Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Beau still couldn’t wrap his head around it. Less than a week ago, he’d been one of the top detectives in the city, known for his sharp instincts and his ability to get results where others couldn’t.

Sure, he played loose with the rules now and then, but in his mind, the end always justified the means. His record spoke for itself: countless criminals behind bars and lives saved. But none of that seemed to matter to Acting Chief Janet Redmond who informed him he needed a new perspective.

"Perspective, my ass," Beau grumbled as he stood at the entrance of the Jessup Peak police station, The building before him was a far cry from the towering, state-of-the-art precinct he’d left behind in the city.

Here, the station was nothing more than a squat, single-story structure sandwiched between a diner and a hardware store on Main Street. The blue paint on the sign above the door had faded to a patchy gray, and a dusty American flag hung limp from a pole out front. It looked more like a forgotten post office than a hub for law enforcement.

He pushed open the station door, the jingle of an old bell above it grating on his nerves. Greeted by the sight of two mismatched desks, one stacked high with papers and the other conspicuously bare, save for a dusty rotary phone. A single computer sat humming in the corner, flanked by filing cabinets that looked like they hadn’t been opened since the Reagan administration.

“Detective Elliott,” he announced to the empty room, dropping his duffel bag onto the desk that seemed the least cluttered. “Reporting for duty.”

The only response was the faint buzz of a ceiling fan, its blades struggling to push around the stale air. He stood there for a moment, surveying his new domain. It was laughable, really. In the city, his desk had been buried under active case files, evidence bags, and half-empty coffee cups. Here, it seemed like the biggest threat was going to be boredom.

Beau let out a slow, controlled breath, willing himself to stay calm. “This is what you get for doing your job too damn well,” he muttered under his breath, scuffing the toe of his boot on the carcass of a dead beetle lying belly up on the floor. The brittle shell skittered across the floor before dropping unceremoniously into a crack in the wood, much like his career prospects.

The sound of boots outside caught his attention. Seconds later, the front door swung open and he turned to see a tall, wiry man with a sun-weathered face and a cowboy hat perched jauntily on his head walk in fisting a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and that unhurried confidence that came from decades of experience.

“You must be the big-city detective they sent us,” the man drawled, his voice gravelly but not unfriendly. “Chet McMasters, Sheriff of Jessup Peak.”

Beau extended his hand, masking his skepticism. “Beau Elliott.”

Chet shook his hand firmly, his grip stronger than Beau expected. “Welcome to paradise.”

Beau smirked. “Yeah, looks like a real hotspot. I bet you even lock the doors at night.”

Chet chuckled, the sound deep and genuine. “Don’t let the quiet fool you, son. Small towns have their fair share of trouble—you just have to know where to look.”

Beau raised an eyebrow, skepticism written all over his face. “Let me guess. Someone stole a pie off Mrs. Wilson’s windowsill? Or maybe Old Man Jenkins’s goat went missing again?” He’d made up the scenarios to express to the lawman exactly how he viewed his description of this small rural town.

Chet’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “We’ve had our fair share of lost goats, sure. And just so you don’t go spreadin’ around false rumors, Old Man Jenkins died last summer and Mrs. Wilson hasn’t baked pies in years. Arthritis, you know.”

“Are you kidding me?” Beau frowned.

The man smiled. “A little. Mrs. Wilson never baked pies, but Old Man Jenkins did die. Last summer. You got lucky and hit the mark on that one. But I will say that trouble’s like weeds—it doesn’t care where it grows. You stick around long enough, and you’ll see what I mean.”

Beau wasn’t convinced. “Right. So, what’s the plan? Paperwork? Traffic tickets? Maybe I can help bake cookies for the town bake sale.”

The sheriff tipped his hat back and took a sip of his coffee. “You’re free to get settled today. Your apartment’s a few blocks down—landlord said your stuff’s already been dropped off. Come by tomorrow morning, and we’ll get you started. Unless, of course, you’re itching to dive in right in. We got stacks of files that need to be reorganized. The last help I had couldn’t spell. Got every damn file in the wrong drawer.”

Beau snorted. “Great. Guess I’ll choose the ‘get settled today.’ I’m not in any hurry to land filing duty.”

Chet gave him a nod and ambled toward a door at the back of the room that appeared to be the wizened lawman’s office. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. This wasn’t a job—it was exile. But if Janet thought this was going to break him, she had another thing coming. He’d bide his time, keep his head down, and wait for the call to come back to the city. He wasn’t about to let this define him.

The walk to his new apartment was eerily quiet compared to the bustling chaos of the city. A hardware store, a beauty parlor, a diner—it was like stepping into a Norman Rockwell painting. The occasional passerby gave him a polite nod or a curious glance, and Beau couldn’t help but feel like a sideshow attraction.

“Let’s see what you’ve got to offer a maverick detective, small town,” he muttered to himself. Maybe there was an ice cream parlor nearby. He could work a trip to the ice cream store into his routine every day. That would mean he would have to run twice as far on his morning jog.

Used to walking at a very brisk pace in the big city, he reminded himself he was in no hurry to go anywhere. Slowing to a casual stroll, he made a mental note of the businesses he passed. The hardware store appeared to be the mom-and-pop variety. No chain stores would dare venture this far off the beaten path.

Next to that was a beauty parlor. He caught the attention of the occupants inside and by their shocked, open-mouthed expressions, they’d never seen a man before. Kinda weird, but oookaaay. He raised a tentative hand in greeting, and they all just kept their open-mouthed stare trained on him as they raised their hands in a return hello.

“Guess they don’t get many strangers in this town,” he mumbled to himself. He almost laughed at the absurdity of it.

A few minutes later, he reached the address and found a modest two-story building with peeling paint and a cracked sidewalk out front. A window box of wilted geraniums hung lopsidedly under the front window, completing the picture of small-town charm—or decay, depending on how you looked at it.

“Lovely,” Beau muttered as he punched in the code the landlord had given him and stepped inside.

The apartment was... functional. The walls were an uninspiring shade of off-white, the furniture looked like it had been bought in bulk from a motel liquidation sale, and the whole place had the faint smell of mothballs. Still, it was clean, and his boxes were neatly stacked in the corner, just as promised.

He spent the next few hours unpacking, trying to make the space feel less like a punishment and more like a temporary home. By the time he finished, he was exhausted, both physically and mentally. He collapsed onto the lumpy couch and stared at the ceiling, wondering how long it would take for Janet to come to her senses.

Just as he was contemplating a nap, his phone buzzed. He frowned, sitting up and answering it. “Elliott.”

“Detective,” Chet’s voice drawled. “Thought you might want to know there’s a fire over at the Carter place. Barn’s up in flames. Figured you might want to get your new job started off with a bang.”

Beau’s instincts kicked in immediately, the lethargy from earlier evaporating. “On my way.”

“I’ll swing by and pick you up,” Sheriff McMasters said before the call disconnected.

Beau grabbed his jacket and headed outside, his pulse quickening. He was itching to do something—anything—that reminded him of why he became a cop in the first place.

When the sheriff’s truck pulled up, Beau climbed in without a word. The old sheriff glanced at him, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Figured you’d be ready to jump in.”

“Let’s just say I’m not here to sit on my hands,” Beau replied, his tone clipped.

His new boss chuckled. “Good. You’ll find out soon enough that even a small town can surprise you.”

As they sped toward the Carter place, the horizon lit with the flickering orange glow of flames, Beau felt a strange mixture of anticipation and unease. Maybe this town wasn’t as quiet as it seemed. Or maybe he was about to find out just how much chaos could hide in a place like Jessup Peak.