Chapter 7

7

Special Agent Jack Stone

T he morning light filters through the clouds as Fallon, Buddy, and I head to Bea's Diner for a late breakfast.

The drive down Main Street affords a view of the majestic falls that rush down the mountain just north of the lake, and it never gets old.

That's the reason I moved to this one-cow town. I needed slow, safe, and boring, but that waterfall wiped all three of those descriptions right off the table.

Pine Ridge Falls is magic compared to the armpit I grew up in. And Whispering Woods called to me like a siren song when it came to picking out a neighborhood, with a view of both the lake and a hint of the falls from the back of my cabin as well.

It was win-win, a no-brainer, and now with Fallon living around the bend from me, I wonder if it was fate. I've never thought about fate before, but then Fallon has my thoughts shooting in all sorts of different directions that I would never have suspected just a few months ago.

The two of us are still processing the mountain of information we dug through last night at her place. Fallon and I, with Buddy sprawled out between us, scoured every piece of digital life belonging to our four victims.

We were in contact with Nikki all night as well. It was a deep dive into the lives the Coles and the Becks led online, sifting through their social media for anything that might give us a lead. Nothing groundbreaking popped up—Cornwall's DUI was the only smudge in a sea of clean records.

The pieces of this puzzle may be scattered, but I have a feeling they're about to come together, revealing a truth more twisted than we're prepared for.

Owen Marcus comes to mind. We did a deep dive on him, too. He's the neighbor with a penchant for trouble who seems to thrive on chaos.

His list of grievances isn't just extensive, it's practically a playbook of petty neighborhood tyranny. Noise complaints filed against anyone who dared host a barbecue, multiple disputes over property lines, and several tense altercations regarding unsightly yard decorations that supposedly lowered property values.

His presence looms large over this case, and it might just be a potential catalyst for something far more sinister than simple neighborly disagreements. The guy's got a temper, and whoever massacred that couple, shot Damien, then kidnapped Lydia has one hell of a temper, too.

We park in front and step into Bea's Diner and the familiar clash of black and white checkered floors greets us. Fallon's mother owns this place and she makes it feel like an extension of home.

The place is busy enough, easy-listening music plays overhead, and the scent of bacon makes my stomach rumble ten times harder than it already is.

A long counter sits next to the open kitchen that's already bustling with morning activity. It's pretty much the landmark of this local eatery, while the red Naugahyde chairs and booths enliven the landscape with splashes of color. It's safe to say this place drips with more than its fair share of nostalgia.

And judging by all the red and yellow leafy garlands strung around the place, it's clear the season has changed. Autumn decorations are in full swing here. Each table has a small pumpkin dotting the center of it, and fall leaves are strewn about every which way. There's a scarecrow propped up near the door, and even he seems to welcome us with a silent nod to the season.

Down by the kitchen, I spot Jet bussing tables—a sight that irks me more than I care to admit. I frown his way just as Fallon's sister, Riley, comes over.

"Riley!" Fallon pulls her sister in for a hearty embrace.

Riley is Fallon's older sister, a blonde who stands a few inches shorter than Fallon. And she happens to own a junk hauling business called Pick It Clean. But for today, it looks as if she's donned an apron.

"Morning, Jack, Fallon," Riley greets us before making a fuss over Buddy who wags his tail in response. "Mom's short-staffed today, so I'm pinch-hitting. Come on, I've got a great spot for you."

She leads us to a booth near the light-filled window, which has the perfect view of the falls, and lands a couple of menus down with a smile.

"Let me know if you want the usual, or maybe try something pumpkin-spiced. We're all about fall flavors right now," she says while patting Buddy once more before sucking in a quick breath. "Hey, did you hear about that couple that was slaughtered out in Sugar Pine?"

Fallon nods. "The case is ours."

"Wow." Riley takes a seat on Fallon's side of the booth and Buddy happily pops up between them. "So who did it? I heard there was another couple there. A man and a woman. The man was shot in the foot and the woman took off. I bet she's guilty."

"The man was shot in the hand," I tell her. "And we're going off the premise the woman was kidnapped, although the thought of her taking off isn't off the table either."

"Don't worry." Fallon sighs at her sister. "Things are coming together pretty quickly for us in that area. So where's Mom?" She cranes her head toward the kitchen and my gaze drifts to her neck.

Fallon Baxter has the perfect neck. It's an odd thought, I know, but I've made my way around my fair share of necks and she's got a good one. And a good everything else to go along with it.

I frown at the thought.

"At the bank," Riley says. "And then I think she mentioned she has an appointment." She looks my way. "Between her beauty and doctors' appointments, she's got a full-time job. It's a wonder she shows up at this place at all."

"Good." Fallon turns to face her fully. "There's something I want to tell you, but I don't want you to say anything to Mom. I don't want to get her hopes up just yet."

"Is this about Erin?" Riley's expression quickly turns somber at the mention of their missing sister.

Erin Baxter was a child prodigy with an IQ that could rival Einstein's. She was close to her family, loving, and looking to make her way in this world when it all up and unraveled out-of-the-blue. But I have a feeling Fallon knows exactly what that out-of-the-blue event was.

I'm not sure why she's not sharing it with Nikki or me, but that's her business. I know all too well how complicated families can be. I am certainly not judging anyone else because of it.

"It is about Erin," Fallon says, dropping her voice an octave.

Riley slaps a hand on the table and leans toward her sister. "Tell me everything."

Fallon and I exchange a glance.

We both know too much knowledge can be a dangerous thing.