11. Theo
11
Theo
T he evening sky is painted in bruised shades of purple and gray as we head toward the station, my old truck rumbling down the road. The air inside feels just as heavy as the sky outside—thick with tension.
Mo had been cryptic as hell on the phone, and that wasn’t like her. She usually laid things out straight, with no room for guessing games. But tonight? There was a strain in her voice. Unease twists in my gut, a feeling I can’t shake no matter how many times I try to tell myself it’s nothing.
I don’t like not knowing what we’re walking into.
Bennett shifts in the passenger seat, his elbow propped against the door, fingers tapping out an erratic rhythm against his knee. He’s always moving like his body is too restless to sit still. Or maybe, like me, he’s trying to shake the unease off.
He’s the first one to break the silence. “What made you want to open a cafe?”
I keep my eyes on the road, the question catching me off guard.
“It wasn’t really about want ,” I say, gripping the wheel a little tighter. “It was my mom’s cafe. Before she passed, it was hers . She named it Bear and Brew for her little teddy bear, Theodore. I think that’s why Aunt Aubrey still calls me Teddy, to help keep my mom alive.”
Bennett doesn’t say anything right away, and for a second, I think maybe he’s going to drop it. But then—
“So, you kept it going?” His voice is quieter now, less like he’s just making conversation and more like he wants to know.
“Aubrey took over after she died, she held the reins for me until I turned 18 so I could take over, but yeah.” I exhale, rolling my shoulders, trying to shake the weight settling there. “She built it from the ground up. Every corner of that place—every recipe, every little detail—was hers. Walking away wasn’t an option. Keeping it running… It’s how I stay close to her.”
I flick a glance at him. He’s watching me, brow furrowed just slightly like he’s piecing clues together.
“She loved baking,” I add, surprising myself. I don’t talk about my mom much. “I grew up watching her in the kitchen. It wasn’t just food to her—it was love . The way she took care of people, the way she showed up for them. When I’m back there, mixing dough or pulling the trays out of the oven… it’s like she’s still with me.”
The words settle between us, filling the space that’s been so thick with silence. Bennett doesn’t press, doesn’t offer some empty apology, or try to smooth it over. He just nods, slow and thoughtful, like he gets it.
After a beat, he huffs out a quiet laugh. “That explains why your truck smells like coffee and sugar.”
It’s a small thing, but it cuts through the tension just enough. I snort, shaking my head. “Occupational hazard.”
Bennett nods like that makes sense. “Could be worse.”
I arch a brow. “Yeah?”
“You could be a mechanic. Then it’d smell like grease and regret.”
A short chuckle escapes before I can stop it. “I’ll stick with coffee.”
Silence creeps back in, but this time it’s not as heavy. Still, tension lingers at the edges—an avoidance we both share.
“You good?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
“Yeah.” His response is too quick, too sharp around the edges to be true. Then, after a beat, he exhales, long and slow, “It’s just… everything feels connected, you know? Like all these loose threads are starting to tangle together, and I don’t know if I’m ready for what we’re about to find.”
His words settle like a stone in my chest because—yeah. I get that. More than he knows.
“Join the club,” I murmur, gripping the wheel a little tighter. “We’ll figure it out. We have to.”
I don’t know if I say it for him or myself. Maybe both.
By the time we pull into the sheriff’s department parking lot, the air feels heavier. The building looms ahead, washed in that sickly fluorescent glow that makes everything look off, like a place caught between worlds.
It’s too quiet.
Not the usual quiet that comes with the late hour, but the kind that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The kind that makes you feel like you’re being watched.
The parking lot is almost empty, but it doesn’t feel abandoned. It feels like the moment before a storm breaks like the whole town is holding its breath.
I park the truck and cut the engine, but neither of us moves right away.
“This is gonna be bad, isn’t it?” Bennett asks, his voice quieter than before.
I glance at him, then back at the building.
“Yeah,” I say finally, the weight of the night settling deep in my bones. “I think it is.”
And then, without another word, we get out and head inside.
The moment we step through the doors, the scent of burnt coffee and old paper hits me—a mix of stale caffeine and the kind of institutional air that lingers in places like this. The sheriff’s department always feels the same: dim, slightly too cold, with a strange hum of energy beneath the surface, like a living thing waiting for the next big piece of bad news to roll in.
Not that anything happens in a town like Shadow Grove.
At the front desk, Nancy barely looks up from her magazine, her manicured fingers idly flipping the page. She’s been working here forever, knows everything that happens in this town before it even happens, and somehow, she still has time to keep up with the latest celebrity scandals.
