Chapter Forty-three
Jill sat at the head of the long wooden table in the courthouse conference room, arms crossed, face set in stone.
The air was tense. Across from her sat Clyde Peterson, looking like a man who had just realized he might be out of options.
Mark Haskell, the DA, sat beside Jill, his legal pad lined with notes, while Oliver Holbrook, Clyde’s defense attorney, adjusted his tie, preparing for what was sure to be an interesting negotiation.
Mark leaned forward, tapping his pen against the table.
“Clyde, let’s cut to the chase. The jury is still deliberating, but my gut tells me they’re not going to take your side.
This is a way out—plead guilty, take probation, no jail time.
You’ll have to complete anger management courses and pay restitution, but you won’t spend the next nine to twelve months in a six by eight cell. ”
Clyde raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?”
Mark nodded. “That’s it. If you answer every single one of our questions truthfully regarding Bradley Comstock.”
Jill watched Clyde carefully as his expression shifted. She could see the gears turning in his head.
“Comstock?” Clyde finally said. “Really?”
Jill leaned in. “Yes. But if you lie to us, the deal is off the table.”
Clyde let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. He turned to Oliver. “What do you think?”
Oliver sighed. “The evidence against you isn’t great, Clyde. But I have a bad feeling about this jury. If you take this deal, you get to go home. If you roll the dice, you might not.”
Clyde exhaled sharply. “Fine. But just so we’re clear—this deal only covers my current assault trial, right? Not anything else?”
Mark folded his hands on the table. “Correct. Any other crimes are not included in this plea agreement.”
Jill narrowed her eyes. If Clyde had anything to do with Comstock’s scheme, this deal could backfire spectacularly.
Oliver gave Clyde a meaningful look. “If you’ve done something worse, Clyde, you better think long and hard before opening your mouth.”
Clyde hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll take the deal.”
Mark slid a document across the table, and Clyde signed his name at the bottom.
Mark turned to Jill. “He’s all yours.”
Jill sat forward, locking eyes with Clyde. “Have you done any work for Bradley Comstock?”
Clyde shook his head immediately. “Nope.”
Jill didn’t believe him. “Are you sure about that?”
Clyde smirked. “I don’t work for dentists.”
Jill crossed her arms. “Then let’s talk about the deadly nightshade. We know you ordered it.”
Clyde leaned back in his chair, looking relaxed. “I don’t deny that.”
“Did you give it to Bradley Comstock?”
“Nope.”
Mark narrowed his eyes. “Clyde, you remember the deal, right? If we find out you’re lying, we void this agreement, and you’re back in front of that jury.”
Clyde held up a hand. “I’m telling you the truth.”
Jill’s jaw tightened. “Did you use the nightshade to poison Chips Hogan?”
“No.”
“Did you push Griffin Mead into the water while he was under the influence of a drug?”
“Absolutely not.”
Jill studied him.
He wasn’t squirming.
He wasn’t sweating.
For the first time, she believed him.
“Then why were you at Bradley Comstock’s house last night, talking about the murders?”
Clyde’s head snapped up. “How the hell do you know about that?”
Jill didn’t answer.
Clyde sighed. “I kept hearing my name being thrown around with Comstock’s, and I wanted to know what was going on. I don’t need cops knocking on my door when I’m already on trial for assault.”
Jill leaned in. “So he wasn’t buying your silence because you were his accomplice?”
Clyde snorted. “Nope. But it sure sounds like he’s got one.”
Jill frowned. “If you didn’t order the nightshade for Comstock, then who was it for?”
Clyde hesitated.
Jill tapped her fingers on the table. “Come on, Clyde. We made a deal. Talk.”
Clyde chuckled. “You’re not going to believe me.”
Jill rapped sharply on the front door.
A moment later, Melanie Blaisdell swung it open, looking startled. “Chief Holbrook?”
Jill folded her arms. “We need to talk.”
Melanie stepped back warily. “About what?”
Jill crossed the threshold, not waiting for an invitation.
“About the nightshade plant you bought.”
Melanie’s eyes widened, but she quickly recovered. “That’s ridiculous.”
Jill’s voice was cool but steady. “Clyde Peterson admitted he ordered the nightshade. For you.”
Melanie swallowed. “Look, I ordered it because it’s—” she sighed. “It’s got beautiful flowers. I thought it would look nice in my garden next spring.”
Jill wasn’t buying it. “Not because you wanted to help Bradley frame Waldo Duggan for murder?”
Melanie looked horrified. “What? No!”
