Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

NEIL

I leaned forward, my hands resting on the edge of the table, the warmth of the coffee mug seeping into my palms. "What can you tell us about Rebecca Lennox?"

Amy glanced at Jeff, and he gave her a slight nod. She took a deep breath, her voice quiet and tinged with sadness as she started. "Rebecca was quiet, kept to herself mostly. She loved her kids more than anything, and she loved reading. But she felt my brother's anger too often. It was a miracle she kept her family together as long as she did."

I could feel the unspoken pain behind her words. "When did you last see her?"

"Around Rachel's ninth birthday," Amy replied, her gaze distant as she recalled the memory. "Just after. Edward told us she'd been diagnosed with end-stage breast cancer. They weren't telling the kids specifics, just that their mommy was ill. They were faced with impossible medical bills, but he found this place he was taking her to up in Canada, a wellness retreat where she could get treatment funded by a charity. He knew she wouldn't live, but he just wanted to make her last few weeks good."

She paused, and I could see the doubt in her eyes, the uncertainty she'd carried all these years. "He was worried about the money but said he had some compensation from a fall on the rodeo circuit way back. Said it would cover everything the charity couldn't. He … he told us he loved her, right, Jeff?"

Jeff's expression hardened, and his voice became gruff when he spoke. "‘Loved' is a strong word. He coveted her. Controlled her. And the kids. But when he came back from Canada …" he huffed, and how he said Canada made me think he suspected they'd never gone there. "He told us she'd passed, and he became even more of an asshole. Especially to Micah, who did everything to protect his sister until he fucked up and ended up being sent to prison. Then, Rachel left for college, and it was just Edward… it was like he had nowhere to turn the hate, and he crumbled."

Amy stared down at her hands, her voice trembling. "He wouldn't let us in the house, and then he killed himself, and he had a photo of Rebecca in his hands when he died, covered in blood… he…" She leaned into her husband, who tucked her under his arm and gave me a warning glance.

The room was heavy with silence, the weight of their words hanging in the air. I let out a slow breath, trying to process everything they'd said. "So, Rebecca is buried somewhere in Canada?"

Amy and Jeff exchanged a look filled with regret and fear. "We don't know," Amy admitted. "He was a violent man, Neil. And when Micah killed that boy… it made him so much worse."

I frowned, my gut telling me there was more to this story than what they said. Edward didn't sound like a man who'd ever loved anyone , not the way his sister was trying to paint it. He sounded like an asshole to the core, and whatever love he claimed to have for Rebecca had been twisted and corrupted long before she'd disappeared from their lives.

"And you never pushed him on where your sister-in-law was buried?" I asked, trying to keep the skepticism out of my voice.

Jeff shook his head, his jaw clenched tight. "We tried. But every time we asked, he'd just get angry, tell us to mind our own damn business. We feared what he might do if we pushed too hard."

Amy nodded, tears welling in her eyes.

I sat back, my mind racing with everything they'd told us. There were too many holes in this story and too many unanswered questions. And the more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that Rebecca Lennox's story didn't end in some wellness retreat in Canada. Edward Lennox had been hiding something, something dark, and it had left scars on everyone involved. It would have cost a fortune for Rebecca to have treatment, and was it Edward's solution to kill her and dump her body in the well on Lennox land?

How was that even possible?

"Thank you for telling us this," I said, my voice gentler now. "I know it's not easy to talk about. "

"Sheriff?" Amy exclaimed and closed her eyes for a moment. "People back in Whisper Ridge are saying you found bones in the well on the ranch…" Tears coursed down her face. "Tell me it wasn't Rebecca. Tell me she died in a soft place in a forest cabin looking over a lake. Please tell me I'm wrong..."

Jeff's eyes were also bright, and he held his wife tighter.

"We don't know enough to tell you anything," I said. "I wish we did."

We said our goodbyes, and although I sifted through the facts, I couldn't see a good resolution to any of this.

