“Anyone see this happen?”
“Just the last few customers leaving.Maybe three people still around at that point.Bar was mostly empty.”Aaron shook his head.“I can’t believe he’s dead.I mean, Derek was a pain in the ass, but...”
“Did he have problems with anyone else last night?Arguments, threats?”
Aaron snorted, a sound without humor.“Derek had problems with everyone.It’d be easier to list who he didn’t piss off.”He moved behind the bar, absently wiping down the already clean surface.“But yeah, there was one guy.Wearing a blue shirt, didn’t catch his name.Derek was mouthing off about something to Blue Shirt, trying to pick a fight.I stepped in before it escalated.”
Jake pulled out a small notebook, jotting this down.“You remember what they were arguing about?”
Aaron shrugged.“Not really.Derek was slurring by that point.Something about the guy looking at him wrong.And it wasn’t much of an argument, just Derek mouthing off, as I said.The guy looked more puzzled than angry.”He paused, remembering something.“But there was something else you probably should know.Brenda Drummond also came in last night.”
Jake looked up sharply.“The retired teacher?The one who runs that community message board?”
“TownCircle, yeah.She doesn’t drink, just comes in sometimes to gather gossip for her little online empire.”Aaron’s distaste was evident.“Last night she made a beeline for Derek.Pulled him into a booth for a private chat.”
“You heard what they talked about?”
“No, but it wasn’t friendly.She had that look she gets—like she’s got dirt on someone and can’t wait to spread it around.After she left, Derek downed three shots in a row.Seemed anxious.”
Jake made another note.Brenda Drummond was Trentville’s self-appointed moral guardian, documenting every perceived slight or community violation on TownCircle.If she’d had something on Derek, it might hold a clue to someone’s motive for murder.
“What time was Brenda here?”
“Around midnight.Stayed maybe fifteen minutes.”
“And the guy in the blue shirt?”
“Earlier.Nine-thirty, ten o’clock.”
Jake closed his notebook."Thanks, Aaron.If you think of anything else—anything at all—call me."He gave her his card, though Aaron certainly already had his number.
“Sure thing.And Deputy?”Aaron’s expression was somber.“Derek was a troublemaker, but he didn’t deserve that.Whoever did this...”
“We’ll find them,” Jake assured him, though the words felt hollow even as he spoke.
Outside, the morning had warmed, the sun climbing higher in a cloudless sky.As Jake stepped into the street, he saw the coroner’s van driving slowly past, carrying Derek Sullivan on his final journey to the morgue.He watched it until it disappeared around a corner, then pulled out his phone.
He needed to locate Brenda Drummond, find out what she and Derek had discussed.He needed to identify the man in the blue shirt.He needed to canvass the neighborhood around the crime scene, hoping someone had seen or heard something useful.And eventually, he needed to tell Jenna about all of it.
But first, he needed to understand what he was dealing with.The red yarn, the careful arrangement of the body.Almost like a message.
Jake had seen his share of violence when he’d been a cop in Kansas City, but this felt different.Calculated.Theatrical, even.As if the killer wanted an audience.This one was much more like the very strange cases that kept turning up here in Genesius County.
As he scrolled through his contacts for Brenda Drummond’s number, Jake couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the opening act of something larger—and darker—than a simple murder.
Derek Sullivan might be the first victim, but Jake doubted he would be the last.
CHAPTER FOUR
As Jenna guided the car along the familiar streets of Trentville, Piper sat in perfect stillness beside her.“You okay?”Jenna asked, breaking a silence that had stretched since they’d left the hospital.
Piper turned from the window, her green eyes—identical to Jenna’s own—filled with wonder.“It’s like...stepping into a dream I’ve had over and over, but never fully remembered when I woke up.”
They rounded the final corner onto Sycamore Lane, and their childhood home came into view—the two-story craftsman with blue paint slightly faded, the white trim freshly touched up.Jenna pulled into the driveway, put the car in park, and cut the engine.
“We’re home,” she said, the words catching in her throat.She’d tried to prepare Piper for the changes over these long years, but she knew that the homecoming must still have shocks in store.
Piper didn’t move immediately.She sat examining the house with the intensity of someone committing every detail to memory, or perhaps comparing it to some half-forgotten image from the past.
