“I assumed that Nora lived with Reed,” Hadley replied as she checked the time on her watch. She nodded slightly, as ifanswering an internal inquiry. “I will take you up on the offer to work out of the station during the day. In the meantime, I need to speak with someone, so if you’ll excuse me.”
“Hadley?” Warren had yet to impart Dana Langley’s request, and he wasn’t looking forward to Hadley’s reaction. “Mrs. Langley is having a rather difficult day. It might be best if you wait to have that conversation another time…somewhere else, of course.”
“I understand,” Hadley replied after a long pause. Her expression was unreadable, but Warren was pleased with how his request had been taken. “I’ll see myself out.”
Warren straightened his shoulders in a job well done as she turned to leave the dining room. He eyed the fried chicken that had no doubt been brought by Olivia McCarthy. She had a recipe that could rival even the older generation’s culinary skills, and that was saying something.
“Oh, and Warren?” Hadley had stopped near the archway leading into the kitchen. She dropped her gaze to his left hand. “You might want to replace your wedding band before Margaret notices it's missing. I spotted her talking with Gus near the front door.”
Warren glanced down at his bare ring finger. He'd removed the gold band last night before his monthly visit to Little Rock, leaving it in the console of his Cadillac for safekeeping. It seemed as if Olivia’s fried chicken would have to wait a little while longer.
“Thank you, Hadley. My eczema has been acting up with the change of weather. I put on some lotion before the funeral, and I merely forgot to put my wedding ring back on.”
“No problem, Mr. Mayor.”
Hadley’s tone held a hint of mockery, and he didn’t appreciate the judgment. He observed her disappear throughthe archway and into the kitchen so she wouldn’t need to walk past Reed’s mother.
Warren was proud of his restraint. He’d managed to stop himself from replying with a cutting remark about glass houses. Such a comment would gain him nothing. Besides, Hadley had no idea that he would occasionally visit her mother's house from time to time. She never would, either.
Unless, of course, he thought such private information might be to his benefit.
23
Hadley Dawkins
October 2025
Saturday – 2:49pm
Hadley turned away from Warren, the familiar burn of acid crawling up her throat. The pact she'd made with him left a residue of self-loathing that no amount of rationalization could wash away. Shehadgiven him permission to use her as a distraction, a convenient diversion for the media's hunger.
It had been her idea, her solution to keeping the media at bay.
Political expediency over truth, and she was becoming exactly what she despised in Elijah Garber. She moved through the dining room, conscious of how conversations stuttered and died as she passed the gathered groups. Reed's death had transformed her from an unwelcome outsider to something worse—a harbinger of tragedy. The weight of their stares pressed against her skin like physical contact.
“Excuse me.”
Hadley edged past a group of older women who had gathered near the coat rack. They parted reluctantly, giving her access to the front entrance. An elderly man was entering the house, and he politely held the door for her. She expressed her appreciation before stepping out onto the porch.
The crisp autumn air hit her face, and she had never been more grateful for the cooler weather. She remained on the top step until her breathing evened out. Once she’d regained her composure, she stared out over the neighborhood.
The sky hung low and heavy, covered in a quilt of steel-gray clouds that seemed to press the town deeper into the red clay beneath it. Fortunately, the rain was supposed to hold off until sometime next week, with the exception of a drizzle or two between now and then. The Cane County Harvest Festival could proceed as planned, much to the residents’ relief.
From the corner of her eye, she caught movement on the sidewalk. Sam Cashman approached at a distance, his steps slightly out of sync. His tie was loosely draped around his neck, and his suit jacket was unbuttoned, revealing a wrinkled dress shirt beneath.
Hadley wanted to intercept him before he could reach the house. She had teed up a conversation that shouldn’t be overheard and repeated by those occupying the Langley residence. Up close, the scent of alcohol clung to him like cologne. She began to suspect that his bloodshot eyes had nothing to do with lack of sleep.
“Hadley, I was just?—”
“You failed to mention that you drive to the prison once a week to visit Mason,” Hadley interrupted, not wanting to waste another second of her day. The vague, pleasant smile he'd prepared upon spotting her evaporated, leaving behind naked discomfort. “You drive a total of five hours every week to see Mason, and you didn’t think to mention it to me?”
“Someone has to make an effort.”
The bitterness in his tone caught her off guard. She'd expected deflection, but not raw hostility. It emanated from him in almost palpable waves. He didn’t seem to notice her initial reaction, and he pointed a finger in her direction.
“Did you think that no one cared? That everyone just went on with their lives?” Sam's words weren’t quite slurred, but the alcohol was clearly giving him some encouragement. “Some of us couldn't leave, Hadley. Or forget. Some of us had to live with what happened.”
She took a half-step back, absorbing the blow of his resentment. It wasn’t like it wasn’t deserved. Shehadbeen the one to leave, to escape the weight of this town and its memories. Sam and the others had remained, carrying not only his own burden but apparently Mason's as well.