We were nearly back into Whisper Ridge when Connor broke the silence. "You think Edward Lennox killed his wife to avoid paying for health care, then dumped her in the well?"

I wanted to tell him it was impossible and that something like that couldn't have happened. But I couldn't. Deep down, I knew better. So, in the end, I just nodded and said, "Yes."

The weight of that single word hung between us as we pulled into town.

"I need to read my dad's case notes," I said, my voice rougher than I intended. "The ones in his old journals. Will you drop me at my parents' place?"

"I'll come with you," Connor replied without hesitation.

We parked outside my parents' house, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the yard. When we entered, the house was quiet, only the clock ticking filling the silence. Mom was in the kitchen, and I kissed her on the cheek. She was scrubbing the pan so hard that her knuckles were white.

"Your dad's asleep in the front room," she murmured.

"How you doing mom?"

She paused for a moment, suds swirling in gray water. "I'm okay," she lied, her voice hitching.

I exchanged a look with Connor, who stepped back and away into the hall to give us space. I took her hands and dried them on the towel, then pulled her close in a hug. After a moment of stiffness, she relaxed into my hold. We didn't talk, but we hugged for a long time and every so often her shoulders shook in a soft sob.

"Look at me getting all emotional," she said as she pulled away and resumed scrubbing. "Silly woman."

"Mom—"

"Pans won't clean themselves."

"Mom—"

She stopped momentarily, gripping the sink, drawing a deep breath. "I'm okay, Neil. I'm okay." Then she tipped her chin. "So, why are you here?"

"I wanted to check on something in Dad's office. An old case."

She waved at me and smiled. "Go on then, and no funny stuff with your man lurking in the hallway." So, she had noticed Connor?

"No, ma'am," I agreed, busing her cheek again. "Love you, Mom."

"None of that," she murmured, "you'll make me cry. "

After giving her one final side hug, I rescued Connor from lurking in the hall and led him upstairs to the small office that had once been my dad's sanctuary. The room was musty, filled with the scent of old paper and the faint aroma of my dad's aftershave. I opened a drawer in the old wooden desk and pulled out a stack of leather-bound journals worn from years of use. These were my dad's meticulous records, notes he'd kept over the years, long before I ever wore the badge.

I flipped through the pages until I found the time around Rebecca Lennox's disappearance. My dad had written a couple of entries about her diagnosis, how he'd taken Edward from a bar in town after he'd gotten drunk and started spouting off about murder and suicide. But he'd never charged him. Just made a note about how Edward claimed his wife had died up in Canada. He'd scribbled a reminder to do a welfare check on the kids. That was it. A brief, clinical record of events that seemed far too detached from the reality of what might have happened.

I flicked through a few more pages, reading notes about other incidents—drunk and disorderly charges, mentions of the kids, an accident where Edward had driven into a fire hydrant. Then, I found something that made my pulse quicken. A curious note, almost hidden among the others: something about Rebecca and pills and how her death might end up not being as clear-cut as it seemed. But the note was crossed out as if my dad had been trying to erase it from existence.

"Why are you in my things?" a voice croaked from the doorway .

I turned, my heart lurching as I saw my dad standing there, his expression lucid but angry, Mom standing behind him with a hand on his arm.

"They're just visiting," she murmured, and tried to tug him away but he wrenched free and stepped closer.

"Stop pulling at me!" he yelled at Mom, who stepped back. Then he paled and gripped her hand. "Sorry. I'm sorry. Ignore me. I love you."

"I love you too," she whispered, cradling his face gently. "I'll always love you."

For a second, there was a brilliant moment of absolute connection between my parents, but then he gently pushed Mom to leave. "Sherif's work now, sweetheart," he murmured, and she smiled before hovering out on the landing.

"What do you need, son?" he asked me, looking vital for a bit, almost focused.

"Rebecca Lennox," I said, watching his reaction.

He frowned, moved into the room, and sat in the old armchair by the window.

"Hmm," he muttered, almost to himself. "Killed herself before the cancer could take her … went to sleep. I reckon before he could kill her himself…" he frowned at his words. "He asked me to write that…"

"Write what, Dad?"

