Chapter 31
Fragments
Sheriff Burke Scott
The conference room smelled of burnt coffee—the same as when his father wore the badge. Burke leaned on the edge of the table, arms crossed, watching his deputies settle in.
Scout dropped into a chair, toothpick shifting in the corner of his mouth.
Sara Parker, sharp-eyed and methodical, clicked her pen open, ready to take notes.
Jack Baker, broad and steady, looked more rested these days—ever since Rosie retired.
His new partner, a young German Shepherd named Ruger, lay at his feet, ears flicking at every sound.
Carl Jenkins and Mike Reardon came in last, bringing the headcount to six.
Burke nodded. “Appreciate y’all coming in early. Three break-ins in as many weeks—back doors forced, drawers rifled through, nothing major stolen. Folks are rattled, especially tourists.”
Scout tipped his chair back a notch. “Same kind of entry each time. Whoever it is knows how to work a slider lock.”
“Kids?” Carl asked. “Teenagers pulling pranks?”
Sara shook her head. “Not buying it. Too clean. No vandalism, no smashed glass. Whoever’s doing it wants to get in, get out, and stay unseen.”
Jack grunted. “Sounds more like a pro passing through. I’ve seen it before—somebody casing places, looking for a bigger score.”
Burke listened, gaze moving from one to the next. Each had a point. He tapped the table, drawing them back in.
“Either way, folks are nervous. So we step it up—more patrols in the neighborhoods off Main, more eyes around the museum and courthouse. And if you see somebody hanging around who doesn’t belong, don’t shrug it off. Too clean means it isn’t random—it’s personal to somebody.”
Reardon raised a brow. “You thinking someone specific?”
Burke hesitated, Darcy’s face flashing in his mind—her nerves, the way her eyes darted to shadows. “Not yet. But I’ve got a feeling something’s coming.”
The door opened behind him. A man stepped in—tall, early thirties, lean build beneath a navy button-down, carrying the quiet confidence of someone who’d seen plenty.
Burke glanced back. “That’ll be Luke Hale. Came over from Asheville PD—we’re looking at bringing him on as investigator.”
Luke gave a polite nod toward the group. “Morning.”
Sara returned it, a flicker of curiosity before she looked away.
Burke gestured toward the hall. “We’ll talk in a bit, Luke.”
“Yessir.” Luke backed out, closing the door behind him.
Burke turned back to his team. “Alright, where were we?”
The room settled again, a low murmur as assignments passed around. Ruger lifted his head, alert but calm. Burke let it play out, unease settling heavy in his gut. Break-ins weren’t unusual—but the pattern, the timing—it all felt too close to home.
And for the first time in years, the thought of someone else’s safety—her safety—kept him awake at night.
Darcy
The museum buzzed with footsteps and voices as tourists wandered through Darcy’s newest exhibits. Pride and nerves tangled in her chest as she guided Izzy past displays of photographs, beadwork, and carved tools.
“This section opened last week,” Darcy said, her voice alive with excitement. “Some of these pieces sat in storage for decades.”
Izzy smiled. “You did well, Cate. This is beautiful.”
But Darcy went rigid when her eyes caught a familiar figure—a tall man, angled slightly away but unmistakable. She remembered him from Catch My Draft, the one Izzy had danced with. Now he stood with his phone lifted just so.
A jolt went through her. The faint click echoed like a threat only she could hear.
No. Not again.
She gripped Izzy’s sleeve. “Iz—he took a photo of me.”
Izzy glanced, then laughed under her breath. “That’s Evan. I told you—he’s a photographer. If he wanted a picture, he’d use that expensive camera, not his phone. Maybe he snapped me. I think he’s into me—we keep bumping into each other. Trust me, Cate—I can read men. I’d know if he was trouble.”
The camera strap dangled from his shoulder, lens cap still on. Maybe he liked the phone for candids—but it still made her skin crawl.
Darcy tried to smile, but the unease rooted deeper. Izzy called out brightly, drifting toward him.
“Evan! There you are.” She touched his arm, smiling warmly. “Isn’t it funny how small this town feels?”
Evan slid his phone into his pocket, all smooth charm and easy smiles. His cologne—sharp, metallic—cut through the warm air of the gallery, and something in her recoiled.
“Guess fate’s got a sense of humor,” he said.
Izzy laughed, looping her arm through Darcy’s. “See? Harmless. Darcy, you’re too jumpy. Everyone feels like they’re watching you.”
Something like that.
Evan leaned toward a display. “Remarkable pieces,” he said quietly, voice meant for her. “Makes you wonder what stories they’d tell—if they could speak.”
She couldn’t speak for a beat. Yes… it does.
His eyes lingered, cataloguing her. She turned away, pretending to study the beadwork, but the back of her neck prickled.
Then, mercifully, the book-club ladies arrived—hats, handbags, laughter filling the gallery. One slipped an arm through Darcy’s before she could glance back, tugging her toward the tearoom like a favorite niece.
“Darcy!” one called brightly. “We love what you’ve done here. This place feels alive again. And that book-club room? Perfect for our teas.”
Another laughed. “We argue as hard over pie as we do over books!”
A third leaned in. “Though I have to say, Darcy, our little club has been livelier since a certain sheriff started dropping by. You wouldn’t know why, would you?”
A ripple of laughter circled them. Darcy flushed. “The sheriff has been very supportive of the museum,” she managed.
One winked. “Supportive—that’s what they’re calling it these days?”
More laughter.
“Darcy, honey,” another added warmly, “you’ve got a knack for making people feel welcome. Even my Harold noticed, and he never notices anything.”
Darcy ducked her head, cheeks burning, as she steered them toward the tearoom. The air carried lemon and Earl Grey.
She busied herself with plates and napkins, grateful for chatter about novels and grandchildren.
For a little while, she let herself settle.