CHAPTER THREE #2
At the front desk sat a woman in her early thirties with bleached blond curls pinned back from her face and enough makeup to make it clear she enjoyed the ritual of putting it on, and what people thought of her.
She looked up as Selena approached.
“Can I help you?”
“Good morning. I’m Selena Raven with the FBI. My office called ahead.”
Recognition flickered there. Fast, then hidden beneath something else Selena couldn’t quite pin down.
The woman stood. “Of course. I’m Cheryl Tate.”
Selena offered her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Cheryl shook it, her grip cool and firm. “Sheriff Chase is expecting you.”
Her smile was present enough to qualify as polite, but there was distance in it. Not open hostility. Not even dislike, necessarily. More like caution dressed as professionalism. Selena got the feeling they knew exactly who she was at the sheriff’s department.
Cheryl stepped out from behind the desk. “I’ll take you back.”
The corridor beyond the front area was narrow and lined with framed photographs. Retirements. fish fries. Deputy graduations. One of Connor shaking hands with a state official. Another with a group of schoolchildren around a safety display.
Selena kept pace beside Cheryl.
“I know you two were married,” Cheryl said.
Selena turned her head slightly. “We were, a long time ago.”
“Some would say a lifetime.”
There it was. Not quite a question. More a boundary being set with a pleasant tone.
Selena kept her voice even. “It was.”
Cheryl nodded once as if filing that answer away. “So, you’re just passing through?”
“Yes.”
They reached a turn in the hallway. Cheryl slowed a little and glanced at her. “A lot of people care about the sheriff. I’d hate to see anyone get under his skin, especially after this terrible murder.”
Selena met her eyes.
There was no smile now.
Selena said, “I’m here to work a case. We both have a job to do.”
Cheryl held her gaze one second longer, then nodded toward the end office. “He’s in there.”
She left it at that and walked away.
Selena stood alone outside Connor’s door for a moment before knocking.
“Come in,” he called.
She opened the door and stepped inside.
Connor sat behind a large wooden desk with a file open in front of him.
He did not look up right away. Morning light came through the side window and cut across the office, falling over old photographs, a standing coat rack, and the mounted head of a deer fixed high on one wall.
It lit his hair, messier than it should have been, making it seem a lighter brown than it was.
Another wall held a turkey fan display and a framed newspaper clipping from early in his career.
On a shelf behind him sat a wrestling trophy Selena knew well because she had watched him win it in high school after nearly getting himself disqualified for mouthing off to the referee.
The room felt rustic without trying too hard for the effect. More like a man had grown into it, piece by piece.
Connor turned a page in the file. “What’s up, Cheryl?”
Selena shut the door behind her and led with a joke. “You could at least get my name right.”
His hand stopped.
Then he looked up.
For a second his face gave nothing away. No smile. No frown. Just stillness, as if his mind had not yet decided whether what he was seeing belonged to the room. Then he rose from the chair.
Time did something strange.
Selena had prepared herself for Connor being older.
She had prepared herself for the badge, the office, the title on the glass outside.
None of that matched the fact of him standing there.
Broader through the shoulders than he used to be.
Lines at the corners of his eyes. A steadiness that had not been there when they were young, or maybe had been buried under louder things. Somehow, he felt more imposing.
They stared at each other.
Neither moved.
At last Selena said, “Are we playing who can stay silent the longest?”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “You know I was never very good at being the silent type.”
Selena slowly crossed the room. Connor came around the desk, and they shook hands like strangers who knew better.
His grip was warm. Familiar and strong in the worst possible way. A strength that had once been a comfort.
“It’s good to see you, Selena,” he said.
“You, too.”
Awkward sat right underneath the words. Both of them heard it. The type of awkward that led directly to mundane chitchat, the last refuge for those wishing to avoid a harsh truth.
Connor let go first. “How was your flight?”
“Fine. A bit bumpier than I remember.”
Connor nodded and put his hands on his hips. “Yeah, it can be like that. Grab a chair.”
He nodded toward the chair opposite his desk and then sat down. “You staying with your dad?”
“No. I’m at the Wilson Motel.”
Connor’s brows rose slightly. “Eric Wilson took over that place from his dad.”
“I know, I met him already. He fixed my shower this morning. Seems quite a bit different from when we were kids.”
“Yeah,” Connor agreed. “He went through the mill when his dad and mom died so close to one another. I guess he had to finally grow up. Speaking of dads, yours will have a fit when he finds out you’re here and he doesn’t know.”
Selena sat. “How do you know I haven’t told him?”
A trace of a smile came and went. “When you’ve been married to someone, you learn a thing or two about their habits. There’s no way in hell he’d be happy with you staying the night in a motel when he’s got that empty house to knock around in.”
Selena had no intention of getting into anything personal. “I’m sure he’ll handle it. Connor, while it’s nice to see you, I’d really like to be briefed so I can get started on the case.”
Connor’s expression shifted at once with a deep breath followed by an “Okay. You’re the boss.”
He picked up the file and opened it wider on the desk between them.
“I was glad to hear they sent someone with your expertise. This isn’t the type of thing we usually deal with here.
The victim was found in the abandoned St. Bartholomew’s Church in Eagleton.
The body had been posed in a chair in the choir loft.
Candles lit at the scene. Writing on the walls behind the altar in the main hall and also in the loft near the body.
It’s in another language, Latin, I think.
We’ve identified the victim as Brenda Colter, thirty-four, single. ”
Selena leaned forward slightly. “St. Bart’s…” That place. It felt like fate was mocking them. A place that had meant something to Selena. A place that reminded her of Connor’s broken promises.
She pushed the feeling deep down. “Does the victim have family?”
“No next of kin nearby beyond a distant cousin out in Mercer County. We’ve spoken to her by phone. Didn’t have much for us. Brenda moved to Eagleton about five years ago.”
“Did she have a partner?”
“Yeah,” Connor answered. “An ex, anyway. His name is Dale Mitch. He’s got previous for being a bit rough with his hands. I thought that would be a good place for us to start.”
Us. Selena didn’t like the sound of that.
“Where did she work?”
“Waitressed at Delmar’s Diner off Route 9. Picked up extra shifts cleaning at the feed store sometimes.”
“Any obvious enemies?”
Connor shook his head. “Nothing yet.”
Selena studied the notes, then looked up. “Did you know her?”
“Not really. County takes me around a lot, too many people to get to know, but I guess it seems small to a big-shot FBI agent.”
The line might have been playful. It might not.
Selena chose not to test it. “Can we go to the murder scene first before speaking with the ex-boyfriend?”
“Are you sure that’s best?” Connor said. “Forensics already combed it. I can give you the updated report.”
Selena sighed. “Connor. This is my ball park. I’ve dealt with cases like this thirty times over. We need to do things in a very structured way so I know I don’t miss anything.”
“Okay, big shot. I’ll drive you.”
The thought of being in a car together, forced to go over old times, made her feel agitated. “It’s okay. I have a car. I’ll follow.”
Connor closed the file. “Suit yourself.”
He stepped to the office door, opened it, then paused with his hand still on the knob. When he turned back, whatever edge had been in him a moment ago was gone.
“I’m glad they sent you,” he said.
Selena smiled, small and real despite herself.
Something about being in the room with him again felt off-balance, like stepping onto old boards that still held weight but not quite the way she remembered.
She rose from the chair, told herself to focus on Brenda Colter’s death, and hoped she could solve the case quickly before any more of the past had a chance to get into her head.