10- The teen's identity (ii)
CLAIRE
Her voice dropped
“Nothing changes. The county won’t back you. The state won’t listen. And Grayhaven?” She stepped closer,“Grayhaven eats people like you alive for breakfast”
I smiled “Then I’ll make sure it chokes. And when it does, Sheriff, your name is going to be the one stuck in its throat.”
Quinn’s eyes lit, not with anger but amusement—like I’d just handed her the punchline she’d been waiting for. She laughed again loudly
“Janice,” she called, she was still chuckling. “Did you hear that? Our city girl thinks she’s poison. Ain’t that precious? wlright go fetch it"
The clerk shifted in her chair. “Sher—uh… Acting Sheriff, if I pull that report—”
Quinn cut her off with a wave, she was still smiling at me. “Go on. Fetch it. Let’s give Miss Monroe exactly what she wants.”
Janice froze. “But if I take it out—”
“But nothin’.” Quinn’s voice cracked like a whip, her voice was sharp enough to make the clerk flinch.
Then in an almost playful manner,she said “Bring it. Let her see. Let her carry it out those doors like it means somethin’.”
Janice’s hand hovered over the drawer.
Quinn leaned closer to me “Go on, Monroe. Take it. But the second you touch that file, you’re in it. No walkin’ away. Grayhaven’s not the kind of place you stir without it stirrin’ back.”
Her eyes glinted, “And trust me, darlin’—Grayhaven’s already leanin’ your way.”
The clerk gave a choked noise. “Sheriff—”
Quinn didn’t look at the clerk. She looked straight at me.
“Go on, Janice. Hand it over. Let her feel the teeth close for herself."
Janice’s hand finally moved. She slid it open and pulled the thin folder out. The paper edges shook in her grip.
She laid it on the counter, even her fingers were clinging to the cover until Quinn cleared her throat. Only then did she let go, as though she’d just set down a live wire.
Quinn smirked. The kind of smirk that said she’d already written the ending to my story. “There it is. All yours, city girl. Can’t wait to see how fast you go runnin’ back.”
I rolled my eyes. It was a little gesture but it was the only way I could afford without showing her she’d crawled under my skin. I scooped up the file, tucked it under my arm, and turned on my heel.
The door groaned as I pushed it open. The office air—that was filled with smoke and dust—gave way to fresh air.I felt relieved,as I stepped outside.
Quinn wanted me spooked. Wanted me second-guessing every step. She was daring me to open this file, certain it would break me down to the bone. But I’d dealt with bigger threats than Nora Quinn. I wasn’t here to fold. I was here to dig.
I stopped on the county steps, flipped the file open.
Mason Brody.
The name was typed clean on the top sheet, like he was nothing more than a clerical note. Twenty years old. Address: outskirts of Grayhaven, near the tree line. Cause of death: accidental fall.
Accidental.
I clenched my jaw. They’d scrubbed it. Every bruise, every break, every detail that screamed otherwise. The page might as well have been blank for all the truth it carried.
A loose photograph slipped from the folder and landed against my boot. I crouched, picked it up.
Mason stared back at me in grainy black and white color. Crooked grin, hair too long at the front and those eyes carrying that restless shine kids get when they’re ready to run toward life.
He was just twenty.
It was hard to believe—hard to stomach—that a boy like this had been written off as if he were nothing more than a rumor. That his death could be filed away with a single word: accident.
I traced the edge of his picture with my thumb, careful not to crease it. Mason Brody hadn’t just fallen. Someone made sure he didn’t get back up.
Which meant whoever silenced him was still out there. Watching and Waiting.
And somewhere tangled in that silence was Cal Rourke—the missing man whose name kept surfacing in whispers . If I found Rourke, maybe I’d find out why Mason Brody died.
I looked down at the address typed beneath Mason’s name. Outskirts of town. Farmhouse. A place no one would talk about in daylight, but everyone in Grayhaven seemed to know better than to mention.
I closed the file, tucked Mason’s photo back between the pages, and squared my shoulders against the wind.
That address was my next stop.
And Grayhaven—whether it liked it or not—was about to give me more than silence.