10. The Committee’s Judgement
Chapter ten
The Committee's Judgement
The town council summons appears fancy, all cream-coloured parchment with an official seal and elegant handwriting, but the threat is obvious.
I hold it carefully, reading Lyle Garrow’s signature for the third time, hoping it will seem less threatening.
He even sealed it with dark red wax and the town emblem.
Nothing says 'we’re about to make your life hell' quite like official stationery.
“The Town Council of Rosewood requests your presence to discuss matters pertaining to the historical property currently in your possession…” I read aloud to the empty kitchen, my voice bouncing off the copper pots hanging above the ancient stove.
The document uses terms like “cordially invited” and “valued input required,” but what it really means is “show up, or we’ll come for you.
” The meeting’s scheduled for tomorrow evening, giving me precisely twenty-two hours to prepare for whatever inquisition Garrow has planned.
I drop the summons on the counter and watch it curl back into a roll, as if my counter isn’t good enough for it.
I drum my fingers on the old butcher block, thinking through what might happen.
Maybe they just want to welcome me with some passive-aggressive talk about property taxes.
Or maybe they’ve figured out what this house really is, a century-old escape route for people in trouble, with hidden rooms and a watchful guardian who could be behind any wall.
The doorbell’s harsh chime cuts through my thoughts, making me jump like I’ve been caught doing something illegal. Which, depending on how you interpret harbouring a man who technically doesn’t exist while helping people disappear, might not be far off.
Through the peephole, I see Officer Jonah Peck on my porch, shifting from foot to foot like he really needs the bathroom. His uniform is freshly pressed, and his badge flashes in the morning sun. Great. Police at 9 AM. That’s not suspicious at all.
I pull the door open with what I hope passes for innocent confusion. “Officer Peck. This is unexpected.”
His Adam’s apple does a nervous bobbing thing as he forces a tight smile. “Miss Hale. Sorry to disturb you this morning.” He clutches a small black notebook in one hand, his knuckles white with tension. “Mind if I come in? Got a few questions that might be easier discussed inside.”
I step back and gesture for him to come in, realizing right away that I made it too dramatic. My heart skips around, not sure if it wants to fight, run, or just give up. 'Sure. We can talk in the front foyer.'
Peck follows me through the foyer, looking around like someone trained to notice every detail. I wonder what he sees: an old house with worn floors and old fixtures, or a historic estate that’s hiding more secrets than it shows?
“Nice place,” he offers, the platitude falling flat in the tense air between us. “Been making progress with the renovations?”
“Slowly,” I reply, settling into an armchair and gesturing for him to take the one opposite. “What can I help you with, Officer Peck?”
He perches on the edge of the seat like he’s afraid it might swallow him whole, flipping open his notebook with clumsy fingers.
“Just following up on some ongoing investigations.” He clears his throat.
“Town’s had a few disappearances lately.
Routine to check with newer residents, get a sense of their observations, whereabouts, that sort of thing. ”
My mouth goes sandpaper dry. I nod slowly, remembering his visit weeks ago when he’d knocked on my door with that same notebook. “Disappearances,” I repeat. “You mentioned you might be back with more questions about this when you stopped by earlier this month.”
“Three individuals have been reported missing since May 27th.” He flips a page in his notebook. “That was the day you first came to look at the estate, correct?”
My chest tightens. He’s been checking my timeline. “Yes, I came to inspect the property that day. Didn’t move in until June 7th, though.”
He nods, making a note. “Thomas Webb was last seen on May 30th. Ellen Mercer disappeared on June 3rd. Maria Guthrie hasn’t been seen since June 12th.” His eyes flick up to mine. “You familiar with any of these names?”
I shake my head, feeling the same cold weight in my stomach as when he questioned me last time.
“No, Officer Peck. Like I told you when you first came by, I don’t know these people.
” My fingers twist in my lap. “I’ve barely met anyone since moving in.
Just the grocer, the hardware store clerk, and now you, twice. ”
“Mmm.” He makes another note. “Mind telling me where you were the night of June 12th? That would’ve been… on a Tuesday.”
Tuesday. I was here, alone. Well, as alone as one gets in a house where someone else lives in the walls. “I was here at the estate. Working late in the library, cataloguing some of the older books.”
“Anyone who can verify that?” His pencil hovers over the page.
