Chapter 12 #3
Sutton’s expression grew somber as he settled into the chair.
“Jane wasn’t a member of our congregation, but she was certainly interested in it.
Bright young woman, worked for the Gazette.
She’d manage to miss service and show up after so she could ask questions.
” He paused, accepting Riley’s offer of coffee.
“I think she wanted people to see she was asking them. It served her purpose better than her making a one-on-one appointment during the week. Jane came to me several times in the months before the murders, asking about church finances, board meetings. Said she was working on a story.”
“What kind of story?” I asked, watching his reaction carefully.
“She never said specifically, but she was persistent about the building fund. Wanted to know who had access, how decisions were made about expenditures.” Sutton stirred cream into his coffee with deliberate movements.
“I was young, na?ve. I thought she was just interested in how churches operated. It wasn’t until after George and Ruby died that I realized she’d been investigating something specific. ”
“Did you tell her anything?” Dash asked.
“Nothing confidential. Basic information about our structure, who served on which committees. But Jane was clever—she asked the right questions to piece together a larger picture.” His voice dropped. “I’ve always wondered if my answers contributed to what happened to George and Ruby.”
The evening air had grown cooler, carrying the salt scent of low tide mixed with jasmine from the restaurant’s garden. Through the screens, couples strolled along the harbor boardwalk, their voices a gentle murmur against the backdrop of lapping waves.
“George kept detailed records,” I said carefully. “We’ve been reading through some of his pastoral notes.”
Something flickered across Sutton’s face. “George was meticulous about documentation. Sometimes obsessively so. He carried the weight of everyone’s secrets.”
“Including financial irregularities,” Dash said.
Sutton was quiet for a long moment, his hands wrapped around his coffee cup.
“George suspected several board members were skimming from the building fund. Elder Crenshaw in particular had access to the accounts, made unilateral decisions about expenditures.” His voice dropped.
“George documented what he could—dates, amounts, patterns of withdrawals that didn’t match approved projects.
But Elder Crenshaw was powerful, had allies on the board.
George knew he needed ironclad proof before making accusations. ”
“Did he share his concerns with you?”
“Some. He was my mentor, but he was also protective. Said there were dangerous people on this island, that asking the wrong questions could get someone hurt.” Sutton’s expression grew troubled.
“I was twenty-four, fresh out of seminary. George thought he was shielding me from how deep the corruption went.”
“And you think that’s what got him killed?” I asked.
Sutton nodded slowly. “George was getting close to exposing them. And Ruby—poor Ruby knew what George had discovered. That knowledge made her a liability too.”
“And Jane Sutherland figured it out anyway,” I said.
“Jane was a journalist. She knew how to follow paper trails, how to ask questions that seemed innocent but weren’t.
” He looked between us. “Finding her at the motel…it feels like the past refusing to stay buried. Everyone knew that’s where George and Ruby went.
It was the worst-kept secret on Grimm Island. “
We talked for another twenty minutes, Sutton sharing memories of the church, the tensions he’d sensed but not understood, the fear that had settled over the congregation after the murders.
By the time we parted ways in the parking lot, the sun had set completely, leaving Harbor Street painted in streetlight and shadow.
“Interesting man,” Dash said as we climbed into his SUV.
“Very,” I agreed, though something about the conversation nagged at me. “He knew more than he was saying.”
“I bet most pastors know things that would make your hair curl,” he said. “No one keeps secrets better than pastors and cops.”
The drive back toward The Perfect Steep took us through quiet residential streets where porch lights were beginning to flicker on. Families settling in for the evening, children being called inside, the island’s peaceful rhythm continuing despite the violence that had shattered it that afternoon.
“Don’t forget to drop me at the tea shop,” I said. “My car is still parked in the lot.”
“I remember,” Dash said, his voice husky with exhaustion. “Though I was hoping to walk you to your door.”
My lips twitched with amusement. “You still could. If you follow me back.”
“Good idea. I want to make sure you get inside okay. Not that I’m doubting Chowder’s security measures. He’s very thorough.”
