Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Finn
It had been a couple of days, and the Maple Ridge Summer Jubilee was in full swing. A full sensory experience.
Laughter and music tangled with the scents of cinnamon-sugar and fresh-cut lumber.
Food trucks lined Main Street, peddling everything from vegan tacos to deep-fried Oreos.
Kids darted between booths with cotton candy in hand, shrieking with joy, while older folks hovered near the community barn, trading gossip and recipes.
The demolition derby was already underway down by the fairgrounds, and the livestock competition had drawn its usual crowd of diehards and hobbyist farmers.
And I was on duty.
Sort of.
I thought about the text from Linton the other night that had pulled me from the bar with its cryptic message and vague sense of urgency.
When I got to the station, it turned out that someone had taken a knife to several of the Jubilee’s setup areas.
Nothing major, just a few slashed tarps, some knocked-over fencing, and what looked like a smashed cooler of pies destined for the contest tent today.
I’d left him and Jordyn Vale, another of our newer hires, to deal with most of it, and then took care of what I had to as the sheriff.
Afterward, Vale had been all efficiency and crisp smiles, eager to walk me through her report. Her posture was straight out of an academy manual, her answers polished and practiced as if she’d rehearsed them on her way into work.
Something about her bugged me. It wasn’t anything I could point to.
Nothing actionable anyway. Just a flicker of something that rubbed me wrong.
Maybe it was because she was kind of a legacy transfer hire.
The granddaughter of an old captain, someone already on the fast-track before she even graduated the academy strictly because of the blood that ran through her veins.
Just because her family was law enforcement, it was like people automatically assumed her blood would be blue.
But I didn’t hold fast to that antiquated thinking.
Family and legacy had nothing to do with proficiency.
And I’d seen more times than I’d like that it usually led to more laziness and ass-kissing than results.
I shrugged it off. Mostly. As long as she did her job and did it well, what did I care?
The issue they’d reported that night, though?
On its face, it looked like dumb vandalism.
Maybe a bored teenager or two with something to prove.
But something didn’t sit right. The cuts had been precise.
Clean. And they’d left the generator cords untouched, even though those would’ve caused far more chaos if messed with.
It felt deliberate. Like someone wanted to send a message, but fuck if I knew what the message was.
Now, I was walking the midway with Cade at my side, both of us keeping an eye on the crowd while I mentally sorted through the puzzle pieces. I was halfway through a stale cup of coffee when we turned the corner near the judges’ stage and walked right into a storm.
River.
She stood near the artisan booths with Nivea and Myra flanking her, all three deep in conversation with Autumn, who was pointing animatedly at something in the distance. Probably the reveal of the new historic trail markers she’d spent all winter lobbying for.
I should’ve kept walking. Pretended not to notice.
But of course, River’s eyes found mine, and the look hit like a memory I wasn’t ready for.
It was like opening an old wound just to see if it still bled.
Her gaze was cool, her demeanor calm, but there was just the faintest flicker of something else there that I didn’t want to name.
She gave me a nod.
I returned it. Civil. Controlled. Like we weren’t both pretending the ground didn’t tilt under us whenever we made eye contact.
Cade cleared his throat softly beside me. “We gonna keep walking or...?”
“Yeah,” I said, but my feet didn’t move.
A deputy stepped up beside me, tablet in hand. When I looked, I realized it was Jordyn.
“Sheriff? Noise complaint by the craft barn, but it looks like it resolved itself.” Vale’s tone was crisp and professional. “Also, Linton said the generator checks are clear.”
I turned to her. “Copy that,” I said.
She nodded once and moved on, already scanning the crowd. I swore if she were wearing those smart glasses, there’d probably be a checklist in front of her eyes.
Before I could actually move as I’d told Cade we would, the crowd shifted, and Maple Ridge’s very own power players stepped up onto the Jubilee’s main stage.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the event coordinator called through the mic, “please welcome our mayor, Mr. Lucas Grant.”
To a round of applause, Grant strode out in his usual uniform of rugged charm when he wasn’t in his signature navy suit. Today, it was dark jeans, an orange-and-brown flannel that probably cost more than my boots, and a campaign smile. The man knew how to work a crowd.
“Thank you all for being here,” he said, his voice as smooth as lake water.
“The Summer Jubilee is a time-honored tradition, and I’m proud to say Maple Ridge has never looked better.
