“Mick mentioned something once,” Sam said, sitting back in his chair. “A reporter. Tommy Callahan. Went missing twenty, maybe thirty years ago. Rumor was, he was digging into something big. Corruption, land deals, maybe even Convale. But he vanished, and the story went with him.”
Reese straightened, her curiosity piqued. “A reporter? Disappearing in White Rock? What was he looking for?”
“That’s the thing,” Sam said, his gaze shifting to the whiteboard. “Nobody knows. But Mick said Callahan was onto something. Something someone didn’t want getting out.”
“Sounds like a motive to me,” Wyatt said, crossing his arms. “If this is him—and that’s a big if—it means somebody wanted that story buried. Literally.”
“Could explain Garvin,” Reese added, her voice thoughtful. “If Callahan’s investigation tied into something Garvin stumbled onto, it could’ve put him in the crosshairs too.”
Sam nodded slowly. It made sense. Garvin had been poking around, digging into land records, properties, boundaries—the kind of work that could uncover secrets no one wanted found.
“Garvin was looking into the property where Jo’s cottage is,” Sam said, his tone sharper now, the pieces clicking into place. “The land around it. Convale owns a lot of it. If Callahan was onto something back then, maybe Garvin was getting close to the same truth now.”
“Which means it’s still dangerous,” Kevin said, his voice tense. He’d been quiet until now, his eyes fixed on the photo. “If someone killed Callahan back then, they’d have no problem doing the same to Garvin. Or anyone else who gets too close.”
The room fell into a heavy silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Lucy stirred at Sam’s feet, her ears pricking up as if sensing the tension in the air. Major leapt down from the filing cabinet, landing gracefully before padding to the door, his tail flicking dismissively.
Wyatt broke the quiet first. “I saw Marnie leave Beryl’s house with that envelope. She took it straight to Parker Studies. What if Convale’s using that place for something off the books? And Garvinfound out?”
Reese folded her arms, her expression darkening. “Beryl’s always in the middle of something shady. I don’t trust her as far as I can throw her.”
Sam leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting to the whiteboard again. Beryl Thorne. Marnie Wilson. Convale Energy. The names circled in red ink felt like a noose tightening around the truth.
“We press Beryl,” Reese said, her tone firm. “She’s protecting herself, but she knows more than she’s letting on.”
Sam’s jaw tightened. Beryl was a problem. She always had been. And confronting her meant more than just digging for answers—it meant dealing with the past he and Mick had spent years trying to bury. But he couldn’t avoid her forever.
“I’ll pay her a visit,” Sam said finally. “But first, I want more on Parker Studies. What exactly is going on there?”
“I’ll dig deeper,” Wyatt offered.
“Good,” Sam said, glancing at the clock. “Let’s call it for now. Fresh eyes tomorrow.”
The team began gathering their things, the tension in the room easing slightly as they prepared to leave. But Sam lingered, his eyes fixed on the photo of the suit pinned to thewhiteboard.
A man in an expensive suit, dumped in a well. A reporter chasing the truth. An old man murdered. A missing bronze statue.
Whoever thought they could bury their secrets had made a mistake.
Sam didn’t intend to let them get away with it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The flickering glow from the stone fireplace filled the cozy space of Sam’s cabin, casting warm shadows on the log walls. The cabin was small but homey, nestled on the outskirts of White Rock, where the pine trees pressed in close, giving it a sense of seclusion. The air inside carried the faint scent of pine and burning wood, mixing with the rich aroma of beer. It was a place built for quiet and solitude, though tonight, it buzzed with conversation.
Sam leaned back in his worn leather armchair, his fingers absently rubbing Lucy’s ear as she sat beside him, ever alert. The German Shepherd’s tail thumped gently against the wooden floorboards, her head tilted in that curious way, as if she was also taking in the conversation between Sam and Mick. On the coffeetable in front of them, two beers sat, condensation trailing down the sides of the bottles.
“You sure about this?” Mick asked, eyebrows knitting together as he leaned forward, his own beer untouched. “You think the skeleton in the well might be that reporter I told you about years ago?”
Sam took a slow pull from his bottle of Mooseneck Ale, the local brew he favored. “That’s what it’s starting to look like. Missing reporter, unmarked grave, skeleton turning up after decades... The timelines match.”
Mick leaned back, rubbing the stubble on his jaw as he absorbed Sam’s words. “That was a long time ago, Sam. The guy just disappeared. Never found a body. People wrote it off as him skipping town after the story he was working on ruffled the wrong feathers.”
“What kind of story was he working on again?” Sam asked, his gaze shifting to Lucy as she quietly padded across the room to her usual spot by the fire. She circled once then lay down, keeping one eye on the door like she always did.
Mick chuckled, his eyes following the dog for a moment before refocusing on Sam. “Oh, it was something big. A real bombshell exposé on Convale Energy. You know how it goes—corporate greed, environmental destruction, all that.” He took a sip of his beer,savoring it. “The reporter, Tommy Callahan, was digging into some illegal dumping Convale was doing. Supposedly, they were dumping waste into a stream running through White Rock, contaminating the water.”
Sam frowned, his mind churning. “The stream that runs behind Jo’s cottage?”
