“Is that…” Sadie starts but stops. She shakes her head and points to the ground. Among the shattered glass are torn, crumpled pieces of paper. “Is that what I think it is?”
Dean crouches down, examines the torn papers scattered among the glass. He doesn’t pick them up, but he reads for a second before he stands.
“It’s your book,” he says quietly. “They tore up a copy ofWildfire Summer.”
“Those bastards,” Jess says quietly.
“I didn’t even have a copy in the shop,” Sadie whispers.
I watch the realization settle over everyone. Someone bought her book, the book they claimed was filth, just to tear it up and leave it here.
Her tears stop.
“They bought it,” she says. “They bought my book, ripped it up, and threw it here like trash.”
“Sadie—“
She looks up at me, and there’s steel in her eyes I haven’t seen before. “They’re hoping this will make me leave. They think destroying my shop and my book will scare me away.”
“Will it?” Jess asks quietly.
“No.” Sadie’s voice doesn’t waver. “What about the camera?”
I look up at the corner where I mounted it three days ago. The lens is shattered, the housing cracked open. Someone took a bat or a rock to it.
“They got to it,” I say. “But the footage might still be on the card.”
Officers O’Brien and Vasquez arrive within minutes. They go through the motions, taking photos, writing notes, asking if Sadie has any idea who might’ve done this.
Sadie doesn’t hesitate. “Judith Ashford.”
O’Brien looks up from his notebook. “The historical society president?”
“She’s been leading the charge against Sadie online,” I add. “Judith confronted her publicly tonight at Sips & Stars. There were plenty of witnesses.”
“I’m not saying she did this herself, but she’s been stirring up hatred. Someone’s listening to her,” Sadie says.
Vasquez exchanges a glance with O’Brien. “We’ll look into it.”
“Also, Owen Ross, Sadie’s ex-boyfriend,” I offer. His name’s written all over this. “He’s been harassing her since her identity was revealed.”
“Harassing how?” O’Brien asks.
“Showing up at my apartment uninvited. Threatening messages. He grabbed my wrist the other night.” She glances at me. “I had to get him out, and Mateo arrived shortly after.”
O’Brien writes this down. “We’ll follow up with both of them.”
“Will you?” Macy’s voice is sharp. “Because last time you filed a report and nothing happened.”
Vasquez makes a note. “We’ll talk to both Mr. Ross and Ms. Ashford.”
As they finish up, Vasquez walks to the corner of the building and examines the smashed camera. He carefully removes what’s left of the housing and holds up the SD card, scratched but intact. “Card’s still here. The camera took the hit, but whoever did this didn’t think to pull it.”
“Can you get footage off that?” I ask.
“Maybe. Depends on whether the impact corrupted the data. We’ll send it to the county lab.”
The officers finish documenting the scene and promise to follow up before they leave.