We’ve seen growth. We’ve experienced heartache.
But most importantly, we’ve witnessed this town pull together, year after year. That’s what makes us who we are.”
Another round of applause followed. Someone whistled. Grant raised a hand like a benevolent king.
Beside me, Cade muttered, “Bet he practiced that in the mirror.”
I didn’t argue.
River and the others had moved closer to the stage.
I caught movement in my periphery and saw Sean appear from the side entrance, clipboard in hand.
Of course, he was here. His job as the DA came with the perk of proximity to power.
Still, I hadn’t realized Jubilee planning was under the DA’s purview. Since when?
Grant gestured toward Sean. “Let’s give a warm round of thanks to District Attorney Sean Callahan, who’s helped coordinate this year’s event with care and integrity.”
He had?
Sean offered a practiced smile and a wave, then stepped back.
My jaw clenched. I didn’t know why that bothered me so much. Apparently, this was part of his job. He was doing his duty. Playing his role.
Still…
I couldn’t shake what had been lobbed during the Murder of the Month Club meeting. That perhaps Sean was even involved in things during Eleanor’s time.
I glanced at River again, just in time to see her watching the exchange. Her expression didn’t change, but her eyes narrowed slightly. Like she was filing something away.
When the mayor’s speech ended, the crowd scattered, and Cade nudged me. “Wanna say hi?”
“To who?”
“Your brother. The woman you’re still in love with. Take your pick.” He shot me a shit-eating half-grin.
“Will you stop?” I mumbled. “And pass. But we are gonna talk to Autumn later about those records we discussed the other night.”
“I figured. I think she’s manning the history booth until five. We can circle back.”
We stepped away as the band took the stage and the music kicked back up, the sound of laughter and the smell of kettle corn and candied nuts filling the air. But under it all was something else. A quiet dissonance. Like the first scents of ozone before a storm.
Something was coming. And I honestly wasn’t sure if we’d be ready when it hit. Cade and I had barely made it ten steps before he pivoted, changing direction toward the booths.
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” I asked.
“Nope.” He popped the p and grinned like a kid about to get away with something. “Come on. We’re already out here. Might as well play nice with the locals.”
I sighed and followed.
The closer we got, the more aware I became of River’s presence, especially the way her laughter rolled into something softer when she caught sight of me. My pulse kicked a little harder. Damn it. I wasn’t still eighteen. And this wasn’t the time.
“Ladies,” Cade greeted, tipping an imaginary hat as we reached the group.
River’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, even when looking at my best friend. “Cade.” She nodded. Then her gaze slid to me. “Sheriff.”
I raised my chin in acknowledgment. “Everything good out here?”
“So far,” Nivea answered. “Though the frozen lemonade stand’s a racket. Five bucks for something that tastes like it was made with dish soap. Seriously?”
Myra laughed, then elbowed her. “It wasn’t that bad.”
A hand appeared between Myra and Nivea, holding a small paper cup with a plastic spoon sticking out of it. Rand materialized from the direction of the contest booths with his floppy hair pushed back and what appeared to be a judging ribbon pinned slightly crookedly to his shirt.
“Third place,” he announced, with the dignity of a man who considered it a personal victory. “Which, for the record, is first place among people who don’t cheat.” He pressed the cup into Nivea’s hand. “Sample. Tell me it’s better than dish soap.”
Nivea took a bite, considered. “It’s better than dish soap.”
“That’s what I thought.” He produced another cup from somewhere and handed it to Cade.
“I’ve been workshopping this recipe for eight months.
Eight months. And Gerald Finch wins with something straight out of a can.
You can taste the sodium corroding your arteries.
” He shook his head with the deep, personal grief of a man betrayed by an institution.
Cade took a bite and then handed me the cup. I tasted the chili. It was genuinely good, smoky with something underneath it I couldn’t identify.
“What’s in this?” I asked.
“Trade secret.” He walked a bit away, pulled a folding chair from a nearby booth, and dropped into it like he’d been on his feet all day—which he probably had.
“My grandmother’s recipe. She’d have won.
Gerald Finch wouldn’t have stood a chance.
” He said it simply. It was the kind of thing you said when the loss of someone hurt. I knew how that felt.
“She sounds like a force,” I said, finishing the chili.