2. Ridley

2

RIDLEY

I pulled into the downtown of Shady Cove, my camera app still rolling. My listeners loved getting a feel for the place I was working, and they would look for clues everywhere. I’d gotten used to small towns across America. They were different than the suburbs of Dayton, Ohio, where I’d been raised, where I’d returned for one torturous year after Avery had gone missing, where Sounds Like Serial had been born in that time when I so desperately needed purpose.

A true small town had a feel. People knew instantly when you were an outsider. They’d welcome you in but with caution just the same. They’d tell you where to eat and what sights to see, but they wouldn’t open up about the underbelly of their community until they trusted you.

And I needed that underbelly.

That was where the secrets lay. Where revelations came from. Where the hidden truths needed to be exposed. But often those truths were ugly, and there were others who’d do anything to keep them buried.

You wouldn’t guess that by the images greeting me as I drove down Old Miner Road, the main drag through town. It looked exactly like the name suggested, as if the town was straight out of gold-rush times. The building facades screamed Old West . A mixture of wood and stone but with the exaggerated fronts that looked more like the set of a Western than an actual town.

“We might need a Clint Eastwood movie marathon,” I said to Tater as I reached over to scratch her ears. She purred and then bit me.

I scanned the row of buildings lining the main street. There was a quaint hotel, a bar, restaurants, and tourist shops. When I spotted a small grocery store, I flicked on my blinker. I pulled into an open parking spot and grinned. “This has to be a good sign,” I said as I took in the coffee shop next to the grocery store.

The sign read Cowboy Coffee want some suggestions?”

“I’d love insight from an expert.”

He chuckled, turning slightly so he could take in the board and me. “Since I own the joint, I’m about as expert as you can get.”

Owner. Good to know. I needed to do a little research to see if the café had changed hands since Emerson had worked here.

“Hit me with it,” I said.

“Can’t go wrong with an iced hazelnut latte now that it’s getting warmer. On the light side of grub, the Kale Krunch salad, or heavier, the prosciutto panini.”

My smile only grew. “I do have a weakness for hazelnut. I’ll take that and the Kale Krunch to go, but I’ll be back for that panini.”

“Staying in town?” the man asked as he rang me up.

“Camping.” I didn’t tell him where. I wasn’t an idiot. The fewer people who had that information the better.

He groaned. “You’re more hard-core than I am. I’m partial to hot showers and my own bed.”

I didn’t bother telling him that I had both thanks to Bessie. “Fair enough. But I get some beautiful sunrises.”

“They aren’t too shabby from right here in town.”

“I bet.” Shady Cove, while getting plenty of tree cover, had stunning mountain views. Since no one was behind me in line, I didn’t hurry off. “You live here long?”

“All my life,” the man said and then extended a hand. “Ezra.”

I took the offered hand and shook. “Ridley. Nice to meet you.”

“You too. Looking for local recs?”

“Always.” That was one of my favorite perks of my job. The way I’d set up my podcast, Sounds Like Serial , not only did I deep-dive unsolved cases; I got to deep-dive a town. Finding the best restaurants and hiking spots, the insider secrets, meant I really got to experience each and every place I worked.

“Well, good news is you’ve already found the best coffee in town.”

I laughed. “I can see by your crowd.”

Ezra’s chest puffed up with pride. “Damn straight. The Whiskey Barrel is your spot for harder drinks. Joe’s Pizza for Italian. And surprisingly, we’ve got a decent Thai place down the block too.”

I raised a brow at that. “I’ll be testing out all of the above.”

A teenage girl came out from the kitchen and smiled at me as she handed me an iced drink and a bag. “Here you go. Enjoy.”

“Thanks,” I said and then turned to Ezra. “And thank you for the tips.” I took a sip of the coffee and grinned. “I’ll be back for more of these.”

Ezra tapped the counter twice. “See you soon.”

Cowboy Coffee was my in. The town hub. There were always one or two in a community. A place where people gathered, where information flowed. And that was exactly where I needed to be.

As I stepped outside, a shrill, raised voice said, “Colter Brooks, I have known you since you were in diapers. Do not give me the runaround.”

My brows lifted as I took in a woman who looked to be in her seventies. Her wiry gray hair hung around her shoulders in wild curls, and she wore a T-shirt emblazoned with a cow, and above it read, Friends Not Food .

I couldn’t see the man, not his face anyway. But that didn’t stop me from staring. He was tall, likely bordering on six foot five. But that height took a back seat to shoulders that were so broad they made the tan shirt he wore pull taut across them, something likely helped by the fact that his arms appeared to be crossed as he looked down at the woman.

“Celia—” The man’s words were cut off by the woman’s shrill tone, but I was still stuck on the single word he’d spoken. His voice. Deep with a rasp that spoke of whiskey and dark promises.

