Anyone that stumbles on the quaint coastal town of Shelter Bay might call it sleepy. They may even mistake it for a place where nothing much happens.
Perhaps that's because it's a tight-knit community full of happy families and local businesses go...
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I don't want to know the favor (or favors) Chief Stephens had to call in to get a Skagit County Sheriff's Office detective out to Shelter Bay on a Sunday morning. All I knew for certain, was that I was going to get an earful from my boss come Monday.
That, and the thick grey clouds blocking out the sun warned of more stormy weather ahead.
My unusual (and inconvenient) request wasn't for Jeffery's benefit or even the good of Mrs. Wallace if I'm being honest. It was for Ava.
I wanted to show her that I kept my promises, and I wanted to make up for being a dick about filing that missing person's report.
The only problem was, Ava was nowhere to be found. Her truck was gone, she wasn't answering my calls, and her apartment over Mrs. Wallace's garage was dark.
So, my grand gesture was a bust.
Even worse, it appeared that Mrs. Wallace's son, Jeffery, had moved into his mother's house virtually overnight and invited some new friends over.
The two King Five News vans in the driveway should have tipped us off, but it was the frazzled producer who answered Mrs. Wallace's front door who confirmed the worst.
Apparently, Jeffery was busy finishing up an interview about his mother's sudden disappearance. Which meant we had to wait around for at least thirty minutes like we had nothing better to do.
"What a fucking clown show," Detective Robbins' voice scraped with disdain as he scowled at the camera crew strolling through what could potentially turn out to be a crime scene.
It wasn't only the volume of people tracking in and out of the house that had us riled, it was all the stuff they touched.
Just because I didn't see signs of a struggle during my initial walk-through with Jeffery didn't mean Mrs. Wallace's house wasn't full of valuable clues. All those people may be unwittingly destroying evidence that could have told us what happened to Jeffery's mother.
That little self-important shit begged for my ex-wife's contact information, and I flat-out refused to hand it over.
I had a Missing Person's Report to file and resources to coordinate. Plus, the last thing I needed was my ex-wife poking around for another story.
I should have known that asshole would take the initiative and reach out to Rayna himself.
Talking to reporters before he spoke to the lead investor on his mother's case was a dip-shit move. I tried to tell Jeffery as much the day before, but clearly, he had a problem with following basic instructions.
"Think a couple of your crossing guards can handle a neighborhood canvas?" Detective Robbins scoffed in my direction.
His tired brown eyes surveyed the neighboring homes from our vantage point on Mrs. Wallace's front stoop.
