Chapter 34
chapter
thirty-four
After the rooms had been searched and Sutherland had gone back outside with his deputies, Caleb slipped out to the kennel to clear his head.
He stood with his hands braced on the counter, staring at the clipboard in front of him without really seeing it.
The good news was that the sheriff hadn’t found anything definitive in the women’s rooms. The bad news was also that they hadn’t found anything definitive in the women’s rooms.
That meant they still didn’t have any evidence pointing to who slipped outside.
He let out a long breath.
The kennel was quieter now.
Most of the dogs had settled after their midday feeding, the earlier chaos fading into the occasional bark or the scrape of paws against concrete.
He should’ve been focused on the schedule—who was being picked up, which dogs needed their medications adjusted, whether they had enough food to last through the weekend.
Instead, his mind kept circling back to the same place.
The figure in the footage. The woman in the black coat.
Valentina’s defensive posture. Millie’s pale face. Sissy’s confusion.
One of them had gone outside.
One of them knew more than she was saying.
The question was—who?
The door opened behind him, and Caleb turned.
Sheriff Sutherland stepped inside, his hat tucked under his arm, his expression unreadable. “Got a minute?”
Caleb straightened. “Yeah. What’s going on?”
Sutherland moved closer, lowering his voice even though they were alone. “I thought I’d let you know that one of my deputies just found the car belonging to our victim.”
Caleb’s pulse quickened. “Where?”
“Parked in the woods about half a mile from here. Tucked off on an old logging road, out of sight from the main highway.” The sheriff pulled out his notebook and flipped it open. “Registered to a man named Ed Lowen. He was a private investigator out of Charlottesville.”
Caleb’s chest tightened. “Charlottesville?”
“That’s right.”
Caleb’s mind raced, connections forming faster than he could process them.
Charlottesville wasn’t far. An hour, maybe less depending on traffic.
Would Garrick have hired someone in DC? Not necessarily, though it did seem like the most likely option.
This PI could be tied to any number of issues.
“That doesn’t tell us much,” Caleb said.
“Charlottesville’s close. This guy could be connected to one of our guests.
But he could also be connected to someone local.
Richard has contacts all over the area. So does Bill McLoughlin.
I’d say the Hendersons might even be behind it, but I doubt they have the money to hire anyone.
They’d just do their dirty work themselves. ”
The sheriff nodded, his expression stony. “That’s what I’m thinking. We’re not jumping to conclusions yet.”
Caleb’s heart pounded harder.
That was all he wanted—a conclusion.
But they weren’t easy to come by.
However, the most important thing was that they drew the correct conclusion.
And those things couldn’t be rushed.
After a few seconds of silence ticked by, Caleb straightened, and his gaze met the sheriff’s again. “What else did you find? Anything in the car?”
“Not much. Some basic surveillance equipment—camera, binoculars. A notebook with a few entries. But nothing to tell us definitively who hired this guy or what he was looking for.” Sutherland paused.
“We’re going through his phone records now.
Talking to his colleagues, friends, anyone who might know why he was out here. ”
Caleb’s jaw tightened. “And the scene? Any evidence that points to who killed him?”
The sheriff’s expression darkened. “That’s the problem. Rain washed most of it away. We’ve got the general area cordoned off, but any footprints that might’ve been there are gone. Same with fingerprints on the body or anything he might’ve been carrying.”
“So we’ve got nothing.” Disappointment stretched through Caleb’s voice.
“We’ve got a name,” the sheriff corrected. “That means we’ve got a lead. It’s not nothing.”
Caleb exhaled, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “You’re right. The best bet is to figure out who he was investigating. That’ll tell us who might’ve wanted him dead.”
“Exactly.” Sutherland closed his notebook and tucked it back into his jacket. “We’re working on it. But it’s going to take time.”
Time.
The word sat heavy between them.
Caleb didn’t have time. Not with three women living under his roof, one of whom might be a killer.
“One more thing . . . one of the ladies mentioned that she saw Millie coming out of your office,” Sutherland said. “Said she looked . . . sneaky.”
Caleb squinted. That would have to be Sissy who said something. Valentina wasn’t here when Millie had done that. He didn’t fault the woman for sharing the information, especially not considering everything that had happened.
“I know about that,” Caleb admitted. “She told me.”
Sutherland nodded. “Good. I wasn’t sure if it was relevant or not, but I wanted to mention it.”
“Thanks.”
