Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Fairfax Mansion’s grand ballroom buzzed with activity as we prepared for tomorrow night’s bachelor auction.
Penny balanced precariously on a ladder, draping burgundy silk between crystal chandeliers while Sarah and Emma arranged fresh dahlias below.
The scent of autumn flowers mixed with coffee and pastries from Wilson’s Bakery, the aromas filling the cavernous space.
“A little higher on the left,” Adelaide called from her position near the marble fireplace. She adjusted her glasses as she studied the decorations. “Richard would have a fit if we damaged his precious moldings.”
“Your brother’s not due back until next week, right?” Penny secured the fabric, then climbed down to survey his handiwork.
“That’s right,” Adelaide pivoted on her heel as she beckoned Penny to follow her. “Now, about the lighting...”
“Has anyone seen Jake?” Rosie’s voice carried from the mansion’s kitchen. “He was supposed to help with the catering setup.”
I glanced up from the stack of auction programs I’d been sorting. Jake had been oddly scarce since agreeing to participate in the auction. His anxiety had only worsened since the Holloway incident.
“Found him!” Penny pointed toward the French doors leading to the garden. Jake shuffled in, his shoulders hunched in his oversized sweater, phone clutched in his hand.
“Sorry I’m late,” Jake mumbled. “Got distracted on my way here. You guys need to see this.”
He pulled up something on his phone, hands shaking slightly as he held it out. “These kids in my building were doing this last night. The art’s kind of beautiful, in a weird way.”
I leaned in to look at the photo. My breath caught. The image showed fresh graffiti on an abandoned warehouse wall—swirling letters in black and red paint, the same distinctive style that had defaced Rosie’s shop two months ago.
And the campaign posters last week.
“Jake,” I kept my voice gentle, noting his nervous fidgeting. “Do you know these kids?”
He nodded. “Tommy and Malcolm. They live two floors down. Deputy Martinez caught them this morning—criminal mischief and vandalism, she called it. Let them off with a warning since they’re minors, but...”
“The same style,” Penny whispered, his eyes meeting mine.
“They wouldn’t talk to the deputy, but they’ve been bragging about some rich guy paying them,” Jake continued, scrolling through more photos. “Showing them exactly where to hit, what to write. They thought it was just some weird art project at first, getting paid to ‘express themselves.’”
My heart raced. “Jake, would these kids talk to us?”
He shrugged. “Maybe? As long as they don’t think you’re a cop. They’re probably still hanging out behind the convenience store on Mason. That’s where they usually go after getting in trouble.”
“We need to talk to them.” I turned to Penny. “Coming?”
“And miss this?” He was already grabbing his vintage beaded purse. “Adelaide, we’ll be back for the final decorating decisions!”
Adelaide waved us off with a gesture of her clipboard, too absorbed in directing Emma’s flower arrangements to protest. As we followed Jake out of the mansion, I couldn’t shake the feeling we were finally closing in on some answers.
The convenience store’s back lot reeked of stale cigarettes and spilled energy drinks.
Two teenagers slouched against a brick wall, smartphones glowing in the late afternoon shadows.
Their expensive sneakers and carefully distressed jeans didn’t match the “troubled youth” image they tried to project.
“What the—Jake?” The lanky kid sporting dark hair and a silver stud through his nostril straightened from the wall, phone dropping to his side. His eyes darted between Jake, Penny and me. “Who are they?”
“They’re good friends of mine.” Jake twisted the hem of his sweater, voice cracking. “From the Historical District.”
The shorter kid with blond hair sized us up, arms crossed. “You sure they ain’t cops?”
“Do we look like cops?” Penny adjusted the strap of his vintage purse.
“Not exactly,” the blond replied.
“We just want to talk.” I said. “We have a few questions for you. It’s important.”
“Well, if Jake vouches for you…” The dark haired kid’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Yeah, okay.”
“I’m Leo. This is Penny.” I kept my voice casual, unthreatening. “Jake showed us your artwork.”
The blond snorted, kicking at an empty energy drink can. “That what the deputy called it? ‘Artwork’?”
“I’m Malcolm. That’s Tommy.” The boy with black hair said, gesturing toward his fair-haired companion. “You the owner of the warehouse or something?”
