Chapter 3
Chapter Three
River
A week later, the house was finally starting to feel a little more like mine. I’d picked up a handful of regular in-person clients and successfully transitioned all of my virtual ones, and things were slowly settling into place.
Tonight was my first Murder of the Month Club meeting, and I couldn’t deny the excitement. It was such a weird, cool thing to be a part of.
Over the past few days, I’d heard more details about the cases they’d helped close and the ones they’d gotten reopened.
It only sharpened my interest and deepened my desire to help.
I’d spent years absorbed in true-crime documentaries and podcasts, always fascinated but slightly disconnected.
And I still had a Google alert set up for news on that Broadway actor who suddenly went missing.
Now, I had a reason to dive in. And an entire team backing me.
Clarice Starling, eat your heart out.
I pulled on a pair of cute but comfy skinny jeans, a fitted cami, and a lightweight button-down, slipped into my most comfortable combat boots, and headed out to the library.
Tonight’s meeting was in the basement archives, and thankfully, they’d let me off the hook for snacks this time. Next round, I’d have to get creative.
Maybe I’d make true-crime cookies. Perhaps chalk outlines and blood-spatter frosting. Go full-on themed bake-sale-meets-serial-killer chic.
The library was usually locked by now, but Libby had told me she kept the doors open until eight. Anyone running late would have to call for entry. I was early, at least.
I stepped inside and was immediately hit with the scent of paper, leather, and ink. Comfort in its purest form. There was something about being surrounded by books that soothed the soul.
I made my way to the back of the library, where the door to the basement waited just beyond the stacks. As I reached the top of the stairs, I heard laughter, soft conversation, and the hum of voices rising and falling from below.
I almost felt like I should be walking into an AA meeting or something, but this wasn’t just a club gathering. I was entering into something that actually had the capacity for change.
The basement smelled like old newspapers and dust, but it was still cozy with a huge area rug and some mismatched tables and chairs set up amid the bookshelves and cabinets.
It was kind of perfect for a meeting about unsolved crimes, and I had to wonder if they always met here or if the location changed.
I stepped off the last stair and took in the gathered crowd, trying not to feel like the new kid. A few lamps threw golden light across the space, softening the room’s more shadowed corners yet keeping the ambience for what we were about to embark on.
“River!” Libby beamed from her perch on the edge of the table when she noticed me. She kicked her feet and jumped down. “You’re early. I’m so proud.”
I gave her a look. “You make it sound like I’m always late or something.”
“I mean…if the shoe fits.” She smiled.
“She was actually earlier than you told her to meet us at the bar, too,” Autumn said with a shrug, the light glinting off her tortoise shell frames.
“Yeah, see?” I held out a hand to Autumn for a fist bump. “At least somebody’s got my back.” I raised a brow in Libby’s direction.
“Okay. Fine. But we’ll see how long it lasts. Back in the day, I swore you’d be late to your own funeral.” Libby turned back to the assembled group.
I slid into a chair near Cade and tried to act normal. “So, how does this usually work?”
“We gossip. We eat. We drink. Then we solve crime,” Rand said with a grin, tossing a bag of caramel popcorn onto the table. “In that order.”
Nivea rolled her eyes but flashed a smile. “We’re organized chaos, basically. But don’t worry, it’s not too crazy. And you’ll fit right in.”
“Where’s my welcome gift?” I asked jokingly.
“You get to bring snacks next time,” Myra said, pulling her auburn hair into a low ponytail and flashing me a smile that reached her sea-green eyes. She looked adorable in a fitted velour tracksuit and lightweight sneakers. “Welcome. And congratulations.”
I laughed, relaxing a bit as mixed conversations bounced around the room. Libby sat beside me and pulled a stack of folders out of her messenger bag.
“We’re officially voting on a new case tonight,” she said. “But there’s one in particular we’ve been circling for a while. I think it’s time.”
I leaned in. “Do tell.”
“Eleanor Jenkins,” Autumn said, moving closer and tapping the yellow folder on top of Libby’s stack.