Finally, she glances up, lips quirking in a knowing smile. “Back at it again?”
There’s amusement in her tone like she already has a theory about why we’re here. Probably thinks I am getting into trouble—or trying to dig my way out of it. Wouldn’t be the first time someone assumed that.
“Something like that,” I say, offering her a tight smile. “Can you let Mo know we’re here?”
“She let me know to look out for you, so I let her know as soon as I saw your truck.,” Nancy replies easily, tapping her long nails against the desk. “Said she’d come to grab you when she was ready. You boys staying out of trouble?”
“Trying to,” Bennett says with a smirk, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s no cocky lilt to his voice, no real effort behind it.
Nancy chuckles, clearly not noticing the tension hanging between us, the way the air feels stretched tight like a wire about to snap. “Well, don’t let me keep you. You know where the coffee is if you need it.”
I nod, but the idea of drinking anything right now makes my stomach churn. My nerves are stretched too thin, coiled tight beneath my skin. I can feel the weight of whatever’s coming pressing down on me, making my shoulders tense, my hands itch to do a task—anything—to shake this feeling off.
We don’t have to wait long before Mo appears, her expression grim as she motions for us to follow.
“Come on. We need to talk.”
There’s no teasing in her tone, no casual ease to cushion whatever’s coming next. Just a direct order, clipped and serious. That alone is enough to make my pulse pick up.
The hallway seems longer than usual as we follow her, the overhead fluorescents buzzing faintly, casting sharp angles of light and shadow along the walls. The smell of cheap disinfectant lingers in the air, but it doesn’t do much to cover the underlying scent of paper and old dust.
Gabe’s office looms ahead, and the second we step inside, it feels like the air shifts—thicker, heavier, like the room itself is bracing for what’s about to happen. It’s ridiculous, but I swear even the walls know we’re walking into something bigger than we understand.
The glow of the computer screen is the only real light in the dim office, casting eerie blue shadows across the desk. The familiar clutter of Gabe’s things—his old leather notebook, the empty coffee cup still sitting near the monitor, a pen resting at an odd angle like he just set it down—makes my chest tighten.
But my eyes immediately lock onto the files pulled up on the screen.
Names. IP addresses. A digital trail leading somewhere I don’t think any of us are ready for.
I don’t realize I’ve gone still until Mo starts speaking.
“Gabe had a system set up,” she explains. “It alerts him whenever someone accesses files related to these names. And look at the source of the latest activity.”
I follow her finger to the line of text.
“Activity Source: 153.31.100.0”
The numbers mean nothing to me at first, just a string of digits, but I know better than to assume they’re random.
“Care to clue us in on what that means?” I ask, keeping my voice even despite the way my stomach twists.
“It means that someone from the FBI is now looking into this.” Mo’s fingers hover over the keyboard. “I tracked the IP address to the FBI network. I’m not sure where the other source is from, it looks like a town in Alabama, but I’m not sure who would be looking into this from there. It looks like it was the morning of Gabe’s death. Some place called Huntsville. I’ve never heard of it but they have a ton of engineering firms out there.”
Beside me, Bennett stiffens, his breath hitching just enough for me to notice.
“Wait—what?” His voice is barely above a whisper, but it cuts through the silence like a blade.
Mo nods, gaze flicking back to the screen. “The morning he died, there were multiple alerts. Someone was trying to access these files. And it wasn’t the FBI.”
Bennett takes a step back, dragging a hand through his hair, fingers gripping tight like he’s trying to hold onto a shred of stability. His throat works as he swallows hard.
“That was me.”
The words land like a gut punch, knocking the breath from the room.
I stare at him, my mind scrambling to catch up, but the math is already working itself out in the back of my head. He was looking into this the same morning Gabe died. That can’t be a coincidence. Nothing about this situation feels like a coincidence anymore.
Bennett looks shaken, his usual confidence stripped raw. The way his hands tremble at his sides, the way his gaze darts toward the floor like he’s searching for answers in the worn carpet—it’s enough to make my stomach twist.
I open my mouth to speak, to ask him what the hell he was doing, why he was digging around in Gabe’s files that morning, but nothing comes out.
Because deep down, I already know.
And if I’m right all he was doing was looking into his family.
I turn toward him, trying to meet his gaze. “What do you mean?”
“I was the one accessing those files,” he says, guilt etched into every line of his face. “That’s when I started digging into my family’s history, trying to figure out how it all connected. I didn’t know anyone would have something set up to track it.”
Mo’s eyes widen. “You’re saying you triggered those alerts?”
