Heavenly. Teen Wolf (s.s)

xxvi. in the heat of the night

Stiles immediately called Gracie, who picked up on the first ring. "Hello? Stiles?"

He could the stress in her voice and fighting in the background as the betas tried to find control during their transition.

"Matt Daehler's the one controlling Jackson," he told her. "Can you come?"

There was a second where she didn't answer and then, "I'm on my way."

───────────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ─────────────

"SO THIS KID'S..." NOAH POINTED AT THE YEARBOOK SLAPPED ON STILES' desk, page open with a bright red circle around Matt's picture. "...the real killer?"

Stiles, Scott, and Gracie all looked at each other before nodding at him. "Yeah."

Noah shook his head. "No."

"Yes!"

"No," Noah repeated. Stiles sighed in frustration.

"Dad, come on," he groaned, wishing his dad would just believe him one time. "Everybody knows that the police look for ways to connect victims in a murder, okay? So all he had to do is, like, look through their transcripts and figure out which class they all had in common."

"Yeah, except for the fact that the rave promoter Kara wasn't in Harris's class," Noah pointed out, crossing him arms over his chest.

"All right, okay, you're right, sorry," Stiles shrugged mockingly. "Then I guess they dropped the charges against him?"

Noah stared at him in frustration, wishing he could deny Stiles' claim.

"No, you know what?" His dad conceded. "They're not dropping the charges. But that doesn't prove anything."

Stiles scoffed in disbelief and shared a wide-eyed look with Scott.

"Gracie," the Hale girl perked up when the sheriff addressed her. "Do you believe this?"

"Yes, sir," she nodded. "It's difficult to explain but you have to trust your son."

Stiles gave her a grateful look, to which she nodded back at him.

"We know it's Matt," Scott added in support.

"Yeah, he took Harris' car, okay," Stiles shared his theory with Noah. "Look, he knew that if a cop found tire tracks at one of the murders, and that if enough of the victims were in Harris' class, that they'd arrest him."

"Matt Daehler's smart, Sheriff Stilinski," Gracie stated. "He's not the run of the mill type of lacrosse player."

Stiles gave her an offended look. "Uh, was that supposed to be a slight against me and Scott? 'Cause I think it––"

"––Stiles, really?"

"Right, right," Stiles turned back to his dad, expectantly.

"All right, fine," Noah sighed. "I'll allow the remote possibility but give me a motive. I mean, why would this kid want most of the 2006 swim team and its coach dead?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Stiles gestured wildly. "Our swim team sucks! They haven't won in, like, six years."

Gracie shook her head, trying to cover her laughing while Noah gave his son an unimpressed look.

"Okay, so, we don't have a motive yet," Stiles' shoulders slumped. "I mean, come on, does Harris?"

Noah pressed his lips together and looked down at Matt's picture in the yearbook. "What do you want me to do?"