Chapter Ten
───── ? ────
The yellow crime scene tape flapped in the breeze, slicing across the quiet stillness of the town park like a warning.
Griff stood at the edge of the creek bank, his boots rooted in the damp earth, eyes locked on the body laid out in front of them.
Catherine Langston.
She was dressed in a tailored gray suit, the jacket buttoned neatly over her blouse, her heels still on.
It was the same outfit, right down to the earrings that she’d had on earlier.
Her blond hair had been smoothed into place, her makeup flawless—except for the pale blue tint clinging to her lips and the dark bruising around her neck.
She looked elegant. Composed.
Staged.
Just like Hannah Cole had been fifteen years ago.
Griff felt the gut punch hit hard and low, a twist of anger and something colder—something that cut deeper. He didn’t like Catherine. She was manipulative, calculating, sharp enough to gut a man with words alone. But this? This was an execution.
No.
This was theatrical.
Someone had placed her here with intent. Not just to kill. But to send a message.
He scanned the scene. The shallow curve of the creek, the slight dip in the ground, the bench that had been there back then and still stood now, aged but steady. He’d read the case file. He knew the details. This was Hannah’s crime scene down to the inch.
And now it had been recreated.
“Shit,” he muttered.
Beside him, Lily stood in tense silence, her arms crossed tightly, gaze locked on Catherine’s lifeless form. Neither of them said it aloud. They didn’t need to. This wasn’t just about the past anymore.
It was happening again.
“You think this is a message?” she asked. “A warning for us… or the killer telling us they’re still out there?”
Griff didn’t answer right away. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to pull clarity from the churn of thoughts racing through his head. The air smelled like wet earth and decay, the way it always did near water, but it felt colder now. Sharper. Meaner.
“It could be both,” he said finally. “Or neither.”
She shot him a look, then he shifted his gaze back to Catherine’s body, that unnatural stillness surrounded by chaos. In this case, the chaos was the CSIs, the sheriff, the ME, and the two other deputies who were working the scene.
“We saw her earlier today,” Griff went on. “She said being in business made enemies. And she wasn’t wrong. People like Catherine step on necks to climb ladders. Wouldn’t be hard to believe someone took this opportunity to settle a score. Used the Hannah case as cover.”
He crouched, careful not to cross the perimeter markers or get in the way of the CSIs and ME as he studied the angle of Catherine’s body.
“But whoever did this knew what they were doing. This wasn’t just a killing. It was staging. Intentional. Deliberate.” His jaw tensed. “If it wasn’t the same killer, then someone out there knows exactly what Hannah’s crime scene looked like.”
And they were using it to send a message of their own.
Griff heard the crunch of approaching footsteps on the gravel path and turned to see Sheriff Hallie McQueen striding toward them, her long coat catching the breeze. She looked like she’d already been through three rounds of hell today, and this just made four.
He and Lily stepped back from the creek bank to meet her.
Hallie stopped just shy of the tape, her eyes cutting toward Catherine’s body, then back to them. “The ME says she hasn’t been dead long, probably less than an hour. You can probably guess that the cause of death is strangulation.”
“Yeah,” Griff muttered. He’d seen her neck.
“There’s blunt force trauma on the back of her head,” Hallie went on. “So, maybe someone clubbed her and then strangled her.” She glanced around. “No idea what she was doing out here in heels, a pencil skirt, and no coat.”
Griff had to go with another, “Yeah,” on that. The site wasn’t that far from the Langston Holdings’ building, but this wasn’t the weather for a literal stroll in the park.
“There’s no purse or a phone on her,” Hallie explained. “That’s the same as Hannah. And we’re not getting a ping on Catherine’s phone so the SIM card’s probably been removed.”
“Who found the body?” Lily asked.
“A dog walker. Herman Mercer,” Hallie added. “He’s not a suspect. Mid-80s, limited mobility. He lives just on the other side of those trees.” She tipped her head to some towering live oaks. “Walks this way every day, even when it’s this freezing cold.”
Griff was wondering if the killer knew that. If the killer had known it wouldn’t be long before poor Herman Mercer spotted the body.
“Tell me,” Hallie went on, “did either of you get even a whiff that something like this was coming?”
“No,” Griff said, his voice clipped. “We knew Catherine was holding back, but we didn’t see this coming.”
Lily folded her arms. “She was a suspect, Hallie. In Hannah’s murder and in the attacks on us. We were prepping for a formal interview with her tomorrow morning.”
