Chapter 11
Reed Langley
The familiar scents of beer and decades-old wood polish of Gus’ Watering Hole enveloped anyone who walked through the door like an old friend's embrace. The converted warehouse retained its original brick walls and exposed wooden beams, a physical testament to the town’s stubborn refusal to surrender to time.
Amber light from vintage fixtures covered the patrons with warmth, and the quiet murmur of conversations competed with the soft strains of country music from the ancient jukebox that Gus refused to replace despite its tendency to skip every third song on the playlist.
Reed nodded in the direction of a few familiar faces as he made his way to the bar. Saturday nights were typically busy, and this one was no different, especially since most of the locals had attended Emanuel’s funeral.
The last thing he needed after today's press conference was an audience, though.
The local reporters had been relentless, peppering him with questions about Hadley's involvement in the Claymont case and whether that meant he and Sheriff Turner had made a mistake in the investigation.
He'd stuck to the script—professional courtesy, interagency cooperation, fresh perspectives—while carefully navigating the politics.
He hated politics, but the mayor had left him little choice but to address the situation.
Reed settled onto a stool in the middle of the bar. He checked his watch, noting that he still had another thirty minutes or so before meeting up with Nora for dinner.
“Well, is it true?” Sam Cashman asked as he approached with an iced cold mug in hand.
“Thanks, Sam.” Reed accepted the draft beer without pretense, deliberately taking a long drink to fortify himself against the upcoming conversation.
He understood exactly what topic Sam wanted to cover.
“Yes, it’s true. Hadley is in town to consult on the Claymont case.
State Police sent her in to help quiet the media circus before the festival. ”
Sam had been born and raised in Whistlerun. He’d even gone to high school with Mason Dawkins, the two of them captains of the football team in their senior year. Standing at four inches over six feet, he was still built like an offensive lineman.
“And how are you handling that?” Sam inquired, his tone carefully neutral despite the weighted question. “Can't be easy, her showing up after all this time.”
Sam hadn't been merely asking if the rumors were true—he was digging deeper, tapping into twelve-year-old wounds that had scarred over long ago.
“It's just business, Sam.” Reed couldn’t wait for the alcohol to kick in. “I’m engaged to an amazing woman, finally got the funding to fix the station, and things are quiet around town if one doesn’t include the media. Hadley coming back changes nothing.”
Sam’s gaze drifted toward the entrance. His low whistle of warning evaporated some of Reed’s hope for a quiet evening.
“Incoming,” Sam murmured, switching his focus to the back corner booth. “You should know that Frank Esten's been nursing the same whiskey for over an hour. Hasn't said a word to anyone.”
Reed had initially thought Sam’s warning was in reference to Mayor Warren Caldwell. He never imagined that Hadley would venture into the local watering hole. As for Frank Esten, he’d claimed the corner booth as his own years ago.
The high school principal had never recovered from his daughter's disappearance, channeling his grief into a bitter rage that occasionally boiled over into a verbal argument with another drunk. The parents around town gave him leeway, figuring he would retire sooner rather than later. They’d been saying the same thing for years.
Sam had already made his way out from behind the bar. He was dressed in his usual red and black plaid shirt with his sleeves rolled to the elbows. He held those arms wide open to greet Hadley.
"If it isn't little Miss Hadley Dawkins," Sam called out with a genuine smile. He had never blamed her for what happened to Mason, though Reed suspected Sam blamed himself. “All grown up and beautiful as ever.”
“I see you haven’t lost your charm,” Hadley replied with a laugh. She stepped into his bear hug. “It’s good to see you, Sam.”
The bartender lifted Hadley high enough that her boots dangled at least a foot off the ground.
Reed noticed that while she welcomed the embrace, she swept her gaze across the tables and booths.
It was apparent that she spotted Frank Esten almost immediately, though if the sight of him troubled her, she gave no outward sign other than lingering her gaze on him longer than two seconds.
Sam finally set Hadley down so she was standing on her own. He shook his head and straightened his shirt.
