Mick nodded, raising his eyebrows. “Yeah, that’s the one. Funny thing, though—Garvin owned that property back then, didn’t he? That’s where Callahan was snooping around before he disappeared.”
Sam sat up straighter, leaning forward. “You think Garvin was involved? Maybe he knew about the dumping and was part of it? Could be why he never sold the land.”
Mick’s eyes narrowed as he considered it. “It would make sense. If Garvin was involved or even just knew too much, it would explain why he was always so reluctant to sell the land. But it doesn’t seem that way from his actions. He wouldn’t be looking into the property and getting maps at the town hall; he’d already know.”
The sound of Lucy’s tail thumping against the floor caught their attention. She was sitting up now, alert, staring at Mick with those sharp, intelligent eyes.It was as if she knew the conversation was getting heavier.
“I don’t know, Mick,” Sam said, rubbing his temples. “There’s a lot we don’t know yet. But if Garvin had stumbled across some evidence that could hurt Convale, that might have been the motive for his murder.”
Mick nodded slowly, taking another swig of beer. “Could be that’s why Callahan was sniffing around there in the first place. If he found something damning, something that could have blown the whole thing wide open, maybe that’s why he ended up dead too.”
Sam exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening around the neck of his bottle. “So, we’ve got two bodies—one in the well, the other fresh—and both might be tied to Convale’s dirty dealings. That’s a hell of a lot of secrets for one piece of land.”
Mick shook his head. “Small towns, man. They’ve always got the deepest secrets.”
A comfortable silence settled between them as they let the implications sink in. The fire crackled softly, and Lucy settled back down by Sam’s feet, her ears twitching every so often as the wind howled against the cabin windows.
After a few moments, Sam glanced at Mick, hisvoice softer. “How’s Jo holding up? Have you guys come up with anything?”
Mick raised a brow, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Jo? You know she’s a pro. She’s not letting this suspension get to her. We’ve been working some angles… but nothing really solid. Naturally, we’d share with you if we came up with anything.”
“Of course. I’m sharing my info with her too.” Sam leaned back in his chair, the fire’s warmth taking the edge off the chill outside. But Mick, ever observant, didn’t miss the way Sam’s jaw clenched slightly or the way his gaze drifted to the window, as if he was looking for something—or someone.
Mick chuckled quietly, shaking his head. “Didn’t know you were so worried about her.”
Sam shot him a look but said nothing, the unspoken tension hanging in the air. He took another long sip of his beer, hiding behind the bottle, while Mick watched with an amused glint in his eyes.
“Look,” Mick continued, leaning forward, “Jo’s tough as nails. She’s handling it just fine. Wouldn’t surprise me if she cracks the case before you do.”
Sam laughed. “Well, she does have the benefit of knowing what I know. I updated her earlier on the findings on that note she found and what we know about the skeletonso far.”
Mick nodded. “I know. She said she’s going to Garvin’s funeral to size up the suspects—his kids.”
“Yep, I’ll be curious to see her take on that.” Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Just doesn’t sit right with me, her being sidelined like this. She’s got skin in the game.”
“Sounds like she’s only officially sidelined. She’s still working the case for all intents and purposes.” Mick raised his bottle in a mock toast. “To Jo, always playing it her way.”
Sam clinked his bottle against Mick’s and took a sip, though his mind was still on Jo. Mick’s subtle smile hadn’t gone unnoticed, and Sam knew the PI had picked up on something he hadn’t quite admitted to himself.
Outside, the wind howled louder, and Lucy shifted, her ears pricking up again. Sam reached down, patting her head, grateful for her constant, steady presence.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The cold winter air bit at Bridget’s skin as she stepped onto the porch. The trees surrounding Jo’s cottage stood still, bare branches scraping against each other in the wind. The world felt eerily quiet, like it was holding its breath. She could see her own breath in front of her, little wisps that dissolved into the darkness.
Jo had left the door to the house open. She crouched just inside, holding a small piece of leftover chicken out toward Pickles, who was stubbornly perched on the edge of the porch. His fur was puffed up against the cold, and he eyed Jo suspiciously.
“Come on, Pickles. I would think after you ended up in a well, you’d welcome staying inside,” Jo murmured, holding the chicken out further. Theorange cat sniffed it but stayed put, his tail flicking dismissively.
Bridget shifted, glancing around at the dark woods surrounding them. The thought of Pickles wandering around in the cold with someone dangerous possibly lurking nearby made her uneasy. She tucked her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, the chill creeping in from the cold porch floor.
“I still think we should just carry him inside,” Bridget muttered, eyeing the cat. “It’s freezing out here, and with everything going on?—”
Jo straightened, shaking her head. “No, it has to be his idea. Otherwise, he won’t like being in there and will run off at the first chance. For now, he’s enjoying being difficult.”
Bridget gave a short laugh, but her unease remained.
Jo turned to her, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, her expression tight. “I heard from Sam today,” she said. “They got the results on the note.”