"Huh?"

"Who asked you to write something?"

"Edward. He wasn't a good man, but I wanted to keep the town happy and protect the kids. Let God deal with his punishment."

"Protect the kids from what? Dad? "

Dad was unfocused and then showed the first signs of agitation. "I told him that God would judge him, just like I told that Micah boy." His eyes widened. "And you'll go to hell, too! Why did I say that?"

"It's okay, Dad?—"

I said all of that, and I meant it." He began to cry. "But I didn't mean that for you… I'm sorry, son."

"It was in the past. It's okay." I paused, and he stared at me. For a moment, I felt a connection, but then he frowned.

"What's okay?" he was confused again. Shit. I was losing him, and I needed more information.

"What did you do with Edward?"

"Edward?"

"Edward and his wife, Rebecca."

He blinked at me, wiped away tears, and drew back his shoulders. "She killed herself, and that's a sin. So, I lied to keep her kids safe. People believe the badge, son; they think you're being truthful always."

My heart broke. Did he know for sure what Edward had done?

"Dad? What did Edward do?"

"He didn't have the money… no one does, and she was dying, and she told me… she said she wanted the kids to be safe… said it was easier if she went to sleep forever. Before Edward killed her himself."

My heart skipped a beat, and dread consumed me. "Dad? What else did she say?"

"Who?"

"Rebecca Lennox."

His gaze grew distant as confusion clouded his features. "Who?" The sharpness that had been there a moment ago was fading, slipping away from him.

I took a deep breath, my heart aching at seeing him like this. While he wasn't looking, I slid the journal into my jacket, hiding it from view. There were things in here—things I needed to understand, but not in front of him.

"Dad, it's okay," I said, trying to soothe him. "Why don't you go back to your chair and rest?"

He blinked at me, his confusion deepening, but he nodded and let Mom help him back down to the living room. I watched him go, the journal's weight pressing into my side.

Connor met my eyes as I turned back to him. He didn't say anything, but the concern was written all over his face. I didn't have the words to respond to that, so I just gave him a small nod and headed for the door. We needed to get out of there to piece together the puzzle slowly and see it revealing itself in my dad's scribbled notes.

As we left the house, the late afternoon sun had dipped lower, casting everything in a golden light that felt at odds with the darkness brewing in my thoughts. I knew we were getting closer to the truth, but I wasn't sure I was ready for what we'd find.

By unspoken agreement, we headed out of town, the road winding as it climbed the mountain toward Lennox Ranch. Near the main house, the barn loomed large, the heart of the ranch, and it was there that we found Micah standing by the office with a clipboard in hand, his brow furrowed.

We exchanged friendly hellos, the kind you give when you're about to drop a bombshell on someone's day. I didn't waste time with small talk. "Can we talk, Micah? Me, you, and Rachel."

"And me," Connor added, stepping forward, his tone respectful but firm. "If that's okay."

Micah's eyes flickered with something—fear, maybe, or suspicion. He opened his mouth to say something, then hesitated, his face going pale as the words slipped out. "Fuck, is this about the gun?"

The moment the words left his lips, he realized what he'd said, and his expression turned to one of panic. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, waiting for the impact.

"No, but I know about the gun, and it's buried, Micah, okay?"

"Fuck," Micah rubbed his eyes. "Fuck."

"Can you get Rachel? This is about your parents."

Micah blinked, confusion replacing the fear in his eyes. He hesitated for a moment before nodding and heading off to fetch Rachel. While we waited, Connor and I exchanged a glance, both of us knowing that this conversation would be hard.

Rachel appeared a few minutes later, her face lighting up with a ready smile as she approached. She was pregnant, not far from her due date, her hand resting on her belly. Micah led her over to a table by the fence overlooking the valley, the breathtaking view stretching out before us.

Micah pulled out a chair for Rachel, encouraging her to sit. She lowered herself, still smiling, though there was a hint of worry in her eyes now, sensing the seriousness of the situation.

