knew that Missy was taking guitar lessons from Lucas, why not share that with Chief Langley or Sheriff Turner after her disappearance?”
“Why? Because Lucas had nothing to do with all that,” Brock exclaimed rather heatedly as he leaned over the table to get his point across. He’d gone from expressing shame to anger in the span of three seconds. “You people think?—”
“What I think is information like that could have helped establish Missy’s movements, her state of mind in the days before she went missing.” Hadley took a step closer to the pool table, causing him to straighten at the advance. “You said yourself she was down. Sad, even? Did you ask her why, or did you just assume that such vulnerability would give you the chance to?—”
“Is there a problem here?”
The deep and older voice came from behind Hadley, unexpected enough that she balled her fingers into the palms of her hands. Elijah Garber had approached the area without her noticing, indicating she wasn’t at her best.
“Mr. Luepke and I were just having a private conversation.” Hadley didn’t take her focus off Brock. “If you don’t mind, Elijah, I’d like to continue the discussion.”
Hadley had used the former chief’s first name to get her point across. He had no influence over this informal interview, andshe made sure to send a clear message that his authority had expired long ago.
“Hadley, think about what you’re doing here.” Elijah turned inward so that they were mere inches apart. He lowered his voice for only her to hear. “It’s been a long time since you set foot in Whistlerun, and there are new dynamics that you're not fully aware of.”
“And what dynamics might those be, Elijah?”
“Brock Luepke is Warren Caldwell's nephew. His younger sister's boy.”
It was no wonder that Brock had a chip on his shoulder. Family connections were considered sacred around these parts, surpassing the truth and the importance of law enforcement.
“Are you suggesting I ignore a potential lead because he’s related to the mayor?”
“I’m suggesting you consider the larger picture, Hadley.” Elijah had murmured her name in such a way that it garnered her full attention. She realized that his concern had little to do with the mayor and everything to do with Brock. “I've known him since he was in diapers. Watched him grow up. He's a good kid with a short temper, sure, but he had nothing to do with Missy Claymont's disappearance.”
“You knew about the guitar lessons, didn’t you? Brock came to you, and you advised him to keep quiet.”
“I made a judgment call to ensure the investigation wouldn’t get sidetracked.” Elijah finally stepped away, giving her some breathing room. “I don’t regret doing it, either.”
“You should, Elijah,” Hadley replied with disappointment. “You should, because you can’t go around being judge, jury, and executioner. You say you’ve known Brock since he was in diapers, but the same could be said for Reed.”
Hadley gave her words time to settle as she pulled the keys to her SUV from her pocket. She studied the most recent key addedto the ring. The one given to her by Reed so she could use the main level of the police station without having to disturb him if he were in the upstairs apartment.
“You knew Reed Langley all his life, too.” Hadley didn't need to raise her voice. Her words carried enough force to cause Elijah to break their stare in regret. “You gave him his first speeding ticket. You watched him walk across the stage at graduation. And you handed him his badge when he took over for you as Police Chief of Whistlerun. So, tell me, Elijah—where does your loyalty lie now that he's dead?”
21
Hadley Dawkins
October 2025
Saturday – 8:03am
Loyalty.
Hadley had asked Elijah a question on Thursday night about the topic, but she’d exited the bar before he could give her an answer. His sense of loyalty was completely blind. It was simply given based on where someone was born or lived, and only taken away in death.
She viewed loyalty like currency. A balance sheet where every deposit meant a withdrawal elsewhere. When each allegiance demanded collateral in hours spent and feelings invested, with no insurance against the inevitable crashes of betrayal. She'd spent it carelessly in her youth, and the night her brother emerged from the woods covered in blood, she’d gone completely bankrupt.
Maybe that was why she found herself in the visiting room at Varner Unit prison. She needed a loan, and her brother was the only one who could supply her with a few pennies. She wiped hersweating palms against the black fabric of her pant suit for the third time in as many minutes, the material now slightly tacky against her fingers.
She attributed the perspiration to her inability to take a deep breath. The stench of disinfectant was so prominent that it was difficult to siphon any oxygen out of the room. To distract herself until the guard escorted her brother through the heavy steel door, she began to count the scratches in the plexiglass divider. Twenty years of silence existed between the barrier, nearly double the decade she'd spent avoiding her hometown.
Hadley fought the urge to glance at the black-and-white government-issued clock on the wall behind her. Time moved differently here, stretched and warped by the institutional rhythm of guards' boots against concrete floors and the distant metallic clangs of cell doors.