“I can’t believe you’re really here.” Sam’s expression softened before he launched into some dangerous territory. “I was really sorry to hear about your mama, Hadley. That was a tough break.”
Reed leaned an elbow against the bar as he observed the way the warmth in Hadley's eyes dimmed instantly at the mention of her mother.
“That's what a life of drinking will get you, Sam,” Hadley replied with a tone that carried an edge sharp enough to cut glass. “Cirrhosis doesn't discriminate between cheap vodka and expensive whiskey.”
Sam's smile tightened slightly as he swallowed whatever response had initially formed. Hadley had no idea that Sam had his own battles with the bottle. And while he kept his demons at bay while standing behind the bar, now wasn’t the right time to enlighten her.
“Can I get you a drink?” Sam asked, changing the subject as he made his way back behind the counter. “Beer? Cocktail?”
“No, thanks,” Hadley responded as she followed his path, stopping just shy of Reed.
He didn’t need to point out that the patrons hadn’t returned to their drinks and discussions.
Her unexpected entrance still had them mesmerized, and she was doing her best to brush off the coiled tension.
“I need a clear head to drive home. Reed, I spotted your truck in the parking lot, and I thought you’d want an update. ”
“Admit it,” Reed murmured with a smirk to lighten the mood. “You wanted to make a grand entrance.”
There was no missing the meaningful glances exchanged between patrons, the subtle shifts in posture as the locals leaned closer to share whispered observations.
Her presence had disturbed something fundamental in Whistlerun's carefully maintained equilibrium. By morning, every household within the town’s limits would be dissecting this moment over breakfast, their interpretations growing more elaborate with each retelling.
“Honestly, I thought it was best to get it over with,” Hadley muttered with resignation.
She didn't take a seat, suggesting she had no intention of staying. “Plus, I thought you should know that I have some old journals of Sarah Cox. She kept diaries of her daily life, and I’m hoping there is something in there on the specific dates that we talked about yesterday.”
“Swing by the station first thing in the morning,” Reed suggested after mentally cataloging the two meetings on his schedule tomorrow. “I don’t have to be at the high school until ten o’clock.”
Reed kept to himself that the reason Frank had asked him to speak with a group of high school students volunteering their time at the festival was to warn them that they shouldn’t go off alone.
One of the repeated questions at today’s press conference was why he and the mayor didn’t suggest moving the Cane County Festival to another town.
He’d been able to skirt the subject, explaining it wasn’t in his job description to plan community events.
He then directed their question to the mayor.
There was definitely a confrontation in Reed’s immediate future over such a decision, but it wouldn’t be this evening. Warren Caldwell’s decision to lie low right now might be in his best interest.
“I’ll read through them tonight.” Hadley wasn’t being dismissive, but he hadn’t even known that Sarah Cox kept such journals.
Somehow, he wasn’t surprised that Hadley had gotten Martin to hand over such private thoughts of his deceased wife.
“I’m meeting with Amelia Claymont tomorrow morning.
I've also scheduled interviews with Richie McCarthy and the rest of Missy's friends.”
“What time are you meeting Amelia? I can meet you at her residence.”
“That won't be necessary.”
“Hadley—”
“I appreciate the offer, Reed. Really, I do, but I prefer to conduct these interviews alone.” As much as Hadley kept her tone respectful and friendly, it was difficult for him not to take exception.
“Look, you and I both know they’re going to be mindful about what they say in front of you.
They'll be preoccupied with making sure what they told you before matches what they're telling me now.”
Reed couldn’t argue her point, so he left well enough alone. He had also been keeping a close eye on Frank, who was still staring at Hadley with what seemed to be enough hate to burn the flesh right off her body.
The high school principal had aged beyond what was normal since his daughter’s disappearance.
His once-commanding presence had been diminished by grief's relentless erosion. Reed quietly released his mug and slipped off the stool as Frank approached the bar, the man’s face tight with barely contained rage.
“You’ve got some nerve showing your face here,” Frank said, his voice carrying through the silence.
