Chapter 42
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Sam left Kevin at the station to submit the paint analysis request and headed to confront Beryl. He’d already decided that Kevin’s presence would only make Beryl clam up. This was a conversation best handled alone.
By now, Beryl would be home. Her towering brick house loomed in the distance as he turned onto her driveway. Lights spilled onto the manicured lawn, every bulb precisely placed. The house was as calculated as its owner—intimidating, unyielding.
Sam parked and glanced at Lucy in the back seat. Her ears perked up, and she let out a low, restless whine.
“Not this time, girl,” he said, closing the door behind him. He almost smiled at the dramatic huff she gave in reply. But this wasn’t a moment for smiles. Beryl Thorne required every ounce of focus he had.
The brass knocker had barely sounded before the door swung open. Beryl stood there, tall and immaculately dressed, the epitome of grace under fire. Except her eyes—sharp and calculating—betrayed the irritation she didn’t bother to mask.
“Chief Mason,” she said coolly. “What brings you to my door at this hour? Trouble in paradise?”
Sam didn’t answer, stepping inside uninvited. The icy gust of winter air followed him in. “We need to talk.”
Beryl shut the door, her gaze narrowing. “And here I thought you knew how to use a phone.”
Sam didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he scanned the pristine foyer, taking in the marble floors and glittering chandeliers. Everything about the place screamed untouchable wealth. But everyone had something to lose. Even Beryl Thorne.
She led him into a sitting room that felt more like a museum exhibit than a living space. Sam caught sight of a decanter of whiskey on a tray.
Beryl poured herself a whiskey, neat, and left the second glass empty. Message received.
She swirled the amber liquid in her glass. “So, why are you here?”
Sam pulled out his phone, swiping to the photo of the younger Beryl they’d found in the box.
He held it up, watching her face carefully.
Her reaction was subtle, but it was there—a quick tightening of her jaw, a flicker of her eyes toward the screen.
Then it was gone, buried under her trademark calm.
“Where’d you find that?” she asked, her tone dismissive, but there was a faint edge to it.
“You tell me,” Sam said. “It’s you, isn’t it? Younger, sure, but still you.”
Beryl’s lips curved into a faint, amused smile. “And what exactly do you think that proves?”
Sam took a step closer, his voice dropping. “I think it proves you’re not just the long-suffering wife who picked up the pieces of your husband’s empire. You were in the thick of it all along. Whatever game you and Lucas were playing, it didn’t end with his conviction, did it?”
Beryl took her time, lifting her glass and sipping her whiskey. When she finally spoke, her voice was like silk wrapped around steel. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Sam didn’t need to. He just had to make her think he did. “What I do know is that you’ve been holding something over my head for years. You think that gives you the upper hand.” He held up the phone again, his voice hard. “This changes that.”
For the first time, the mask slipped. Her knuckles whitened around the glass, just for a moment. Then she recovered, her tone icy. “If you think a photograph is going to scare me, you’re more naive than I thought.”
“This isn’t just a photograph,” Sam pressed. “This is proof of what you’ve been up to. You want to keep that skeleton in the closet? Fine. But if you try to use what you have on me, I’ll make sure this sees the light of day.”
Beryl’s eyes narrowed, and for the first time, she seemed truly unnerved. “You’re bluffing.”
“Am I?” Sam asked, his tone flat. “You want to test me?”
The room felt colder, the weight of the standoff pressing down like a physical force. Beryl set her glass down with deliberate precision, her poker face cracking enough to show her unease.
“Fine. So it’s checkmate then?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost resigned. “Is that all you came for?”
“No, there’s something else. Garvin McDaniels,” Sam said. “What happened to him? What’s so important about that land?”
Beryl turned to the window, one hand gripping the curtain. “How would I know?”
“Because I think you’re behind it. You and your friends at Convale.”
She didn’t answer immediately, staring out at the dark lawn. Finally, she spoke, her voice low. “You’re looking at the wrong woman.”
Sam frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Beryl turned back to face him, the light from the window catching in her pale-blue eyes. “It’s not me you should be after. It’s Marnie Wilson.”
“Marnie?” he repeated.
Beryl nodded, slowly, deliberately. “Your future mayor. She’s been circling that property for years. I thought Garvin was paranoid, but he was right about one thing—Marnie is dangerous. Her campaign? Funded by people who don’t give a damn about White Rock.”
Sam took a step closer. “Who? Convale?”
Beryl’s lips curved into a faint smile. “You could say that. But Marnie isn’t just taking their money. She’s in deep. Everything she’s done, every move she’s made—it’s all been about that land. Even her bid for mayor.”
Sam took a step closer, his gaze locking with hers. “You’re saying she’s the mastermind?”
Beryl raised a single brow, her smile faint but mocking. “I’m saying you’re wasting your time here when the real culprit is sitting in her campaign office, pulling strings.”
Sam watched her carefully, gauging every word, every flicker of her expression.
Beryl was good—too good. She wouldn’t crumble under pressure, and she’d never willingly implicate herself.
If she was pointing the finger at Marnie, it wasn’t because she wanted justice.
It was because she was hiding something.
“Why would I believe you?” Sam asked.
Beryl shrugged. “You don’t have to believe me. I have proof.”
But as the pieces clicked into place, a different picture emerged. The envelope from Beryl, the payments, Marnie’s mother tucked away at Parker Studies—none of it screamed mastermind. It screamed pawn. Manipulated. Used.
Sam’s jaw tightened as realization struck. Beryl wasn’t pointing a finger at Marnie because Marnie was in charge. She was doing it because Marnie was the loose thread that could unravel everything.
“You always have proof,” Sam said, his voice flat. “Convenient how it only shows up when it serves you.”
Beryl’s smile didn’t falter. “Believe what you like. But if you want the truth, Marnie’s your next move. Don’t waste time with me, Chief.”
Sam didn’t respond, letting the silence stretch. She’d overplayed her hand, trying to redirect him. But she’d also given him the one thing he needed: the perfect angle to push Marnie to talk.
“You think you’re untouchable,” Sam said finally, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “But leverage works both ways, Beryl. Don’t forget that.”
Her smile tightened just a fraction. A crack but not one she’d ever let him see fully. “Goodbye, Chief Mason.”
Sam turned on his heel and walked out, the cold air slicing through him as he stepped onto the stone porch. Lucy waited in the truck, her nose pressed against the glass. He climbed in, giving her a quick pat as she leaned against him.
As he started the engine, his mind raced ahead. Beryl thought she’d steered him into a trap, but she’d miscalculated. And now, thanks to Beryl, Sam had what he needed to make Marnie talk.
“Let’s see how much she’s willing to say once she finds out you’ve thrown her under the bus, Beryl,” Sam muttered as he drove off into the night, determination settling in his gut.
Marnie had answers. And Sam was going to get them.