Mara didn't remember drawing her gun—only the weight of it in her hand as she scanned the thick fog for movement.
But the pier was silent again.
Whoever had been watching was already gone.
She called for backup, her voice tight, and within minutes the faint wail of sirens broke through the morning gloom. Officers hurried down the pier, flashlights slicing through the fog as they searched for Elias Mercer.
They found nothing.
No body.
No trace.
Just broken boards and cold, black water.
Evelyn arrived shortly after, wearing a raincoat over her scrubs, hair pulled back in a loose bun. She approached Mara with careful steps.
"You okay?" Evelyn asked softly.
"No," Mara answered truthfully. "Someone let that pier rot just enough to collapse when Elias stepped on it. That wasn't luck."
Evelyn didn't argue.
Mara knelt by the broken edge, fingertips brushing splinters.
Whoever planned this knew exactly where Elias would stand.
Exactly where Mara would stand.
Exactly how to make the message unmistakable.
She rose, jaw tight. "I need to talk to the mayor."
---
Greyharbor's town hall looked too pristine for a morning filled with death.
Mayor Ruth Kincaid sat behind her glossy mahogany desk, posture straight, expression serene. She wore her usual tailored suit, a deep navy that matched the storm outside the large window.
"Mara," she said warmly. "What can I help you with? I heard there was… an incident at the pier."
"Elias Mercer is missing," Mara said flatly. "Likely dead."
The mayor folded her hands. "That's unfortunate. But Elias had a complicated history."
"That doesn't justify murder."
Kincaid offered a sympathetic tilt of her head. "Of course not. But you know how easily men like him slip into danger—substances, debts, old enemies…"
Mara stepped closer. "Elias told me he was being threatened. He said he burned boxes connected to Caleb Stone. Evidence someone paid him to destroy."
The mayor's expression didn't flicker.
Not once.
"If you're suggesting I'm involved in a crime, Detective Ellison," she said, "please be specific."
Mara watched her carefully. "You knew Caleb's sister. Ruth Stone. Your offices handled her missing persons case."
Kincaid sighed. "Half the town knew that girl. She was troubled. Wandering. Obsessed with her brother's fame."
"That's not what her journals said."
For the first time, something in the mayor's eyes sharpened—quick, cold, then gone.
"You have her journals?" Kincaid asked.
"Some pages," Mara said. "And from what I've read, Ruth Stone wasn't obsessed. She was investigating something."
"And what would a missing girl from ten years ago be investigating?" the mayor asked lightly.
Mara didn't answer.
Because she didn't know yet.
But she would.
Kincaid rose from her chair and crossed to the window, watching the fog swirl around the trees.
"This town," she said slowly, "has spent years rebuilding its reputation. Tourism, trust, stability… everything we work for depends on peace. And now murders—murders tied to old stories—threaten that stability."
She turned, her expression polished but icy beneath the surface.
"I hope you're not becoming part of the problem, Detective."
Mara's pulse tightened.
A warning.
Thinly veiled.
"Elias Mercer wasn't the problem," Mara said. "He was a victim."
"If he was killed," Kincaid replied, "you have my condolences. Truly. But I caution you: do not let old ghosts distract you from your duty."
Mara took a breath. "Mayor Kincaid… where were you this morning between five and eight?"
Kincaid blinked, stunned that Mara dared to ask.
"My schedule is public," she said after a long pause. "I was here. Preparing for our budget session."
"Alone?"
"Yes," Kincaid snapped. "Is that a crime?"
"No," Mara said. "But lying is."
The mayor's lips tightened into a thin, controlled smile.
"You're tired, Detective. Grief and stress can create patterns where none exist."
Mara stepped closer, lowering her voice.
"And killers often hide in plain sight."
The mayor's eyes hardened—just for a second.
Just enough.
Then she smiled again, smooth as polished stone.
"This conversation is over."
Mara left before she said something she couldn't take back.
---
Outside, the wind picked up, sweeping fog across the steps of town hall. Mara pulled out her phone, checking the messages from the unknown number again.
Then she saw something new.
A fresh text.
A good detective listens to the ones who vanish.
A second message followed:
Check the lighthouse basement.
Mara stared at the screen.
The lighthouse.
Where the girl had been found.
Where Ruth Stone had been last seen.
Where the killer waited.
She felt a cold certainty settle over her.
The next chapter had already been written.
And she was about to step into it.