"Okay," I began, struggling to find the right words. "I don't know where to start, but… I'm just going to say it. I'm looking into the possibility that the bones in the well might be your mom's."

The shock on their faces was immediate and palpable. Rachel's smile faded, her eyes widening. Micah's expression crumbled, the strength he'd been holding onto slipping away as the reality of what I'd said hit him.

"No, she died in Canada at a retreat. She had cancer," Rachel said, her voice trembling.

"That might not be accurate," I tried to be gentle. "We don't have the full picture yet, and we're waiting on DNA analysis, but I wanted to give you a heads-up and to ask if either of you recall anything about your mom and dad around that time… anything at all."

Rachel's eyes filled with tears, and she looked away, trying to hold herself together. Micah's jaw clenched as he stared at the ground, his hands curling into fists on the table.

"Nothing," he said. "Just that Dad was angry, and I … spent a lot of time outside with the horses. I couldn't see Mom ill."

I glanced at Rachel for her comments, and she took a shaky breath.

"The night he took Momma to her place in Canada, I was nine. I was sleeping, but I heard Dad crying. They were going on holiday and told me they were going to fix her cancer if they could, but… "

"We knew she was dying," Micah finished for his sister.

"She told us she was sorry, that she loved us. Then… she wouldn't wake up. I remember… tablets on the floor… I remember she looked so peaceful just sleeping like that."

She paused, wiping at the tears that had begun to fall, and leaned into Micah who hugged her gently.

"Dad was drunk, angry, shouting about how he'd planned it all out, how it was going to cost him nothing, but now he had to move her, how she was supposed to walk out and die somewhere else. He was ranting about the money, suicide, and murder, and I got scared, even though Mom was still sleeping. And I … I don't remember anything else except that Micah was ill that night."

Micah was surprised. "I was? You remember that?"

"I wanted you to hear it all to make it disappear, but you were fast asleep." She pressed her hands to her belly.

"Rachel, I'm sorry," Micah whispered, and she reached over to touch his face.

"Never be sorry for having one less awful memory of what he did to us."

They hugged, and when they drew apart, I didn't have the heart to ask them anything else.

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the memories neither of them wanted to revisit. I could see the pain in their eyes, the confusion, the anger at not knowing the full truth. And all I could do was sit there, knowing that whatever comfort I could offer would never be enough .

"If it is her, then we'll do everything to find out what happened," I promised. "Whatever it takes, we'll find out."

Rachel nodded, her tears still falling as she reached for Micah's hand, gripping it. Micah didn't say anything; he just sat there, his face a mask of determination and sorrow. He was holding it together for Rachel, for the baby she carried, but I could see the cracks forming in his armor.

Scott, Rachel's husband, came out of the house then. He took one look at his wife and bristled. "What the hell?" he asked as he helped Rachel stand.

"They think it might be Mom in the well… the bones…" He and Micah helped her back to the house, and Connor stood beside me, his presence a steadying force.

"That fucking sucked," he muttered. "And none of it helped."

"It might have," I said, tiredly. "What if Rebecca knew she was close to dying? The family didn't have money. It would have been one more burden on her kids, and they already had to live with Edward, a bastard. What if she knew he was going to hurt her, so she took enough pills to leave peacefully? Maybe the well wasn't his first choice. Rachel said she heard him say she was supposed to walk and that he had plans."

"That is fucked up."

I sighed. "Yeah." We got into his car and sat in silence for a moment.

"What now?" he broke the quiet.

"I need to ask the ME for an update, but also if there's any chance we can get any trace of narcotics or reason for death. I need to check in on the office. Then home. "

"Okay."

"Will you be waiting at my place?" I asked.

He turned to face me. "I'll be there."

I reached into my pocket and held out a key, which he took and gripped in his fist. "No more breaking in."

"Not even for fun?" he asked.

We met in the middle for a kiss. I'd never given anyone a key to my place, and it was clear that he hadn't expected it.

"Nope, not even for fun."