Chapter 18
Claire
The front door opened before we even knocked. Sandy stood there, a warm smile already in place, her gaze moving from Asher to me with easy curiosity.
“You must be Claire,” she said gently. “Come in.”
The house smelled as though something rich and comforting was simmering in the kitchen. It felt lived in, welcoming in a way that made some of the tension leave my shoulders. Asher stepped inside first and I followed.
“Pierre!” Sandy called toward the kitchen. “Asher’s here. And he brought someone,” she added with a knowing smile.
We rounded the corner into the kitchen. A tall man with broad shoulders and silver threaded through dark hair looked up from the table. His eyes settled on me.
“Asher,” he greeted, then paused.
Asher cleared his throat. “Dad… this is Claire. Claire, this is my dad, Pierre Thorne.”
Pierre stood and offered his hand. The grip was firm without being intimidating.
“It’s nice to meet you,” he said, voice calm and steady.
“You too,” I replied.
“Sit,” he said, gesturing toward the chairs. “Sandy just made iced tea.”
Sandy was already pouring glasses, condensation sliding down the sides.
“Are you two hungry?” she asked.
“I’m good thanks,” I said quickly.
“Yeah, we’re fine,” Asher added.
Sandy gave Asher a pointed look. “Didn’t you come straight from the community center?”
He hesitated. “Yeah.”
“You must be starving,” she said decisively, already turning toward the stove.
Asher sighed under his breath. “I walked into that one.”
I smiled despite myself. Within minutes plates appeared in front of us, and then the meat lasagna followed, warm and filling.
Conversation stayed light at first with talk of the orchard, the tourists, how busy the town had been lately.
I answered when spoken to but mostly listened, watching the easy rhythm of their family. Eventually Asher set his fork down.
“Dad,” he said quietly. “We need to talk about something.”
The shift in the room was immediate. Pierre leaned back slightly, attention sharpening. “Okay.”
I started to tell them about Sophie’s disappearance.
“Becket updated me. I know he reached out to Montreal today,” he said.
Asher glanced at me, giving me a small nod. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the folded note, sliding it across the table.
Pierre unfolded it carefully. Silence settled. He read the line once. Then again with no reaction at first. When he finally looked up, something heavier sat behind his eyes.
“I’ve been going after criminals most of my life,” he said quietly. “The Bellerose empire caused a lot of hurt, people disappeared, and many families were left with questions.”
He placed the paper down with deliberate care. “I worked decades trying to bring it down,” he continued. “But it was too big a job for a small-town cop.”
I sat very still.
“What I can tell you,” he said, turning toward me, “is that your friend isn’t the only one who’s disappeared on that route.”
My stomach twisted.
“If I hadn’t seen this note,” he went on, tapping it lightly, “I’d tell you it was possible she ran into wildlife. A bear. A wild cat. The forest doesn’t always give people back.”
The words made my chest tighten.
“But seeing this…” He exhaled slowly. “This means something.”
Asher leaned forward. “Meaning what?”
Pierre rubbed a hand over his jaw. “What I do know is that Provincial Police and the RCMP are closing in on parts of the Bellerose operation,” he said carefully. “There are things happening I don’t have clearance to know.”
That surprised me.
“You don’t?” I asked quietly.
He shook his head once. “No.”
Silence stretched across the table.
“Your search for answers,” he said gently, looking directly at me, “could interfere with something bigger than you realize. It could hurt the case.”
My fingers tightened around my glass.
“When things finally come to light,” he continued, “you may get answers.”
A beat passed.
“Or you might not.” The honesty landed like a weight. “I’m asking you to be okay with either possibility,” he said softly. “Because cases like this… they can hollow you out.” His gaze drifted briefly, like he was remembering something he didn’t want to.
“I got so obsessed with putting Marcel Bellerose behind bars that I lost track of who I was. What I was doing.”
Asher frowned. “What do you mean?”
Footsteps sounded behind us. Becket appeared in the doorway, leaning casually against the arch.
“Hi,” he said, glancing around the table. “I see Dad’s updating you on what I found out.”
His eyes flicked to the note.
Pierre looked toward Sandy then. She blinked once, subtly giving him permission. The air in the kitchen shifted. Like whatever came next was going to change everything.
Becket pushed off the doorway slightly, brows pulling together. “Dad… where is this coming from?”
Pierre didn’t answer right away. His fingers rested on the edge of the table, gaze fixed somewhere beyond all of us.
Finally, he exhaled. “Do you remember the note you found in the attic?” he asked quietly. “The day before Elyna and Phoenix’s wedding.”
Becket stilled.
Asher tensed.
Becket shifted his weight. “The letter with Mom’s handwriting.”
My stomach tightened at the way the room seemed to close in. Pierre nodded slowly. His voice dropped as he repeated the words from memory.
“I can’t stay here now that I know what really happened by the river.