“That cat is going to die of heatstroke!” the woman screeched.

Her words had me snapping out of my lust-induced haze. Hell, I needed to get laid if broad shoulders and a single husky word was doing me in.

Save the Cows thrust a hand toward my van. “That poor creature is trapped inside.”

I followed her hand toward my VW, where Tater was staring down at her with a look of complete disdain on her face.

“It’s barely seventy degrees out,” the man argued.

“Seventy degrees out here means that cat could be cooking in that van!”

Tater, clearly affronted by the idea, shifted her weight back so she was balanced on her hind legs. She snagged her nearly decapitated mouse with one paw and threw it at the window.

“See,” Celia demanded. “He’s trying to break free. Now get out one of those Jaws of Life things and break this baby out.”

The man was silent for a long moment, and then he let out a sigh that sounded as if it carried the weight of the world with it. “We don’t use the Jaws of Life for a cat rescue.”

He shifted then, his body canting to the side slightly. The movement revealed two things. Thick scruff lining an angular jaw, with a muscle lining it that was currently fluttering wildly. And a shiny silver star pinned to his shirt.

The hot guy was a hot cop. Even more interesting.

But hot cop had said the wrong thing. Celia’s entire form puffed up as her face turned a mottled shade of red. “This is a living, breathing being. He should be treated with respect. He is worth saving.”

With that she stormed toward a trash can that looked as if it weighed twice as much as she did. Even though it was bolted to the ground, she started yanking on it with all her might.

“Celia,” Hot Cop growled. “Do not make me arrest you.”

“I’ve done my time before. I’m not afraid to pay for what’s right.”

“You chained yourself to a dead tree that was threatening to fall on the library,” the man gritted out. “That’s not exactly Nobel Prize–worthy.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. I would’ve let the show go on because it was an epic one, but I didn’t want the woman to hurt herself. So I cleared my throat. “Excuse me.”

Celia paused her trash can efforts, and the man turned slowly, his eyes narrowing on me. I just smiled in response, giving a little wave. “Hi. This is my van.”

“You left your cat inside to fry ?” Celia demanded.

“Tater has AC. She’s just fine.”

Celia released the trash can and straightened. “AC?”

I nodded.

The woman’s entire demeanor shifted. “I’ve heard about this. You can get a separate system for your vehicle that doesn’t run on gas.”

“Mine runs on solar,” I explained, gesturing to the panels on top of my van.

She beamed. “I’d love to get the name?—”

“Celia,” the man growled.

She huffed out a breath. “Just relax, Colt. The cat’s fine. Take a chill pill.”

Colt’s jaw turned to granite. “A chill pill?”

I bit my bottom lip to keep from laughing.

“You call me out here, demanding I break into a vehicle. Something that could’ve cost the citizens of this county more than I want to think about. And you want me to…chill?"

Celia shrugged. “No harm, no foul.”

A laugh did escape this time.

Colt’s gaze cut to me. “You think this is funny?”

It wasn’t a question but I answered anyway. “A little.”

His eyes narrowed. Eyes that were a brown so dark they almost looked black. Storm eyes. And they should’ve warned me about the thunder incoming. “I could’ve bashed your window in. Your irresponsibility could’ve prevented me from being on a call out where there was an actual emergency. The least you could do is leave a note saying the damned cat was fine.”

I stiffened, hackles rising. I had a healthy respect for law enforcement, when they were doing their job. I appreciated that they were often underpaid to do the impossible, just like teachers and nurses. What I didn’t appreciate was this too-attractive-for-his-own-good jerk suggesting that I was an idiot.

I crossed to the front of my van and tapped on the window. “You mean a note like this one?”

I knew it was sitting on the dash since I’d made it myself. It had paw prints drawn along the border and said, Tater has food, water, and AC. She is very happy to stare down at you in supreme judgment from her perch.

Celia let out a cackling laugh. “She does have a good judgy face.”

“Celia…”

The growl was back again and I hated the fact that it skated over my skin in a pleasant shiver.

“All right, all right,” she said and then waved at my cat. “See you around, Tater.”

“I fucking hope not,” Colt muttered.

I choked on another laugh as Celia hurried down the sidewalk.

Colt turned slowly to me. Those dark eyes flashed, and I swore there was a hint of mischief in them. “You know, this van should be parked in oversized parking. It’s not.”

My eyes narrowed on him. “It’s a van, not a monster truck.”

He shrugged, making what I saw now was a sheriff’s department uniform pull taut over a muscled chest. “Maybe so, but I’m guessing it meets the weight requirements to be ticketed and towed.”

I gaped at him. “You wouldn’t.”

“ID please.”