“No. We’re just interested in who hired you.” My words made both teens snap to attention.
“Look.” Malcolm scanned the empty lot. “We don’t want any trouble. The deputy said we’d get off with a warning if we stayed clean.”
“We’re not here about that.” I pulled out my phone, finding the photo of the vandalized campaign posters. “This look familiar?”
The teens exchanged glances. Malcolm straightened as he shoved both hands in the pocket of his hoodie, trying to appear tough despite the anxiety rolling off him in waves.
“That was different,” he muttered. “Just a job.”
“For Blake Harrington?” Penny asked softly.
Malcolm’s eyes widened. “How did you—”
“Just a hunch,” I replied.
“He said it was just political mudslinging.” Tommy kicked the empty can again.
“Yeah,” Malcolm nodded. “Said it would show people how the old guard was holding Millcrest back. Whatever that means…”
“You still have his messages?” Penny asked.
Malcolm pulled out his phone again. “Yeah. He wasn’t exactly subtle about it.” He scrolled through texts. “See? Exact locations, what to write, when to do it. Even sent pictures of the spots he wanted hit.”
I studied the messages. The phone displayed just a number—no contact name saved in the thread. I squinted at the phone screen, noting the basic instructions paired with snapshots of campaign flyers—both Blake Harrington’s and Adelaide Fairfax’s.
“What about the bakery?” I leaned closer to see the phone screen better, catching a whiff of stale cigarette smoke from Malcolm’s hoodie. The odor irritated my nose.
“Oh, that came from a different number.” Malcolm’s thumb flicked across the screen, bringing up another conversation thread. “Used a burner for that job too.”
I studied both sets of messages. Neither contact had Blake’s name saved. “How do you know the campaign stuff came from Blake?”
“Met him in person at The Hideaway,” Tommy chimed in. “He wasn’t exactly careful about it—wore sunglasses inside like some movie villain. I recognized him from his campaign photos.
“He paid cash upfront,” Malcolm added. “Way more than the usual rate. Said he needed it done fast, before the debate next week.”
“Can you forward these to me?” My hands shook slightly as I recited my number.
“Just...” Malcolm shifted uncomfortably. “Don’t tell the deputy, okay? Our parents would freak if we got actual charges.”
“What about any threatening notes?” I had to ask. “Did you throw any through Cobblers’ Corner’s window? Send any to Councilwoman Fairfax?”
Both teens looked genuinely confused.
“Notes? Nah, man.” Malcolm shook his head. “We just did the spray paint stuff. Harrington was specific about that—no property damage, no threats. Just make it look scary.”
“And Wilson’s Bakery?” Penny asked absently tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.
The pair exchanged furtive looks, communicating in some wordless code between themselves.
“We spray painted the bakery, but we didn’t trash it.” Tommy finally said. “Swear it.”
“Now, I find that hard to believ—”
“Thanks guys.” I cut Penny off, nodding to the teens. “Stay out of trouble, okay?”
As we walked back toward Fairfax Mansion, Penny clutched my arm. “You really believe they didn’t trash Rosie’s shop or send those scary notes?”
“I doubt it.” I shook my head. “They’re not really the type. Just bored teenagers with a talent for graffiti art.”
“Good point,” Penny conceded. “But Blake—we’ve got him, right? Actual proof he’s been terrorizing the district?”
“Maybe? Part of it, anyway.” I scrolled through the forwarded messages. “But all of it? And if not, who’s behind the rest? The notes, the figure in the raincoat...”
“One mystery at a time.” Penny squeezed my arm. “Right now, we need to figure out what to do with this information before the auction.”
Jake hurried to keep pace with us. “You think Blake will be at the auction?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?” I said, mulling it over. “I bet he’ll show up to fish for votes before next week’s mayoral debate.”
The autumn wind rustled leaves across our path, carrying a hint of winter’s chill. Something still nagged at me.
“We need to confront Blake.” I said. “After we wrap up at the Fairfax Mansion, let’s stop by his office.”
Penny agreed with a quick “Sure thing,” while Jake declined, muttering about needing to get back home after we finished at the mansion.