Please understand—this isn’t goodbye forever.
I know it by heart,” he said, and then he burst into tears.
The sound of his cries was broken as Sandy stood to console him.
I had only just met him, but he seemed so strong and assured this was a lot to take in.
Aching silence followed. The air felt heavier, like even breathing too loud would disturb something fragile.
Asher blinked. “Wait… that was about a case?”
Pierre’s jaw tightened. “It was about Maggie Chabot.”
The name landed with weight. From my research I assumed she was Elyna’s mom, the woman I met at the bakery. The woman married to Phoenix. Pierre leaned back slightly, rubbing at his eyes.
“I knew what happened to Maggie,” he said quietly. “There was a hit out on Kyle Jansen. Maggie was collateral damage.”
Becket swore softly under his breath.
Asher stared at his father. “You knew?”
Pierre nodded once. “I knew,” he cried. “And I didn’t arrest Marcel Bellerose.”
The words felt almost impossible coming from a man who clearly carried the shape of law enforcement in his bones.
“Why?” Asher asked, voice rough.
Pierre rubbed a hand across his face. “Because I knew the charges wouldn’t stick,” he said. “No witnesses willing to talk. No hard evidence. Just whispers and fear. If I pushed too soon, the case would collapse and he’d walk clean.”
Sandy watched him quietly, her expression soft but sad.
“Helen was furious,” Pierre continued. “Maggie was her best friend. She couldn’t understand why I didn’t move on him.” His voice cracked slightly on the last words. “She thought I chose caution over justice.”
Becket’s jaw clenched. “Did you?”
Pierre looked at him sharply. “I chose what I thought would actually bring him down someday,” he said. “Not just make myself feel better in the moment.”
Silence settled again.
“Asher,” Pierre said quietly, turning toward his youngest son, “you were too young to understand what was happening back then. But your mother… she couldn’t live with it.”
His gaze dropped to the table. “She believed if she stayed, she’d lose herself to the anger.”
A long pause stretched.
“She left because of that?” Asher asked, voice almost disbelieving.
Pierre nodded slowly. “She left because she couldn’t forgive me.”
The confession settled like a stone between us.
Becket looked away first, running a hand through his hair. I felt like an outsider witnessing something deeply personal, something raw and unfinished. Pierre turned back toward me then, his expression gentler, his eyes filled with unshed tears.
“This is why I’m telling you all of this,” he said quietly. “Cases like yours… they don’t just hurt the people directly involved. They ripple. They break families. They change who you are if you let them.”
His eyes flicked toward the note on the table.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Becket’s voice exploded through the room. “We’ve been searching for answers all our lives. Why did our mother leave and not look back? And you knew, and you didn’t tell us?”
Asher leaned forward; disbelief written all over his face.
Pierre looked between his sons. “You were kids.”
“I’m not a kid now, haven’t been for a while,” Asher said sharply.
The temperature in the room shifted. Anger crackled between them. Becket pushed away from the doorway and stepped fully into the kitchen.
“You let us grow up thinking Mom just… left. That she walked away for no reason.”
Pierre’s jaw tightened. “It wasn’t that simple.”
“No,” Becket snapped. “It never is with you.”
“Asher,” Pierre said, trying to steady the conversation, “I was trying to protect—”
“Protect who?” Asher cut in. “Us? Or yourself?”
The words hung there as I sat frozen, suddenly feeling like I was watching something that should’ve stayed behind closed doors.
Becket laughed once. “You held onto this vital information for years and didn’t think maybe your sons deserved the truth?”
Pierre’s voice lowered. “I carried that darkness because I thought it was mine alone.”
“And look how well that worked out,” Becket shot back.
Asher stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. “I need to leave,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
His eyes flicked to me then, softening slightly. “Claire… I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I just… I need air.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
Becket was already moving toward the door, anger radiating off him.
“I’m coming,” he said to Asher without looking back.
The two brothers left together, the back door shutting harder than necessary behind them.
Silence filled the kitchen. I suddenly felt very small sitting there.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, looking at Pierre. “I didn’t mean to bring all this up.”
Pierre shook his head slowly. “No,” he said. His voice sounded tired now. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” He exhaled. “I’ve been holding onto that darkness for a long time. Maybe too long. It was going to come out eventually.”
Sandy reached over and squeezed his hand. I stood slowly, unsure what to do with myself.
“Thank you for dinner,” I said softly to Sandy.
She gave me a warm, understanding smile. “Anytime, sweetheart.”
I nodded, grabbing my bag and stepping toward the door.
The house felt different now. Like something had cracked open and couldn’t be put back together.
Outside, the air felt cool against my skin.
My head spun as I walked toward my car. This case wasn’t just about Sophie anymore.
It had opened old wounds in a family I was only beginning to understand.
I drove over to my cabin and went inside.
My head was spinning, so I could only imagine what this was doing to Asher.