Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
River
The echo of Lucas Grant’s voice still clung to me like smoke.
But let’s not get too caught up in the past, shall we?
He’d said it with a smile, the kind meant for polite company. But beneath the charm, there was something sharp. Something cold.
He’d known exactly what he was doing.
I’d been replaying that interaction since I’d left the Jubilee, cycling through my memories like a tape that refused to rewind all the way.
I barely remembered the fireworks. Or even getting home.
I must’ve fed Fox—my new Maine coon/red tabby mix and Libby’s idea of a you-survived-your-first-MotMC-meeting gift—because he was now curled at the edge of the couch, smacking in his sleep and blissfully unaware of my inner spiral.
When she brought him over, I’d thought he might also be a little apology for her not warning me that Finn was part of the group.
Honestly? I didn’t care. He was exactly what I needed, and I loved him already.
He had me wrapped around his polydactyl toes.
I’d tried, but sleep had been impossible. So, despite it being barely dawn, I’d pulled out the bin.
The one I’d sworn I wouldn’t open again.
Inside were pieces of a life I’d boxed up long ago.
My father’s legal pads with half-formed thoughts and chicken-scratch timelines, some personal items from both of my parents, yellowed newspaper clippings, my mom’s old faculty ID, a stack of dusty PTA newsletters, and a bunch of other bric-a-brac I wasn’t sure why they’d kept.
I spread it all across the living room floor, searching for...I didn’t even know what. A thread. A clue. A slip of paper that might explain what Sean had been talking about. Or what Grant seemed to be trying to warn me away from.
Because none of this felt like a coincidence. And deep down, I already knew it wasn’t.
My fingers paused on a faded flyer, tucked between two manila folders:
Civic Engagement Initiative – Maple Ridge Leadership Committee
Well, what do you know?
My mom’s name was handwritten in the corner. Alongside it was Mayor Grant’s—though I’m pretty sure he was only a judge at the time. There were also two others I didn’t recognize.
Why had Mom never mentioned this? She used to talk about teaching, her students, lesson plans, and school board drama.
And I knew she’d always helped with things like the Jubilee and the church bake sales and whatnot.
But never anything like this. Or maybe she had, and I just hadn’t cared enough to listen.
That thought stabbed deep.
The flyer offered no description. Just a time, a location—the old town hall—and a date from over a decade ago.
Maybe it had been something inconsequential. But if that were true, why had Grant said what he had at the fairgrounds, and why had Sean brought up my mother at all?
I needed more.
I booted up my laptop, but the Wi-Fi was glacial, and the local paper’s archives didn’t go back far enough anyway. I could spiral down online rabbit holes later. Right now, we had something better.
The archives.
More specifically, the historical building behind the library. Maple Ridge’s dusty treasure chest of forgotten secrets.
And if I happened to run into Autumn while I was there...all the better. I wasn’t sure if there were any sparks, but Libby wasn’t wrong. Autumn was smart, kind, and loyal. The kind of friend you didn’t brush off just because you were emotionally unavailable and prone to obsessive hyper-focus.
Unfortunately, thinking of relationships just made my brain veer toward Finn.
Hard pass.
I scratched Fox behind the ears, earning a sleepy glare, then went and got ready and grabbed my keys and sneakers.
Despite the still-early hour, the air was already warming up. The breeze smelled like pollen and pavement.
But the unease in my chest didn’t shift.
If I was right, if this committee was tied to as many things as I feared it may be, then I wasn’t just creating a psychological profile.
I was cracking open a history someone still wanted sealed.
The Maple Ridge Historical Building’s brick facade was stubbornly unchanged despite twenty years of revitalization. The inside still smelled like lemon polish and mothballs as I pushed through the creaky front doors into a hushed foyer where time seemed to hold its breath.
“River?”
I turned to see Autumn emerge from the back room, arms full of file boxes, her glasses slightly askew. Her face lit up.
“Speak of the devil,” she said. “I was just telling Libby you’d probably show up sooner rather than later.”
“Libby’s here?”
“In the reading room.” She nodded toward the hall, then glanced at the files I was carrying. “You here to dig into the Civic Committee stuff?”
I smiled faintly. “You really are good at this sleuthing thing.”
Autumn shrugged. “You left the Jubilee looking like someone smacked you with a ghost. Figured Grant or Sean had said something that rattled loose a memory or two.”
I followed her into the archives—wood-paneled walls, low lighting, and the faint smell of paper and time. Libby was hunched over an oversized bound ledger at one of the long tables.
“Hey,” she said, glancing up. “You missed the pie judging drama last night. Someone tried to pass off a store-bought crust as homemade. It was chaos.”
“Scandalous,” I deadpanned, managing a real smile this time.
Autumn dumped her box onto a nearby table and pulled out a stack of community bulletins, newsletters, and typewritten agendas.
“We were already digging given the things missing in our cold case file and something Cade asked me about the other day,” she said. “But Libby found something you should see.”
Libby slid the ledger toward me and tapped a memo from nineteen years ago.
“The Civic Engagement Initiative wasn’t just a volunteer group,” she said. “It was a steering committee. They met monthly—sometimes off the record—and made recommendations to the council about zoning, education, and public safety. That sort of thing.”
“And my mom was part of it?”
Autumn nodded. “So was Grant. And Mitchell Carr—Eleanor’s uncle.”
I froze. “Carr? The guy who called in her disappearance when her husband was out of town?”
“The same,” Autumn confirmed. “And get this. The committee lobbied to shut down the after-school center your mom helped launch. Something about redistricting and budget reallocations.”
“She never mentioned that.” My voice was quiet. “But I remember…I remember her manic depression cycles got really bad that year. Maybe that’s why.”
Libby gave me a look full of sympathy. “She probably didn’t want you to feel like she’d failed.”
Autumn opened another folder and pulled out a sheet of handwritten notes. “And here’s where it gets really weird. This entry references a project realignment. No specifics. Just vague language about containment and community image. After that? Nothing. No more meetings.”
Containment and community image?
The words curled around something inside me, something too sharp to define.
“You think the committee could be tied to what happened to Eleanor?”
Libby looked hesitant. “It’s starting to feel like there’s something here.”
Autumn shut the book with a quiet thunk. “Your dad might’ve stumbled onto something he wasn’t supposed to, too, right? Maybe that’s all a part of what got him into trouble. And your mom? She might’ve wanted out. Depending on what was really going on there.”
Before I could respond, my phone buzzed on the table.
MARA (jewelry store neighbor): Hey, sorry to bother, but something’s wrong here. Window’s busted and there’s glass everywhere. You might want to get down here ASAP.
I was already standing.
“Everything okay?” Autumn asked.
“No.” I grabbed my bag and met her eyes. “Someone broke into my clinic.”
Libby let out a sharp breath. “What the hell?”
They both insisted on coming. We packed up the documents to revisit later and hurried out.