“No,” I admit. “I was by myself.”
“And June 3rd? That was a Monday, about a week before you officially moved in.”
My mind races. I’d driven up to check on some repairs, spent the afternoon here, then headed back to the city. “I was here in the afternoon, then drove back to my apartment around six.”
“Anyone see you leave? Anyone with you at either location?” His tone remains professional, but there’s a note of doubt creeping in.
'Not that I can think of.' Sweat breaks out along my hairline. This feels less like routine questions and more like he’s trying to prove I don’t have an alibi.
Officer Peck makes another note, his expression carefully neutral. “And May 30th?”
Before I can answer, the front door opens with a bang that makes us both jump. Heavy footsteps cross the foyer, accompanied by the distinctive sound of mud being tracked across my hardwood floors.
Rafe Calder appears in the foyer doorway, tool belt slung low on his hips and work boots leaving dirt clumps in his wake. His weathered face registers surprise at finding me with company, especially when that company wears a badge.
“Miss Hale,” he says, touching the brim of his cap. “Officer Peck.” His eyes dart between us, sharp and assessing. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Door was unlocked. Came to finish that basement repair we started.”
“Basement repair?” Officer Peck asks, his pencil poised.
Rafe nods, leaning his substantial frame against the doorjamb like he’s settling in for the long haul.
“Been helping Miss Hale shore up that east foundation wall. Started Tuesday, the 12th. Worked late into the evening, if I recall.” He scratches his stubbled chin.
“Showed her how to mix the right mortar for these old stones. Messy business.”
I stare at him, momentarily stunned. June 12th, the night of Maria Guthrie’s disappearance, for which I have no alibi. Except now, apparently, I do.
Officer Peck’s brow furrows. “You were here Tuesday night? With Miss Hale?”
“Till near midnight,” Rafe confirms with a casual certainty that would convince anyone.
“These old houses, foundation work can’t be rushed.
Miss Hale’s quite the student, got her hands dirty mixing cement, learning the proper techniques.
” His eyes meet mine briefly, a silent message passing between us.
“She’s determined to do this restoration right. Respects the craftsmanship.”
Officer Peck looks between us, something like relief flickering across his features.
“I see. That’s… helpful to know.” He scribbles in his notebook, then snaps it closed with more force than necessary.
“Well, I think that covers my questions for now.” He stands, straightening his uniform. “Appreciate your time, Miss Hale.”
I walk them both to the door, mind racing. Why did Rafe lie for me? How did he know exactly which night to provide an alibi for?
“If you remember anything about those dates, or see anything unusual around town, you’ll let me know?” Officer Peck asks as he steps onto the porch.
“Of course,” I promise, the lie bitter on my tongue.
Rafe lingers a moment longer. “I’ll be back tomorrow to finish that work,” he says, his gaze steady and meaningful. “Don’t worry about the foundation. Some things just need proper support to stand strong.”
After they leave, I close the door and lean against it, my heart pounding. Three people are missing, all after I arrived. That can’t just be a coincidence.
“Silas,” I call out to the empty house, my voice echoing through the silent halls. “I know you’re listening. We need to talk about these disappearances. Now.”
For a moment, nothing changes, just the usual creaks and sighs of an old house settling. Then a shadow by the staircase deepens, separates from the wall, and Silas steps into the light, his tall form materializing as if conjured from the darkness itself.
The library doors close behind us with a soft click that feels final, like we’re locking ourselves in with secrets.
Silas moves smoothly, lighting the brass lamps as he walks.
The warm light makes the room glow, shining on the old books and polished tables.
I stand near my usual chair, suddenly unsure where I fit in this room that now feels tense.
Three people are missing. Three lives interrupted.
And I have a feeling Silas knows exactly where they went.
“The names Officer Peck mentioned,” I say, breaking the silence that’s stretching between us like taffy. “Thomas Webb. Ellen Mercer. Maria Guthrie. Did you help them disappear?”
Silas stands by the window, his tall frame outlined against the morning light. For a moment, he seems to be weighing exactly how much to tell me, measuring truth against protection like ingredients in a volatile compound.
“Yes,” he finally says, turning to face me. His eyes hold mine with that unsettling directness that makes me feel simultaneously exposed and anchored. “All three were in immediate danger.”