The steady rhythm of the ocean waves had always been a source of calm for Evelyn. It was a constant, a reminder that time, no matter how turbulent, always moved forward. But today, the waves seemed to pound harder against the cliffs, as if echoing the gnawing unease that clung to her like a shadow.

  Inside the diner, the air felt heavy. The smell of stale coffee and grease mixed with the weight of secrets unspoken. Evelyn stirred her mug absentmindedly, her gaze flicking from Hughes to the small stack of notes on the table. The faint glow of the diner’s dim lights reflected off the edges of her notes, the words growing fuzzy as her mind wandered back to Sylvia Hargrove.

  People have motives. The artist’s words echoed in her mind. Sylvia wasn’t wrong. Everyone in Seraph’s Hollow had a reason to hide something. Fisher had been a local with a colorful past, and now his death had cast ripples through a town that once prided itself on its quiet, unassuming nature.

  “Do you think Sylvia knows more than she’s letting on?” Hughes asked, his voice low and tentative, breaking the silence. He hadn’t said much after Sylvia left, and his discomfort was palpable. It was clear that the dynamics of the town were unsettling him.

  Evelyn’s lips curled into a thin smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “She knows more than she’s saying, that’s for sure. But whether she’s the type to talk is another question.”

  “She’s—” Hughes began, but Evelyn held up a hand, cutting him off.

  “Enough with the assumptions, Officer. We’ve got to stick to facts. I’m sure she’s hiding something, but right now, we need to stay focused on what we know.” She gestured to the stack of papers before her. “Fisher had debts. Unstable relationships. There’s no shortage of people who would’ve wanted him out of the picture. But the question is… who had the ability and the inclination to pull the trigger?”

  Hughes nodded, though his mind was clearly elsewhere. Evelyn watched him for a moment before turning back to the window, where the fading light bathed the town in muted tones. She’d lived in Seraph’s Hollow long enough to recognize the undercurrent of tension running through its streets. But it wasn’t until Marcus Fisher’s murder that she’d realized just how far that tension ran.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft, deliberate knock at the door, followed by the creak of hinges. An older man in a weathered suit stepped inside, his presence commanding attention even without speaking a word.

  “Detective Carter?” The man’s voice was rough, tinged with an accent Evelyn hadn’t quite placed. “I’ve been told you’re looking into the Fisher case.”

  Evelyn stood slowly, her hand instinctively resting on the back of her chair. “That’s correct. Can I help you, sir?”

  “My name’s Thomas Walcott,” the man said, his sharp eyes flicking to the table full of notes. “I’m the owner of the estate where Marcus Fisher was found. I’d like to offer my assistance in this investigation. Anything you need.”

  Evelyn studied him for a moment, the tension between the two of them palpable. Walcott was a man used to control, used to getting what he wanted. He had the air of someone who didn’t suffer fools easily, and while that could be useful, it also made Evelyn cautious.

  “I’m sure you have plenty of resources at your disposal, Mr. Walcott,” Evelyn replied, her voice cool. “But right now, we’re focusing on gathering evidence. We’ll let you know if we need anything.”

  Walcott’s gaze didn’t waver, but his lips twitched as if holding back some comment. After a moment, he gave a curt nod. “Of course. But I expect you’ll be contacting me soon. There are things you may need to know about Marcus. Things that might help.”

  He turned and left as abruptly as he had entered, leaving a cold draft in his wake.

  Evelyn’s eyes narrowed, her mind already racing. Things you may need to know. That phrase stuck with her. Walcott knew something—perhaps more than he was willing to share.

  “Who the hell was that?” Hughes asked, his eyes following Walcott’s retreating figure through the window.

  “That,” Evelyn said, “was Thomas Walcott. Owner of the estate, and I suspect, someone who’s just as tangled up in this mess as anyone else in this town.”

  She stood, grabbing her coat, and gave Hughes a pointed look. “Let’s go pay him a visit. There’s something off about the way he’s handling this. I want to know what he’s hiding.”

  As they left the diner, the weight of the case settled heavier on Evelyn’s shoulders. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to form, but they were jagged and incomplete. Marcus Fisher’s murder had cracked open more than just the surface of Seraph’s Hollow. It had unearthed something far darker—a web of deceit and danger that stretched far beyond a simple case of murder.

  And Evelyn was determined to unravel every last thread.