Every patron seemed frozen in place. Still, Hadley stood her ground, though she’d lost all color.
Frank stopped a few feet away from them, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists at his sides.
“No one wants you here. Your brother murdered my daughter, and you share his tainted blood.”
Hadley shifted her stance subtly so her weight was balanced and her body was angled to provide a smaller target should Frank decide to make this confrontation physical. She didn't respond, and somehow, her silence was more provocative than any defense could have been.
“Frank, this isn't the place,” Reed warned, attempting to diffuse the situation.
“You think just because your testimony put that monster behind bars that all will be forgiven?” Frank demanded to know, his voice rising as his face flushed even more. “Your mother is burning in hell right now for—”
“That’s enough, Frank.” Reed stepped in front of Frank to completely block his view of Hadley. “I mean it. The best thing you could do right now is walk out that door.”
The veins in Frank's neck stood out, pulsing rapidly. Reed noticed several patrons shifting uncomfortably in their seats, while others leaned forward, eager witnesses to the town's long-simmering tensions finally boiling over.
“He took my baby girl from me, Langley.” Frank brushed past Reed, pausing only to convey some parting advice to Hadley. “If you start digging up the past, you’re liable to get buried yourself.”
The threat hung in the air, its implications not needing to be spelled out. The bar remained eerily quiet in the man’s wake. Reed turned to Hadley, knowing full well how absurd it was to ask her if she was alright.
“Are you okay?”
The inquiry still slipped out, anyway.
Hadley met his gaze evenly, her composure intact despite all the attention on her. The only indication of her discomfort was a slight tightening around her eyes, causing the small scar through her eyebrow to whiten.
“Yes, I'm fine,” Hadley replied, her voice betraying nothing. She raised a hand in a brief wave to Sam before turning toward the door. “Like I said, I just wanted to give you an update on my plans tomorrow. Have a good night, Reed.”
He fought the urge to stop her. He didn’t believe that she had let enough time lapse between her leaving and Frank’s exit, but she’d made it clear that she wanted to deal with the locals in her own way and in her own time.
As the door swung shut behind her, conversation gradually resumed, though noticeably more subdued.
“Hadley Dawkins always did know how to make an entrance,” a gravelly voice observed from behind him. “All in all, it’s good to have her back.”
Gus Jenkins didn’t join Reed as he reclaimed his stool. Instead, the decorated WWII veteran remained leaning on his cane while staring at the scuffed door. Though his gait was slightly uneven, his back was still military-straight.
“I highly doubt the Estens are glad about her return, Gus,” Reed murmured, though he didn’t have to worry about the bar owner not hearing him.
The man might be in his late nineties, but his hearing was as sharp as someone half his age.
Hell, even younger. “Though I do think that Frank will regret his words come morning.”
There was no question that Gus knew every secret and weakness of every patron who had passed through his doors. He was a wealth of information, even though he kept his opinions to himself. Advice, however, was always free.
Gus inched closer and patted Reed on the shoulder.
“Grief doesn't follow rules, son. And this town has more than its fair share to go around."
The old man's gaze drifted to the door once more, his expression softening slightly.
“You know, I've poured drinks in this bar for more than sixty years.
Seen people leave town swearing they'd never return. Seen folks try to reinvent themselves by moving across the street.” Gus shook his head slowly.
“One thing I've learned is that no one ever really escapes their past. It follows like a shadow, growing longer or shorter depending on the light, but always there.”
Reed recognized the truth in Gus’ wisdom. Hadley hadn't escaped her past by leaving Whistlerun, just as Frank Esten hadn’t escaped his by staying and drinking whiskey every day.
“Then again, shadows can swallow us whole.” Gus let his hand drop to his side, shifting his weight more comfortably on his cane.
Only it was Reed who wasn’t comfortable anymore.
There was something in Gus’ tone that made him question the man’s knowledge about past events.
“And shadows are like secrets, Reed. When they claw their way back, they don’t come alone. ”