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He froze in place, his grey eyes moving to mine. “You think I did it? That I took her?”

He wasn’t accusatory in tone, nor weary. He wasn’t shocked someone had asked, and not at all perturbed that someone assumed he was a killer.

“I don’t know what to think,” I explained, looking at the man, who was right at eye level with me. “I just know that the day she was taken, your name was written in her notebook. I want to understand why.”

He let out a sigh and leaned against the reception desk, still using the rag to absently clean his hands. “She was asking me who I thought the Watcher was and had written something in that little red book of hers.”

“You’re Silas’s brother, right?”

“I was.”

“Then you understand better than most. You understand what it’s like to have someone you love snatched out of existence without an iota of understanding as to why. As to what happened to them,” I began, but was interrupted by his calm words.

“They’re dead, man. It’s time you accept that.”

I scoffed. “You want me to just cut my losses?”

He sighed deeply, looking exhausted. It was the first glimmer of real emotion I had seen in him. He reached behind his desk, pumping a dollop of hand sanitizer into his palm and rubbing his hands together. “Look, I’m not saying you should give up. I haven’t. Hell, I’m still here, even though half this town hates me and the other half ignores me. I liked Goldie from the one interaction I had with her. She was kinder to me than most of my neighbors are.” He looked up, his hands pausing as he looked at me. “She didn’t deserve what happened to her, but I didn’t do it. I don’t know why I’m in that book, or why she scribbled my name in there. Maybe I’ll never know.”

I was inclined to believe him, but couldn’t shake the feeling that he was more involved than I realized. At least in some capacity. “What about Old Man Baker and Librarian Lavelle? Do you know why their names are next to yours?”

He was taken aback by my question, his interest piqued. “It was just the three of us?” I nodded, and he snorted a laugh. “She wrote down the suspects I gave her: the three people this town has targeted as being the Watcher.”

“You think it’s one of them who did this?” I was grateful I finally had some understanding of her notes, but I still didn’t know what the goddamned last line meant.

Brooks shrugged, standing upright and pointing back to the mechanic's bay. “I don’t know. I really don’t. Look, as you may notice, I’m already on thin ice around here. I can’t be slacking at work. If there isn’t anything I can do for your car, I’ve got to go.”

I nodded in understanding. “Do you know where Baker and Lavelle are?”

Brooks shrugged. “Probably at home or work. The sheriff’s office can give you addresses if you need them.” He turned with his last words, walking back toward the car and tossing his rag into a bin.

I watched him for a moment before turning and leaving the building, the bell over the door dinging again to signify my exit. It wasn’t a lot of information, but it was something. The names listed were the town's suspects.

I headed down the sidewalk toward the sheriff’s office. With the town being so small, everything existed on this one main street. It was a short walk, and just as I arrived at the sheriff’s office, I felt eyes on me. I turned, trying to catch whoever was watching, when I saw a man standing across the street. He was older, with white hair and a canvas jacket. He was watching me intently—not with malice, but with curiosity.

“Lexington?” a voice asked, and I turned to see Detective Ransom walking toward me from the opposite direction. He glanced across the street, saw the man, and gave him a wave, calling, “Hey, Peter! Everything okay?”

The man I now knew as Peter didn’t answer, but turned and disappeared into the shadows of one of the small buildings lining the street.

“Is he okay?”

Detective Ransom nodded and opened the door to the sheriff’s office, motioning for me to enter. I obliged as he spoke. “Peter Baker? He’s fine. Just on edge after Goldie… well, you know.”

I stopped at his words, looking over my shoulder. “Baker… as in Old Man Baker?”

Detective Ransom nodded, confused. “Yes? I assume so. Probably some nickname the townsfolk gave him. Why do you ask?”

I couldn’t explain the notebook passage, as it was technically stolen evidence. “I’ve heard the moniker a few times, here and there, as we’ve been looking into the case.” It was an outright lie, but a lie that didn’t hurt anyone.

Detective Ransom gave me a curious look, but didn’t press the issue. “He does pop up in the earlier case files. For the first victims, the Taylors, he was good friends with Dakota Taylor.”

“Was Dakota a deputy here?” I asked.

Ransom smirked. “Saw the plaque, didn’t you?”

I shrugged, not giving him an answer.

“He was. That's why I was brought into the case in the first place. I was brand new to the homicide division when the call came in for a special request from the sheriff’s department. One of their own was killed, and they needed backup.”