Chapter 39
"Two names keep coming up." Tom turned his laptop so the others could see. "I've been digging into Blaire's victim files—the ones we pulled before her system went down. Cross-referencing geographic proximity, recent contact, financial desperation."
Cara sat at the table, hands wrapped around a mug of tea she'd made but couldn't drink. Reagan had stopped pacing near the stairs. Wade leaned against the whiteboard where they'd mapped out everything they knew about Blaire's operation.
Piper had been sent home. Tom had insisted, and for once she hadn't argued. Even teenage determination had its limits.
Tom pulled up a photo—a man in his forties, receding hairline, tired eyes. "Marcus Webb. Seattle. Software developer. Blaire's been bleeding him for forty thousand over the past two years. Payments stopped abruptly three months ago."
"Stopped why?" Wade asked.
"Don't know yet. Could be he ran out of money. Could be he decided he'd had enough."
"Or could be he decided to solve the problem permanently," Reagan said.
Tom nodded, then hesitated, his hand hovering over the trackpad. He exchanged a look with Reagan before pulling up the second photo.
Cara's stomach dropped.
Jessica Forsythe. Late twenties, delicate features, short blonde hair styled in a pixie cut. The professional headshot they'd all studied.
"We have to consider her," Tom finally said. "I know none of us want to, but—"
"She's been through enough." Reagan's voice was tight. "We already traumatized her once, showing up at her home, her workplace. She begged us to leave her alone."
"And now Blaire's dead," Wade said quietly.
Cara closed her eyes, hearing Jessica's voice in her memory. That's what Blaire Mitchell does. She finds desperate people and she destroys them. The hollow grief. The barely contained fury. The way she'd said I hope you survive this before hanging up—words Cara had taken as sympathy at the time.
Now they sounded different.
"Maybe she found another way," Wade replied.
Nobody argued.
"She has serious motive," Tom continued reluctantly. "I found posts on a grief forum where she called Blaire a 'monster wearing a smile.' Said someone needed to stop her before she destroyed more families."
Cara remembered Jessica's voice breaking as she described finding out about Shawn's death. The way she'd blamed herself for not saving him. The cold finality when she'd told Cara never to contact her again.
"I can't believe she'd do this," Cara said. But even as she spoke, doubt crept in. Grief did terrible things to people. Especially grief mixed with the knowledge that the person responsible would never face justice.
"We don't know that she did," Reagan said. "That's why we need to talk to her."
"She won't talk to us." Cara shook her head. "She made that very clear. Said she'd slap a restraining order on us if we came near her again."
"That was before Blaire died," Wade pointed out. "Everything's different now."
"Is it?" Cara looked around at her team—at the reluctance on every face.
None of them wanted to do this. None of them wanted to drag Jessica Forsythe back into the nightmare she'd begged them to leave her out of.
"We go to her now, we're basically accusing her of murder.
A woman who lost her brother, who told me she just wants to be left alone. "
"Welcome to investigations," Reagan said. "Sometimes there's no good option. Just less bad ones."
Silence stretched through the basement.
"So we split up," Cara finally said, standing. The tea she'd never drunk sloshed in the mug. "Cover more ground. Find out who actually did this before Price makes up his mind."
Wade nodded. "I'll take Webb in Seattle. I've got contacts who can help me track him down quietly. If he's got an alibi, we cross him off fast."
"Cara and I will take Forsythe." Reagan's voice was heavy. "Portland's closer. And if anyone can get through to her..." She looked at Cara. "You're the one she talked to before. Even if she was angry, she opened up to you."
"She told me to leave her alone."
Cara thought about Jessica's voice on the phone.
I hope you survive this. I really do.
Had that been a warning? A goodbye? Or something else entirely?
"What about me?" Tom asked.
"Stay here. Keep digging into the digital trail—the assistant angle Piper flagged.
If Blaire really did have someone else running her accounts, that person might know something.
" Cara paused. "And dig into Webb and Forsythe some more. Maybe there’s a way to pinpoint their whereabouts at the time of the murder. "
Tom grinned. “There’s always a way. But you’re not gonna want me to describe it.”
"One more thing." Wade's voice was quiet but serious. "We need to move fast. Tyler Price seems fair, but fair doesn't mean slow. If he decides Cara's alibi isn't solid enough, or if he starts digging into backgrounds..."
He didn't finish. He didn't need to.
"Then we'd better find the real killer first," Cara said.
Reagan headed for the stairs. "We can be in Portland before dark if we leave now."
Cara followed, then paused and looked back at Tom and Wade.
"Be careful. Both of you. Whoever killed Blaire, they're not playing games. They pushed a woman off a cliff and walked away."
"Same goes for you," Wade said. "Watch your back out there."
Cara nodded and climbed the stairs into the bakery. Diane was behind the counter, handling the late afternoon trickle of customers with her usual warm efficiency. She caught Cara's eye, a question in her gaze.
"I'll be back tonight," Cara said quietly. "Maybe late."
Diane didn't ask where she was going. Just nodded and squeezed her hand. "I'll handle the early proof."
Outside, Reagan was already unlocking her truck. The afternoon sun was starting its descent toward the ocean, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink.
Cara climbed into the passenger seat, her mind still on that phone call with Jessica. The grief. The rage. The hollow certainty that fighting back was pointless.
You can't stop her. Nobody can.
But someone had.
"You okay?" Reagan asked, starting the engine.
"No." Cara stared out the windshield. "I listened to that woman pour out her heart about her brother. I heard how broken she was. And now we're driving to Portland to find out if she's a murderer."
Reagan pulled out onto the coast road. “Sweetie, if you’ve got a better idea, I’m all ears.”
Cara groaned and slid down in her seat. “I’m gonna have to get back to you on that.”
“You do that.” Reagan rolled her eyes. “In the meantime, this vehicle’s heading for Stumptown.”