A few minutes later, the sheriff left, the door swinging shut behind him.
Caleb stood alone in the kennel, the weight of everything pressing down harder than before.
Ed Lowen. Private investigator. Charlottesville.
Someone had hired him to come here. Someone had wanted information about this place—or about one of the women inside.
And someone had killed this man to keep him quiet.
Caleb’s thoughts turned to Millie, to the fear in her eyes when she’d confessed about logging into Garrick’s calendar.
What if I led him here?
If Lowen had been working for Garrick, then Millie’s worst fear had come true.
But if he’d been working for someone else—Richard, realtor Bill McLoughlin, the Henderson neighbors—then this was bigger than any of them realized.
Either way, the refuge wasn’t safe.
Not anymore.
And Caleb didn’t know how to fix it.
All he could do was pray.
Millie sat at the kitchen table, her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that had long gone cold.
The house felt too quiet. Too heavy.
She’d retreated to her room after the sheriff finished searching it, needing space to process everything. But the walls had started closing in, and Biscuit had been restless, sensing her anxiety.
So she’d come back downstairs, hoping movement might settle the chaos in her mind.
It hadn’t.
The sound of a car door closing pulled her from her thoughts. She looked up just as the back door opened.
Ruby stepped inside, her arms loaded with grocery bags, her face lined with concern.
“Millie,” she said, setting the bags on the counter. “I came as soon as I heard. I can’t imagine . . .”
“It’s been pretty rough around here.”
Naomi appeared from the hallway and moved to help her mother unload. “You didn’t have to come back, Mom.”
“Of course, I did.” Ruby pulled out a large container, condensation still clinging to the sides. “I made Brunswick stew. Everyone needs to eat, and I figured no one felt much like cooking.”
Millie’s throat tightened unexpectedly.
It was such a small thing—bringing food, offering comfort through something tangible. But the act felt enormous in this moment.
Ruby glanced at her, and something in her expression softened. “Naomi, can you put these away? I’ll get the stew warming on the stove.”
“Sure.” Naomi grabbed the bags and disappeared into the pantry.
Ruby stepped to the stove, her movements practiced and sure. She didn’t speak right away, just let the silence settle between them in a way that felt oddly comforting.
Millie watched her, trying to find words that wouldn’t come.
Finally, Ruby turned and leaned against the counter as she waited for the stew to heat. Her gaze found Millie’s. “You must be terrified.”
Millie’s chest tightened. There was no need to deny the statement. “I am.”
Ruby crossed to the table and pulled out the chair beside her, lowering herself into it with a soft sigh. “But you’re safe with Caleb. He won’t let anything happen to you.”
The words should have been reassuring. Instead, they scraped against something raw inside her.
“I don’t know if I believe that,” Millie said before she could stop herself.
Ruby’s eyebrows lifted slightly, but she didn’t look surprised. “Why not?”
Millie looked down at her hands. “Because I trusted him once. And he left.”
The admission hung between them, vulnerable and sharp.
Ruby was quiet, her expression thoughtful. Then, her voice gentle, she said, “Have you two talked? I mean, really talked?”
Millie shook her head. “No.”
“Maybe you should.”
“I don’t know what there is to say.” Millie’s voice came out strained. “He made his choice six years ago. I made mine. We’ve both moved on.”
“Have you?” Ruby’s tone wasn’t unkind, just honest.
Millie didn’t answer.
Ruby reached across the table and rested her hand over Millie’s. “My son carries a lot of regrets. More than he’ll admit to most people. But I can tell you this—deep down, he always tries to do the right thing. Even when it costs him.”
Millie looked up, searching Ruby’s face. “What does that mean?”
Ruby smiled faintly, but there was sadness in it. “It means sometimes people make choices they think are right in the moment, even when those choices end up hurting everyone involved.”
Millie wanted to ask more, wanted to understand what Ruby was hinting at.
But before she could, the back door opened.
Caleb stepped inside, his jacket dusted with frost and his expression tight.
He paused when he saw them, his gaze flicking between Millie and his mother.
Ruby straightened, her hand slipping away from Millie’s. “Hey, sweetheart. I brought dinner.”
“Thanks, Mom.” His voice was careful, like he knew he’d interrupted something.
Millie quickly stepped back, suddenly desperate for space. “I’m going to go freshen up before we eat.”
“Of course,” Ruby said.
Millie didn’t look at Caleb as she slipped past him, Biscuit at her heels.
But she felt his eyes on her as she left.