“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t realize you could set up alerts for that sort of thing.” Bennett says, his voice cracking. “And now you’re telling me Gabe was murdered the day those alerts went off?”
Silence crashes over us. The weight of his words presses into my ribs, tightening with every second that passes. The dim light of the computer screen flickers, casting deep shadows on Bennett’s face, making the hollowness in his expression even more pronounced. My heart pounds, my mind racing through every possibility, every thread of truth we might have missed.
“This isn’t your fault,” I say firmly, stepping toward him. I can see the cracks forming, the way he’s barely holding himself together.
Bennett shakes his head, his hands trembling. “If I hadn’t started looking into this, maybe Gabe would still be here. Maybe he wouldn’t have—”
“Stop,” I say as I cut him off before he can finish that thought. “You didn’t do this. Whoever’s behind this was already in motion long before you started asking questions.”
Mo places a hand on his shoulder. “Theo’s right. Gabe could have been onto something—something big we don’t even know about. Maybe that’s why he set this up in the first place. You didn’t cause this, Bennett. You’re helping us figure it out.”
Bennett doesn’t look convinced, but he nods, his gaze fixed on the floor.
I turn back to the screen, my mind working in overdrive. “We need to figure out what the FBI is looking for.”
Mo’s jaw tightens. “Agreed. If Gabe’s death is connected to this, then whoever did it isn’t just sitting idle. They’re watching. They’re waiting.”
“Unless,” Bennett says softly, “it wasn’t about Gabe at all. What if it was Aubrey? What if she’s behind all of this? Think about it—her husband of what, 25 years? Her brother. Her first husband…”
I feel my blood run cold.
No .
“Stop right there,” I say sharply.
Mo’s voice is steely. “There is no way Aubrey could have done this. She’s been through hell. Do you think she murdered Gabe, her brother-in-law, and her first husband? That doesn’t even make sense. Besides, we don’t even know how many other people have been murdered in the same way. The only reason you figured out that those were murders in the first place, was because you were looking into your family.”
I shake my head, the idea so absurd I can’t even entertain it. “She couldn’t hurt a fly,” I add, my tone final. “Whatever this is, it’s bigger than her. Don’t let your guilt twist things into false narratives. She took me in after my parents died, she did everything she could to keep the cafe open after my parent’s death. She kept the cafe going when everything felt like it was falling apart. Aubrey wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
Mo steps in, her voice softer now but just as resolute. “You don’t know her like we do, Bennett. Aubrey is a person who makes the whole town better just by being in it.”
She keeps talking, but my eyes meet Mo’s, and for a brief moment, we don’t need words.
He’s scared.
Yeah. And he’s reaching.
We shut this down now.
Mo gives the smallest nod, and just like that, we’re in sync.
Bennett notices.
“Okay,” he says, drawing out the word, eyes narrowing. “Are you two gonna clue me in, or are we just supposed to stand here and read each other’s minds?”
Mo smirks, but it’s brief. “You were reaching, and we were shutting it down.”
Bennett exhales, shaking his head. “Damn. Must be nice to have full-on telepathy.”
I shrug. “It’s a gift.”
Mo rolls her eyes, but the tension eases for just a second before reality crashes back in.
Bennett swallows hard, hesitating. “I just… I can’t ignore the coincidences. Three men connected to her, all gone.”
I step closer, my voice firm but not unkind. “Aubrey isn’t some mastermind pulling strings, Bennett. She’s the one who makes sure everyone else is okay, even when she’s barely holding it together herself.”
Mo nods. “We’ll figure this out together. But don’t go tearing down the one person who’s done nothing but hold this family—and this town—together. If we start doubting her, we’re already losing.”
Bennett’s voice is barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just—”
“I know,” I say, cutting him off gently. “But right now, we focus on finding out who is responsible. Aubrey isn’t the villain here. She never was, and she never will be.”
“She isn’t the villain,” I say, my voice final. “But what if she isn’t the one behind it? What if she’s the target?”
Bennett hesitates.
I press on. “Three men, all tied to her, all dead under mysterious circumstances. What if someone didn’t want her to have a happy life? What if they were taking away everyone she ever loved?”
Mo nods. “It makes more sense than her being the one responsible. Someone could be punishing her—or making sure she never finds peace. If that’s true, then she could still be in danger.”
Bennett swallows hard, his throat working. “Shit.”
“We need to be sure,” I say. “Because if this isn’t over, then we have to protect her before it’s too late.”
The tension in the room is suffocating, but beneath it is a shared determination.
Gabe had been taken from us, but his work wasn’t over.
And neither is ours.