“He’ll appreciate the compliment,” I said. “Though he’s probably rather put out with me considering how much time I’ve been away lately.”
We were still three blocks away when we saw the smoke.
“That’s coming from Harbor Street,” Dash said, his foot finding the accelerator.
My heart was already racing before we turned the corner and saw the fire trucks, their red-and-blue lights painting the buildings in urgent, dancing colors.
The Perfect Steep stood intact, thank God, but smoke was billowing from the back of the building, dark against the evening sky.
“The back room,” I breathed, understanding flooding through me like ice water. “Someone set fire to the back room.”
We pulled up behind the fire trucks as Captain Dozier approached, his face grim beneath the brim of his helmet.
“Mabel,” he said, relief evident in his voice. “Thank God you weren’t inside. Looks like someone broke in through the rear entrance, doused the back room with accelerant, then lit it up.”
“How bad?” I asked, though I was almost afraid to hear the answer.
“Could have been worse. A group of people out for a walk saw the smoke and called it in quick. We got here before it spread to the main shop.” He gestured toward the building. “Back room’s a total loss, though. Everything in there is gone. And it’s a mess. I’m sorry.”
Everything. The murder board, the evidence copies, all our carefully organized research. Days of work reduced to ash and smoke.
“You’ll want to call your insurance company,” Captain Dozier continued. “But you’ll need to close down for a few days until the arson investigation is finished.”
Dash was already on his phone, calling for a crime-scene team. I stood staring at the building that had been my sanctuary, my livelihood, now violated and partially destroyed because we’d gotten too close to something someone wanted to keep buried.
“Mabel!”
I turned to see Walt jogging toward us, his face flushed with exertion and worry. Behind him came Deidre, moving as quickly as her sensible shoes would allow.
“We came as soon as we heard on the police scanner,” Walt said, breathing hard. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. But the back room—all the evidence.”
“Is perfectly safe,” he said. “I expected something like this would happen. Which is why I took everything important home with me this afternoon.”
I stared at him. “Everything?”
“Tommy Wheeler’s files, George Pickering’s journal, all the original evidence, every copy we made, every photograph.
” His smile was sharp as a blade. “Forty years in intelligence taught me to always assume the enemy is watching. Only thing in there was the murder board and the photocopies I made. If someone was desperate enough to attack Hank in broad daylight, they were certainly desperate enough to destroy evidence.”
Relief flooded through me so completely I had to lean against Dash’s SUV to stay upright.
Walt’s expression grew serious. “After this and Jane Sutherland’s murder, I think we can confirm that we’re not just investigating a cold case anymore. We’re hunting someone who’s still very much alive, very much threatened, and very much willing to kill to keep their secrets.”
The fire trucks were beginning to pack up, the immediate danger over. The Perfect Steep would need repairs, would smell like smoke for weeks, but it would survive. More importantly, our investigation would survive.
“Don’t you worry, dear,” Deidre said. “We’ll have this place cleaned up in no time. Once they let us in of course. And insurance should cover everything. I’ve done plenty of research into insurance companies. Let me handle it. I’ll make sure you get every penny you’re owed.”
“Thank you,” I said, my voice hoarse with emotion. The reality hadn’t quite sunk in yet. And I felt helpless.
“Tomorrow,” Dash said quietly, “We start pushing harder. No more gentle inquiries. Someone just showed us how desperate they are.”
I looked at the smoke still rising from my violated sanctuary, at the friends who’d rallied to my side, at the man whose presence had become as essential as breathing. Tomorrow we would indeed push harder.
“I guess we should go home,” I said. “Tomorrow is another day.”
Walt nodded. “Scarlett O’Hara would be quite proud of you. Chin up, sailor. Things are always more beautiful when they’re rebuilt from the ashes.”
We walked around back to the parking lot where my powder-blue Karmann Ghia waited alone beneath a streetlight, droplets of water beading on its hood like tears from the fire department’s hoses.
It was then Deidre grabbed hold of my arm and said, “Good grief. Tomorrow is Thursday. Where are we going to have book club?”