Gabe
The smell of coffee and burnt rubber hit me as I opened the door.
The Maplewood Police Station was a squat, lifeless building across from town hall.
The lobby was outdated, but the place was mostly tidy.
Nodding at the officers at their desks and Jenine, I shuffled to the large corkboard on one wall.
It was plastered with layers of fliers, ranging from lost pet notices to offers of chainsaw sharpening and tarot reading.
The ever-present headache behind my eyes throbbed as I rolled my shoulders.
Maybe I’d go home early. Maybe I’d actually sleep tonight.
These days sleep wasn’t so much a biological function as it was a fugue state interrupted by spiraling thoughts.
Some days I woke up dreaming of the moment I could go back to sleep that night.
Blowing out a breath, I headed over to the small break room and poured myself a cup of coffee. It was sludge at this point, but it would get the job done.
“A little late for caffeine, don’t you think?” Nolan appeared at my side, snagging a mug. He dumped the remainder of the coffee into it, then stared at me over the rim.
We’d been friends our whole lives. His dad, the original Chief Foster, used to help my dad on the farm during sugaring season. A burly guy with a thick mustache, he’d coached youth hockey and led drug and alcohol education seminars at the high school.
Nolan had lost nearly everything when his parents died, including his ability to smile. But he was good at his job, and we worked well together.
“You look like shit.” He grunted into his coffee.
“You too.” I raised my mug in a toasting gesture.
His uniform was rumpled, his stubble bordering unkempt beard territory, and his hair was long enough to tuck behind his ears. These days, he looked nothing like the clean-cut marine he’d been a decade ago.
He tilted his head toward his office, and I followed, the flickering fluorescent lights above making my headache worse.
He gently closed the door behind me, then pinned me with a look. “What do you want, Harding?”
I shifted, discomfort setting in. He didn’t invite me to sit and I didn’t want to. This was not the kind of conversation that would encourage us to linger.
“We’ve got to work through the budget issue,” I said firmly.
His jaw ticked.
“You know the police overtime payout is out of control.”
“Because we lost months chasing rumors from Facebook.” His expression darkened. “We’ve got media, online conspiracy theorists, and arson. Not to mention all the petty vandalism recently.”
I nodded. Someone had defaced the Welcome to Maplewood highway sign again last week, changing it to Welcome to Murderville instead. Despite our best efforts, the Murderville label created by an online influencer had stuck.
“My deputies are exhausted, and I can’t approve time-off requests. Not when we can’t keep up as it is.” He set his coffee on his desk. “We’ve got to do our jobs. So we either pay the overtime, or you approve the new headcount I requested.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. This was the merry-go-round we spun on every time we spoke.
Maplewood did not have the budget for this kind of police presence.
But given all the necessary investigations and the peak in petty crimes over the last year, our public safety needs had changed.
I’d been having the same conversation with Jo Ashburn, the fire chief.
We had the budget of a pleasant, sleepy little town with a solid tax base and excellent tourism revenue. But since the murder, our public service needs had changed, and there was no budget to catch up.
My stomach twisted. “I hate that the town fell apart over this murder—”
“It wasn’t one murder,” he snapped. “Fuck, Gabe. This isn’t just about Will’s death. The town’s falling apart because no one trusts their neighbors anymore. You should have heard some of the wild stories coming in on the tipline. We’re still logging and working through them, and it’s been months.”
After Will McManus’s murder, we’d set up a police tipline, and it had received thousands of calls. Many of which were far less helpful than we’d hoped.
“And we’ve still got the state and the feds in here.” He brought his hands to his duty belt. “I’m doing the best I can with what I’ve got. Seems like you should be more focused on your upcoming recall than on our overtime.”
Hackles rising, I placed my mug on the desk and crossed my arms. “I’ve got too much to do to worry about being voted out of office. If Maplewood wants me gone, then I will happily turn this job over to the next chump who wants it.”
Nolan’s eyes flared. “You sound different.”
“What does that mean?”
He shrugged. “Like you’ve stopped trying to tell people what they want to hear.”
That comment was like a physical blow. Nolan didn’t pull punches.
I was both offended and complimented by his candor, honestly.
But I stood by my statement. If the town didn’t want me as mayor, then I didn’t want the job.
Some days this position took more than I had to give, and anymore, I wasn’t sure I even had the skills to do it properly.
“For the record, I’m voting to keep you.”
“Thank you,” I said. “But I sign your paychecks.”
“Eh. I’m biased, sure. But I also want what’s best for this place.”
The words hung in the air for a moment, some common ground between us.
“Something’s got to give,” I said, finally sitting in the hard chair in front of his desk. “I can’t keep convincing people things are okay when they’re not.”
Frowning, he sat as well. “So don’t.”
“And send this place into further panic?”
“Can’t get much worse,” he grunted.
Nolan, unfortunately, had been walking around with a target on his back since the murder.
Every step of his investigation had been questioned.
He’d dealt with pressure from the state police and was doing what he could with shaky evidence.
By the time Caleb Dunne had confessed, no one trusted Nolan, and he’d fully withdrawn.
Unless he was on duty, he rarely made appearances in town anymore.
“We’re hoping to make headway soon,” I said. “Took some meetings in Montpelier last week, and I think—”
“With Monroe, right?” he interrupted. “I don’t trust her.”
That raised my hackles a bit. Though I wasn’t sure why, since I myself didn’t actually trust her.
Regardless, I leaned forward. “Why?”
“I made some calls,” he said. “Heard rumblings about something she was involved in. No proof, but the accusations were legitimate enough to make me uncomfortable.” He ran his hand over his scruffy jaw.
“And she left no paper trail. With her here, there’ll be a thousand new conspiracy theories circulating within the week. Just you wait.”
“She’s working on an economic development plan,” I explained, my chest tightening in what might have been defense.
Sabrina had sat across from the state officials, speaking competently.
She’d walked into the statehouse fully confident.
And she’d been prepared to dismantle any excuses they threw at us.
How she’d gotten up to speed on the shit show we’d been dealing with in a matter of days was beyond me.
Yet she’d done more. She’d already exposed issues that probably never would have been brought up if not for her.
“Sure. Sure,” he said, his tone unconvinced. “Just be careful. She sounds like the kind of person who has a lot of experience getting away with things.”
A hot flare of irritation shot through my veins. “She got us meetings I’d been trying to get for months.”
“She waltzed in here on thousand-dollar heels, and now everyone is acting even more bizarre.” He snorted. “Including that fucking bear.”
I choked back a laugh. He wasn’t wrong on those points.
He fidgeted with a pen, tapping the end on his desk. “She asks questions like she already knows the answers, like she’s been trained to extract information.”
Again, his instincts were spot-on. So I kept my mouth shut.
“People like that, they don’t come to places like this unless they’re hiding something. Or from something.”
“She cares about the town,” I snapped. It didn’t matter why she was here. And the determination she possessed during those meetings? She could save this town by sheer force of will if she wanted to.
Nolan raised one brow, like he was absorbing my reaction. Shit. He didn’t miss anything.
Despite the arguments and the insults, Sabrina had begun feeling less like a threat and more like an ally.
A dangerous ally, maybe. With questionable motives.
But I needed all the help I could get.
Nolan leaned back, his chair creaking. “You’re too close to this.”
I huffed a breath. “She’s helping.”
“That’s not what I said.”
I had nothing else to say. I couldn’t justify all of this to him. Especially since he’d put so much distance between us recently.
“I’ve got it under control,” I said firmly.
“For your sake and the town’s, I hope so.”