Hallie made a low sound in her throat—frustration or agreement, it was hard to tell. “So maybe someone killed the killer.”
Griff followed her line of thought instantly. “That points to Margo.”
Hallie nodded. “She had motive. And if she really believed Catherine murdered her sister, staging the body like this… it’d make a twisted kind of sense.”
Griff didn’t need to backtrack and fill her in on the details. He and Lily had already briefed her on the stolen photos, the confrontation with Margo, and everything they’d learned during the drive over from the station. Hallie had taken it in quietly, processing fast like she always did.
Now she was putting the pieces together just as fast.
Lily glanced back toward the creek, her jaw tight. “We need to find Margo.”
Griff agreed, but deep down, he couldn’t shake the feeling that even if Margo had killed Catherine, she wasn’t the only one still holding secrets.
And one of those secrets had just left a body in the exact same place Hannah Cole died.
They all turned at the sound of tires crunching against gravel, the low growl of a heavy engine pulling up behind the cruisers. Griff recognized the silver truck immediately. So did Hallie.
Hallie groaned under her breath. “Damn it. It’s Everett. I’ve been trying to call him, to tell him. He didn’t answer.”
The door of the truck flew open before the engine even shut off. Everett Langston barreled out, suit coat flapping, his face red with fury—or panic. Maybe both.
“Is it Catherine?” he shouted, eyes wild as they locked on Hallie. “Is it true what I heard? Tell me it’s not Catherine.”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He started running toward the crime scene, toward the tape and the body beyond it.
Griff moved fast, intercepting him just before he could duck under the perimeter line. He caught the man by the arm, digging in just enough to stop his forward momentum without sending him to the ground.
“Hold on,” Griff said. “You can’t go over there.”
“Let me see her!” Everett struggled, almost slipping in the mud, his voice raw and rising. “Let me see her, damn it!”
Hallie stepped in, her voice calm but firm. “Everett. Stop. You can’t go closer.”
He twisted toward her, his breathing ragged and his eyes pleading for an answer he might not actually want to hear.
“Yes,” she said gently, meeting his eyes. “It’s Catherine.” She waited a beat, then added, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Everett stared at her, blinking hard. Then the sound that came from his throat was part sob, part gasp, wounded and guttural. His knees gave out, and he dropped to the cold ground like something inside him had broken.
Griff kept hold of his arm, steadying him even as Everett sagged under the weight of whatever this moment meant.
Was it grief?
Or guilt?
Griff couldn’t tell. And that bothered him more than he wanted to admit.
Everett covered his face with both hands, shoulders hunched and trembling, the kind of raw grief that echoed through the cold morning air. Groaning, maybe sobbing—it was hard to tell through the noise of it—he rocked slightly where he knelt in the mud.
“Who did this?” Everett rasped. “Who did this to my beautiful wife?”
Hallie crouched beside him, not touching him, but close. “We don’t know yet,” she said softly. Then her voice shifted, just a touch firmer. “Who wanted her dead, Everett?”
Everett lifted his head slowly. His eyes were red, wet, but something in them didn’t quite match the rest of his face. He gave a slow shake of his head, the motion just a beat too controlled.
“I-I don’t know,” he said. “I can’t think—”
Griff watched him closely, jaw tight. Lie. It had to be. Catherine had told them they had enemies. Plural. And Everett had acted like it was an everyday nuisance. Not a threat. Not a danger.
Now he was acting like the idea was brand new.
Everett let his head fall again, shoulders heaving. “I can’t do this right now,” he said. “I just lost my wife.”
Hallie stood, brushing her latex gloves off with slow precision. She glanced at Griff, then Lily before she stepped a few feet back and motioned them to follow.
Once they were out of earshot from Everett, Hallie’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Why don’t you two head over to Catherine’s office? See if anything stands out. I’ll call in a warrant in case anybody there gives you a hassle about getting in.”
Griff nodded. That had already been on his to-do list, and hopefully somewhere in that office would be the names of the enemies that Catherine had said she’d send.
“We need to find out how she got here, too, so check the parking lot at Langston Holdings and see if her car is there.” She hesitated, scanning the trees, the path, the wide-open spaces that suddenly felt too exposed.
“And for God’s sake,” she muttered, “be careful. There’s a killer loose in Outlaw Ridge. ”
Griff stayed close to Lily as they made their way back up the gravel path toward his truck, the cold pressing harder now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off.
They didn’t talk.