“English teacher at Maple Ridge High. You may have even known her back in the day. She disappeared fourteen years ago. Her car was found abandoned out near the old Birchwood trailhead. No signs of a struggle. No definitive evidence of foul play.”
“But no contact. And no body,” Rand said as he sat across from us, his floppy, wavy hair dropping into his dark-blue eyes. “Just gone.”
I grabbed the folder from the stack and flipped it open, scanning the first page of the report. “Any suspects?”
“Not officially,” Autumn said. “But the rumor mill’s always pointed to something shady. She filed a harassment complaint three weeks before she vanished, but we haven’t been able to find out more. Weird, right?”
“Who’d she file it against?” I asked, flipping through some more of the paperwork. A photo slipped out. It was the trailhead, a scrap of material snagged on a branch. In the corner, faint but unmistakable, was a red-inked eye, scratched into the bark of the tree.
“Kids’ graffiti?” I asked, pointing at the image, my pulse spiking.
“Probably,” Atlas grunted. “But this town’s got eyes everywhere.”
Rand leaned in, his voice low. “Or it’s that old trail legend. Ghosts that see everything.” He made a spooky noise and gave me jazz fingers. I just shook my head.
Nivea rolled her eyes. “Save the campfire tales, Rand.”
But the photo’s weight lingered. Like Maple Ridge was daring me to dig deeper.
Cade stood, grabbed a box from near the table, and held up a bottle of locally brewed ale, raising a brow at me in question. I nodded, and he handed me one, then passed more around to the rest of the group.
He tossed the now-empty beer box aside and cracked the top of his brew as he sat next to me again, kicking his boots up on the table. “That’s the mystery. The record of it should exist—school board, HR, police, someone. But it’s like it vanished right along with her.”
“I heard the complaint was against a student,” Andra said, her blond hair in two high buns tonight and purple eyeliner bringing out the silver in her gray eyes. “Older. Someone who maybe took the whole teacher-crush thing too far and forced her hand.”
“I also heard it could have been a fellow teacher,” Myra countered. “There were whispers she was planning to expose something about the school itself—or maybe those in it.”
Libby leaned forward, her red hair falling over a shoulder. “I remember Mrs. Jenkins being a bit of a rule-follower. She tutored students for free, helped run the drama club, and did a big mental health awareness push each year. There was something right before she disappeared, I think.”
“You know what?” I said, “I actually kind of remember that. My mom and her were work friends. I totally remember her signature style. She always had those fishtail skirts and lots of jewelry.”
Something snagged at the edge of my memory, though.
The last time I’d seen Eleanor Jenkins, she hadn’t been wearing any of that.
She’d been standing in our kitchen doorway, speaking to my mother in a low, tight voice that my mother hadn’t used for casual conversation.
I’d been old enough to notice the look on her face, yet young enough not to know what it meant.
I’d forgotten that until just now.
Several people around the table nodded—those of us who were in Maple Ridge back then, at least.
“She was looking into some kind of district partnership, wasn’t she?” Andra asked. “Mental health funding, maybe? I can’t remember exactly. I found a few old board minutes where she raised concerns, but they’re vague. A lot of ‘tabled for discussion’ and ‘under internal review’ stuff.”
“Buried,” Myra muttered.
Nivea glanced up from the folder she’d been flipping through. “Anyone connected to that still around?”
“Possibly,” Autumn said. “Some of the names seem to pop up again and again in different capacities. Committees, local nonprofits, development boards. It’s a bit of a maze, but not unusual for such a small town.”
“But definitely worth looking into,” Rand said, his tone serious.
Autumn nodded. “I think so, too. Not saying it’s connected to her disappearance…but something about it feels off.”
“So, are we doing this, then?” Libby asked with a laugh. “Sounds like we’re already diving in. No vote needed?” She looked around the table and was met with a round of head nods and a chorus of agreements.
“Excellent,” she said, then took the file from me and walked over to the copy machine in the corner.