“What I can’t figure is—if it was really for your own use, why go through Clyde? Why the post office box?”
Melanie’s lips thinned. For a moment she looked cornered, then she let out a sharp breath.
“Because I didn’t want my name attached to it, all right?
Belladonna isn’t illegal, but it sounds bad.
One person at that nursery gossips, and suddenly everyone in Halibut Cove thinks I’m stirring poison in my teapot.
Around here, I’ve already got a reputation for being odd, and I don’t need to feed it.
Clyde owed me a favor, so I asked him to handle the order. That’s all there was to it.”
Jill studied her. The explanation was neat, maybe a little too neat. “So, where is the plant now?”
Melanie hesitated. “It’s … gone.”
Jill’s stomach sank. “Gone?”
Melanie nodded slowly. “I came home one day, and it was missing from my greenhouse.”
Jill’s mind raced. “And before it went missing, you told Bradley about it at work, didn’t you?”
Melanie looked away. “Maybe.”
That was it.
Bradley had stolen the plant and used it to kill Chips.
“Why didn’t you say anything when we found the plant in Waldo Duggan’s house?”
“I—I don’t know, I guess I thought I might not be the only one who has that plant.”
Jill stepped back. “I need you to think very carefully, Melanie. Are you absolutely certain Bradley was with you the night Griffin Mead drowned?”
Melanie lifted her chin defiantly. “Yes. We were working late. I swear.”
Jill exhaled slowly. Bradley had to have an accomplice. But if it wasn’t Clyde or Melanie … who was it?
Jill pushed through the front door of The Chowder House, scanning the room for Mason.
The diner was still busy with late-morning regulars, the usual crowd of fishermen and shop owners finishing their breakfasts.
She spotted Mason at a booth, hunched over an overflowing plate of food, eating like a man who hadn’t seen a meal in a week.
Across from him, Isabella watched in disgust, arms crossed as she stared at him with barely concealed horror.
“You do realize that food isn’t trying to run away from you, right?” Isabella deadpanned, watching Mason shovel forkfuls of eggs, bacon, and pancakes into his mouth like a human vacuum.
Mason barely looked up. “I’m a growing boy.”
“You’re a grown man,” Isabella countered. “And you eat like a raccoon that just found an open dumpster.”
Before Mason could retort, Audrey slid into the booth next to Isabella, rolling her eyes at their bickering.
“Give him a break,” Audrey said, nudging Isabella with her elbow. “He’s got a point. Growing boy and all.”
Mason perked up, swallowing his bite of pancake with visible effort. “Thank you! See? Audrey gets it.”
Audrey shrugged. “Besides, I’d rather listen to him eat than hear you lecture him about it.”
Mason beamed, clearly touched Audrey had come to his defense.
Jill marched up to their booth, interrupting the moment. “Mason, let’s go.”
Mason froze mid-bite, looking between Jill and the remainder of his breakfast. “I still have hash browns left.”
“You’ll survive.”
“But they’re crispy,” Mason argued, fork hovering dramatically.
Jill let out a long, slow breath. “Mason, I swear to God.”
Mason groaned but reluctantly waved down Ethel, who had been watching with amusement from behind the counter.
“Can I get a to-go box?” Mason asked hopefully.
Ethel smirked. “I’d say yes, but I think the chief might physically remove you from the booth before you get a chance to use it.”
Before Mason could argue further, Jill’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and checked the text.
Her entire posture stiffened.
Lab results back. Dimethylmercury detected in toothbrush bristles.
Jill exhaled slowly, gripping her phone tighter.
This was it.
Finally.
The proof they needed.
Audrey noticed the sudden change in her mother’s demeanor and narrowed her eyes. “What?”
Jill shoved the phone back into her pocket, masking her expression. “Nothing. Let’s go, Mason.”
Audrey didn’t buy it. “Mom, what is it?”
“Audrey, drop it,” Jill warned, but Audrey wasn’t backing down.
She leaned in, lowering her voice. “Is it about Nana?”
Jill clenched her jaw, then, with a reluctant sigh, leaned toward Audrey and whispered, “The test results came back.”
Audrey’s heart kicked into high gear. “And?”
Jill hesitated before whispering, “It was the toothbrush. That’s how he poisoned her.”
Audrey sat back, stunned, the weight of the revelation settling over her.
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
Audrey exhaled sharply. She turned to Ethel, Isabella, and Jimmy, who were watching the exchange with confused curiosity.
“We got him,” Audrey announced.
Ethel straightened immediately. “You mean Comstock?”
