Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Sam parked his truck at the edge of the construction site.
He glanced at the lights on in the rusted trailer ahead, the temporary office for Thorne Construction, and felt the familiar weight of frustration settle in his gut.
When Beryl hadn’t been home, he’d come here, hoping she was working late.
Lucy sat beside him in the passenger seat, her ears perked, her posture stiff, her dark eyes fixed on the trailer.
“You don’t like it here either, huh?” Sam muttered, giving Lucy a quick scratch behind the ears. “Can’t say I blame you.”
Lucy huffed softly, her nose twitching as she looked toward the trailer. She seemed reluctant to go inside, and Sam didn’t blame her. Every interaction he had with Beryl Thorne felt like walking through a field of land mines.
“Hopefully, this will be quick,” Sam said, though he didn’t really believe it.
He climbed out of the truck, Lucy hopping down after him, her tail low but alert. As they approached the trailer, the cold wind bit at Sam’s face, a reminder of the winter chill that never seemed to leave White Rock.
Sam knocked on the metal door, the sound echoing sharply across the construction site. A moment later, the door creaked open, and there stood Beryl Thorne, a smirk already tugging at the corners of her lips.
“Sheriff,” Beryl drawled, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Sam met her gaze evenly. “Garvin McDaniels’s murder.”
Beryl’s smirk widened, though her eyes held no humor. “Murder? What would I know about that?”
Sam stepped forward, the wind picking up behind him. “You tell me, Beryl. You’ve been meeting with his son.”
For a split second, something flickered across Beryl’s face—something she quickly masked with a nonchalant shrug. “Derek? Sure, I’ve spoken to him. He’s broke. What’s the harm in listening to someone trying to sell their daddy’s property?”
Sam didn’t move, didn’t blink. “I’m more interested in why you’re interested.”
Beryl’s smirk deepened, and she pushed the door open wider. “Come on in, Sheriff. Let’s talk.”
Beryl settled behind her desk and looked up at Sam. Lucy chuffed as if to say “Let’s get out of here.”
“You know as well as I do, Sam, we’ve got bigger problems than Garvin’s murder.”
Beryl Thorne’s voice was cold, each word clipped as she tapped a pen against the open ledger on the desk in front of her.
Her gaze was steely, almost daring Sam to challenge her.
The cramped trailer smelled faintly of coffee and motor oil, with piles of paperwork scattered across the small table where Beryl sat.
Sam stood just inside the door, arms crossed, his expression tight.
Lucy sat obediently at his side, ears still perked up but silent.
Sam could feel the tension between them, thicker than the cigarette smoke that lingered faintly in the air.
He’d been prepared for Beryl’s usual stonewalling, but this… This was something new.
“Bigger problems?” Sam asked, his voice carefully measured. “You’re telling me there’s something bigger than the murder of a man like Garvin McDaniels?”
Beryl’s eyes flickered with amusement, a cold smile curling at the corners of her mouth. “Lucas.”
At the mention of Lucas Thorne, Sam’s pulse quickened. He had almost forgotten how dangerous that name could sound coming out of Beryl’s mouth. Lucas, sitting in prison for his crimes, was still a looming shadow over everything. And now, Beryl was bringing him up?
“Lucas is still in jail,” Sam said, his voice flat. “And that’s where he’s staying.”
“Not for long,” Beryl shot back, her voice icy. “His appeal is about to be approved. And when he walks out of that courtroom, I want you to remember this conversation, Sam, because if he gets out of jail, it’s not going to be good for you.”
Sam’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “You think I have any control over that? Lucas is in prison because he belongs there. The law decides if he stays or goes.”
Beryl’s laughter was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade. “Oh, don’t play dumb, Sam. You and I both know the law can be... flexible. You’ve bent it before. And I’m telling you now, if Lucas walks, you’ll regret it. I have a way of knowing things that you don’t want getting out.”
The warning hung in the air like a noose tightening around his neck. Sam didn’t flinch, but inside, anger burned hot. He didn’t want to think about the past Beryl was hinting at. Not now. Not with everything else on the line.
He exhaled slowly, reining in the fire that threatened to erupt. “I didn’t come here to talk about Lucas, Beryl. What do you know about Garvin McDaniels?”
Beryl’s expression shifted, growing guarded as she leaned back in her chair. “Garvin was a stubborn old man. He was sitting on prime land, and I made him a fair offer. Simple as that.”
“I’m not talking about land deals,” Sam said, his voice low, edging toward frustration. “I’m talking about his murder.”
Her lips curled into a smirk. “You think I had something to do with it?”
“I think you’ve got more connections than you let on,” Sam replied, meeting her gaze without blinking. “You and I both know you had a conversation with Derek McDaniels. And it wasn’t just about the property, was it?”
At that, Beryl rolled her eyes, dismissive. “Oh, please. Derek came to me. He’s broke, and his daddy wasn’t about to leave him a penny. He was looking for a way out. I just showed interest in buying the land, like any good businesswoman would.”
“And you didn’t try to bribe him?” Sam asked, watching her closely.
Beryl let out a soft laugh, waving her hand dismissively. “Bribe him? For what? I don’t need to bribe a man who’s already drowning in debt. He would have sold to me eventually. I was just waiting for the right moment. The idea of me bribing him is absurd.”
Sam studied her for a moment, searching for any cracks in her facade. Beryl was smooth—too smooth. But her casual tone and lack of hesitation were enough to make him doubt Derek’s version of the story. Still, there was something off here. Something that didn’t sit right.
“And Marnie Wilson?” Sam pressed. “What’s going on between the two of you?”
For the first time, Beryl hesitated, her expression tightening. She glanced away briefly before meeting his gaze again, her eyes sharper now. “Marnie? We’re acquaintances. Friends, if you can call it that. I supported her campaign, just like any other concerned citizen would.”
Sam didn’t buy it. He remembered Wyatt’s report. The envelope he’d seen Marnie carrying from Beryl’s office couldn’t have just been a campaign contribution. Sam had a creeping suspicion that Marnie was involved in something deeper than a mayoral race. “Friends, huh?” he asked, his tone skeptical.
Beryl’s eyes narrowed. “What are you getting at?”
“Just curious,” Sam said, shrugging lightly, though his gut told him there was more to dig into. “If you’re just acquaintances, then why are her name and yours tangled up in all this mess?”
Beryl’s smile faded, replaced by a cold, unreadable look. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Sam. Marnie and I have nothing to do with Garvin’s murder. If you’re smart, you’ll focus on the real threats.”
Sam held her gaze for a long moment, weighing his next words carefully. He knew he wasn’t going to get much more out of her—not now, anyway. But he’d be back. He wasn’t done with Beryl Thorne, not by a long shot.
“Thanks for your time, Beryl,” Sam said finally, his voice edged with sarcasm as he stood. “I’ll be in touch.”