Before anyone could say more, the door creaked open at the top of the stairs. Boots echoed, deliberate, measured steps that silenced the room as they descended. Somehow, it was like my body knew without my mind catching up. Like some magnetic pull clued me in to his presence before I even saw him.
Finn emerged from the shadows, and the sight of him was like the heel of a palm to the sternum.
For a second, I couldn’t breathe. He stopped at the base of the stairs, his gaze sweeping the room and landing on me.
He blinked once, and I saw the faintest flicker of something pass behind his eyes before his hard expression snapped back into place.
Controlled. Cold.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I muttered, the words slipping out before I could shove them back down.
Libby let out a breath from her spot at the copier. “River. Sweetie. I was going to tell you. I meant to. Honest. He’s our liaison for the department. I sort of mentioned it the other night, but I didn’t expect him to—”
“To what? To show up? When he’s part of the group?” I said tightly, my gaze lasered on him before I shot her a look. “And don’t ‘sweetie’ me. You didn’t think maybe it was worth at least a heads-up? Like the run-in at the bar wasn’t bad enough to stir things up?”
“I wasn’t sure you’d come if you knew.”
“Probably a fair guess,” I mumbled.
Finn folded his arms across his chest like armor and cocked a hip. “I didn’t know you were part of this either. I should have guessed, given you were with everybody at the Oak, but…”
“Does it matter?” I shot back.
He didn’t answer, just stood there, jaw clenched. It honestly looked like every second he didn’t speak took calculated restraint.
“Sheriff,” Autumn said, breaking the moment. “Glad you could make it tonight. We were just going over the Jenkins case.” She was clearly trying to defuse the situation.
Finn looked at her and smiled, and something inside me broke a little. “I’ve told you a million times. Call me Finn.” Then, he nodded. “Yeah. Libby sent me an email. Said it’d probably end up being the one.”
His voice was still the same. Deep. Rough-edged. Unshakable. It hit like the scrape of a familiar scar—one I’d stopped running my fingers over years ago.
“Still sticking your nose into cases you shouldn’t be a part of, I see,” I spat. “Guess the promotion didn’t change much.”
Finn’s eyes locked with mine. “And you’re still psychoanalyzing people who don’t need it and didn’t ask you to.”
It landed like a slap. But I didn’t flinch.
Andra shifted uncomfortably. “Okay. Wow. Anyone else feel like ducking under the table?”
No one spoke. Even Rand and Cade didn’t make quips.
Finn looked away first. “I’m not here for a fight.”
“Of course, you’re not,” I muttered. “You never fought for much.”
“You left,” he said. Not loudly. Not accusingly. Just…factually. It was almost worse than if he’d screamed it.
It hit harder than expected.
“And you…” I started, then shook my head. “You know what? Never mind. I’m sure we both have things we regret.”
His mouth parted, just slightly, but whatever he’d been about to say never came.
“Okay!” Libby said cheerfully—too cheerfully—clapping her hands like a kindergarten teacher after she plunked a stack of now-full folders on the table. “I think this is the part where we remember we’re all here for a common goal. Justice, closure, community bonding…”
“Popcorn?” Rand added.
Cade cleared his throat, dropped his feet, and pulled out the empty chair next to him for Finn. “We were just talking about the mental-health angle and possible school board connections of the case, Finn. If you have any old personnel incident reports, notices of disciplinary actions—”
“I’ll see what I can find,” Finn said, his tone clipped, his eyes never leaving the folders Libby had dropped on the table.
He moved closer, too close, his cedar-and-leather scent stirring memories I’d buried.
I leaned back in my chair, arms crossed. I wasn’t sure I could do this. But then I thought about everything he’d already taken from me and ruined and made a promise to myself.
Finn Callahan didn’t get to tarnish something I thought could become really important to me. This club, this case, it felt like a lifeline. And he didn’t get to ruin that, too.
“Give me one of those,” I said, gesturing toward Libby for one of the files.
She handed one over, and my eyes caught a photocopy’s edge. Another red-inked eye sketched onto a witness report.