Audrey nodded grimly. “We have proof. He tampered with the toothbrush in that stupid dental gift bag. That’s how he poisoned Nana.”
A collective gasp rippled through the group.
“That son of a—” Ethel caught herself, shaking her head.
Isabella’s hands clenched into fists. “I knew he was creepy, but this is next level.”
Jimmy looked downright pale and stopped clearing plates from a nearby table. “He tried to kill your grandmother over some grudge?”
Jill cut in. “We need to move. Now.”
Audrey’s voice turned sharp. “I want to be there when you arrest him.”
Jill shook her head firmly. “Absolutely not.”
“Mom—”
“Audrey, I mean it,” Jill snapped. “This is a police matter now. Mason and I will handle it.”
Audrey didn’t like it, but she knew better than to push.
Mason finally threw his napkin down, standing up with a heavy sigh. “Well, there go my hash browns.”
Jill ignored him. “Let’s go.”
With that, she turned on her heel, Mason following behind as they stormed out of The Chowder House and straight toward Comstock Dental.
Jill strode purposefully into Comstock Dental, Mason right behind her. The waiting room was full of patients. A young mother was trying to keep her toddler entertained with a set of plastic dinosaur figurines, while an older gentleman in a flannel jacket checked his watch impatiently.
Melanie sat behind the reception desk, fidgeting with a pen, looking bored as she scrolled through something on her computer screen.
Jill didn’t waste time. She marched straight up to the desk and tapped her badge on the counter.
“Where is he?” Jill demanded.
Melanie’s brows furrowed, glancing up. She wasn’t happy to see Jill twice in one day. “Who?”
Jill leveled her with a look.
Melanie stilled, realizing. “Dr. Comstock?”
Mason crossed his arms beside Jill. “Yeah. That guy. Where is he?”
Melanie rolled her chair back, hesitating. “He’s—he’s with a patient.”
“Get him out here,” Jill ordered.
A tense silence settled over the room. A woman in the waiting area lowered her magazine, eyes flickering between Jill and Melanie.
Melanie swallowed hard, standing up. “I—Um—Okay, just a sec.” She hurried toward the hallway, where the exam rooms were located.
Jill and Mason exchanged a glance.
They waited.
And waited.
The longer the silence stretched, the more a sinking feeling settled in Jill’s gut.
Melanie finally reappeared, but she was alone.
Her face had drained of all color. She looked panicked, hands twisting together in front of her.
Jill’s stomach dropped.
“He’s not there, is he?” Jill said, her voice eerily calm.
Melanie blinked rapidly, her mouth opening and closing. “He must have—”
Mason stepped up next to Jill, voice sharp. “Where is he, Melanie?”
“I—I don’t know!” Melanie stammered. “He was here this morning. I confirmed his appointments, he even had a patient in the chair—but there’s no one back there …”
Jill turned on her heel.
“Let’s go,” she snapped at Mason.
Mason bolted after her. “I knew it. I freaking knew it—”
They raced out of the office, nearly barreling into a delivery man coming in with a package. Jill ignored his startled protest, her boots hitting the pavement hard as she and Mason rushed to the cruiser.
“Someone tipped him off,” Jill muttered, throwing the car into drive so fast the tires squealed.
“Melanie?” Mason guessed.
“Maybe.” Jill’s jaw clenched. “Or someone else. Either way, Comstock knows we’re coming for him.”
They sped toward Bradley’s house, the cruiser kicking up dust as Jill pushed the speed limit on the narrow roads.
When they finally pulled up to Comstock’s driveway, Jill’s worst fears were confirmed.
His car was gone.
The house was dark.
Too dark.
Jill threw the car into park, jumped out, and stalked up the front steps. She banged on the door with enough force to rattle the hinges.
“Bradley Comstock! Halibut Cove Police Department! Open up!”
Silence.
Mason stepped up beside her, peering through the nearest window.
“Place looks empty,” he muttered.
Jill ground her teeth together.
She knew he was already gone.
“Damn it!” She slammed her palm against the doorframe, stepping back to take in the house. “He’s on the run.”
Mason exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “Who could have warned him?”
Jill turned back toward the cruiser, already thinking, already planning.
“We need to get an APB out on his car,” she said. “Call the state police, the sheriff’s department, hell, the Coast Guard if we have to. Comstock is not slipping away from us.”
Mason nodded, pulling out his phone. “I’ll get on it.”
Jill took one last look at the empty house, her fingers curling into fists at her sides.
Bradley Comstock might have gotten away for now.
But Chief Jill Holbrook wasn’t about to let him disappear forever.