Chapter 2
Chapter Two
River
The next evening, I sat in the kitchen of the house I’d grown up in, seeing ghosts of my parents in every corner. I’d known coming back here and living in this house would be difficult, but it was honestly the easiest option. And I figured it’d buy me some time to figure my shit out.
I finished the last sip of the wine I’d poured to pre-game, then pushed up from the table and headed upstairs to get ready.
I’d picked out a black-and-white dress with a flouncy hem that hit mid-thigh and off-the-shoulder cap sleeves.
Perfectly cute, flirty, and just the right amount of don’t underestimate me.
Paired with my favorite black cowboy boots, it was a whole vibe.
Whether there was chemistry between Autumn and me or not, I was determined to look hot as hell tonight.
I was bound to see plenty of people from back in the day, and I wanted to at least look like I had it together.
An hour later, I packed my small crossbody purse and slid into the driver’s seat of my new-to-me SUV, headed toward the Hollow Oak.
The bar and grill was smack-dab in the center of town, built right around a massive oak tree that, according to legend, had been standing since the town was founded.
The place had multiple levels, each styled like a treehouse, with rough-hewn wood, winding stairs, and string lights that made it feel equal parts magical and wild.
It had always been the coolest hangout spot in Maple Ridge—part rustic, part rebel.
I couldn’t help but wonder if they’d made any changes in the last almost-decade, or if I’d be the one who’d changed the most.
I spotted Libby’s unmistakable red hair almost immediately. She smiled widely and waved me over from a huge corner booth on the ground level, surrounded by what looked like…definitely more than one person.
I took a deep breath.
I could do this. I’d have to confront and meet people eventually. Might as well rip the Band-Aid off now.
Libby stood as I approached. “Hey, sweetie.” She wrapped me in a huge hug, then pulled back to give me a once-over. “You’re a smoke show.”
I dipped into a little curtsy. “Thank you kindly.”
She turned to the group at the booth, starting with the woman seated beside her.
“River, this is the cool-ass chick I told you about yesterday. Autumn, meet River.”
We exchanged smiles and a warm handshake.
She was gorgeous, all angles and contradiction.
Her shiny, chocolate-brown, asymmetrical bob framed the bluest eyes I’d ever seen.
She was lean and strong in a distinctly feminine way and somehow made a punk-rock leather jacket and flowy maxi skirt with tortoiseshell glasses look like a full-on fashion movement.
“And this,” Libby continued, gesturing to the rest of the group, “is most of our crew. We’re missing a few, but this is Myra, Nivea, Andra, Rand, and Atlas. And you know Cade.”
She pointed toward the bar, where a handsome, bearded man caught my eye. Cade lifted a hand in a casual salute, then winked and smiled as he dried a glass.
“Hi, everyone,” I said, offering a general wave before sliding into the booth beside Autumn.
We all chatted and shared appetizers for a while, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed so much. They were all amazing. And fascinating.
Myra was a doctor and forensic scientist who worked at the county morgue.
Nivea was the host of a wildly successful true-crime podcast called Dead Reckoning.
Andra was a journalist with a gift for web sleuthing—she’d even helped the FBI on a few cases.
Rand ran the local curiosities shop full of paranormal and true-crime memorabilia, and Atlas was a retired Boston detective-turned-private investigator who, in his own words, was “wicked smaht.” It was charming.
He was charming. Honestly? They all were.
“So…” Libby said later, once the band had taken a break and we were all rehydrating and refueling.
“There’s something I wanted to tell you about.
I know you just got back to town and probably have a million and one things to do, but all of us here are part of a little club. ” She gestured around the table.
“A club?” I raised a brow.
“We call ourselves the Murder of the Month Club,” Autumn said, a soft blush coloring her smooth, beige cheeks.
“Okay…” I drew out the word.
“Let me paint the picture,” Andra cut in, running a hand down one of her long, wavy blond pigtails. She wore a dress similar to mine and rocked hot-pink cowboy boots covered in rhinestones. She reminded me a little of Jessica Simpson as Daisy Duke.
“We’re all true-crime junkies,” she continued, and everyone around the table nodded enthusiastically—maybe a little too enthusiastically. I grinned.
“Most of us have known each other for years,” Libby said. “With some help from one of our other members at the sheriff’s department, and a little unofficial nod from the powers that be, we investigate local cold cases.”
“Wait. Like…actually investigate them?” I asked, trying to wrap my head around it all.
“Yeah,” Nivea said, brushing the pink streak of her pixie cut out of her eyes. “We get the files, assign roles, and each use our strengths to dig in. We’ve already helped solve two cases and got two more reopened.”
I blinked. That was…not what I’d expected. But also? I was kind of obsessed.
“That’s incredible,” I said, meaning it.
“We could really use a profiler,” Libby added. “So, how’d you like to join the crazy crew? I remember how much you and I loved digging into and talking about true-crime cases back in the day.”
I didn’t even have to think about it. I needed something to fill my time, something with meaning, and what better hobby than helping people finally get the answers they deserved? And I did love me some true crime.
“Hell, yeah. Count me in.”
We clinked glasses like a bunch of college kids.
“Well, look who’s back.”
The voice cut through the music, low and rough, like gravel under tires. My stomach dropped. Every head at the booth turned.
Finn Callahan stood at the edge of the table, sheriff’s badge glinting under the bar’s string lights.
I took him in. Time hadn’t changed the way he carried himself.
He still stood with his shoulders squared and his jaw tight, tension in every inch of his stupidly handsome face and hard body.
His dark-blond hair was shorter than I remembered, more controlled now, but his features were the same.
Sharp, handsome, and seemingly carved from granite.
Only now, there were new lines at the corners of his eyes and bracketing his mouth.
Harder ones. The kind life carved in after something broke.
I knew those lines. I saw them every time I looked in the mirror.
“Finn,” I said, my voice ice despite the heat in my chest.
“River.” His gaze locked on mine, unreadable but heavy. “Heard you were back. Didn’t expect you’d dive into this crowd.”
Libby tensed beside me, and Autumn’s brow flicked up. Myra leaned forward, sizing him up.
The air crackled, old wounds bleeding under the surface. Myra broke the silence, her voice dry. “You joining us, Callahan, or just here to brood?”
Laughter scattered the tension, and Finn slid into the booth’s edge, across the way yet still too close for comfort. Cade brought over a beer from the bar for him, and conversation resumed, but I felt his eyes. Watching, waiting.
When Cade rang out for last call, I wasn’t sure I’d ever been more relieved.