Page 48 of Claimed By the Deputies

“Really?” Lucas replies, then pulls out the group photo from the fundraiser, placing it carefully on the mayor’s desk. “What’s this?”

It causes precisely the reaction I was hoping for. Hamilton and Jerry stare at the photo for a long, hard minute.

“What are you implying, Sheriff?” the mayor asks.

“That you both know more than you’re letting on,” Lucas promptly replies. “I can do a little more digging, where I’m bound to figure it out eventually, or the two of you can tell me what you know, right here, right now.”

“Dig all you want,” Hamilton says, casually leaning back into his chair. “I have nothing to hide. I have done nothing but serve this town proudly from the day I was elected. It’s not my fault our law enforcement officials have failed.”

Mitch scoffs but keeps his thoughts to himself. I, on the other hand, do not. “So you won’t mind if we subpoena your financial records then.”

“No need for a subpoena or official court channels,” Hamilton smoothly replies. “Dominique, my assistant, will happily provide you with all the bank and credit card statements you need.”

“What about you, Jerry?” Lucas asks.

“What about me? I already told you, I have nothing to do with those… criminal elements.”

“How can you keep lying when there’s a photo of you together right under your nose?” I wonder aloud. “Denying it doesn’t make it go away, Mr. Spring.”

“It looks like we attended the same charity event,” he mutters as he takes a second look. “We’ve clearly crossed paths, but I never thought anything of it.”

I shake my head. Not good enough. “That was a fundraising gala for your beloved Frost Valley Cougars, Mr. Spring. A team you, Johnson, and Jade were a part of.”

“Miss Callaghan, are you using Jerry’s high school history as grounds for suspicion of… what, exactly? Conspiracy? Drug trafficking? What are we looking at here?” the mayor intervenes, his tone clipped.

“Do I need a lawyer?” Jerry nervously laughs.

“I don’t know, Jerry. Do you?” Lucas shoots back.

I’m downright fascinated by the sheriff’s ability to control and direct the conversation through so many layers while giving me a bird’s eye view of every behavior in the room. Either he knows what I’m looking for during these cold readings or it’s just instinct. Either way, we work well together.

“I have nothing to say at this point. Perhaps the mayor is right, and you’re going on a witch hunt in the absence of actual leads,” Jerry replies. “Frankly, I don’t like the tone of this conversation, nor your implications.”

“You and Farrah dated for a long time,” I add. “Which is how you got this cushy gig with the mayor’s office, isn’t it?”

“Are you accusing me of nepotism now?” Hamilton snaps as he stands, then gives Lucas a hard glare. “Reign your employee in, Sheriff, or I may have to sue your department for slander.”

Lucas stands, towering over the man. “With all due respect, we follow the leads wherever they take us. If that makes you uncomfortable, Mayor Hamilton, it says more about you than it does about us.” He looks at Mitch, then at me. “Let’s go. We have everything we need.”

“You do?” Jerry sounds confused.

“More or less, yes,” Lucas replies.

I notice the painting on the eastern wall as I rise from my seat. It’s a knock-off of an Impressionist landscape on a chunky, oversized frame—clearly mounted in a way to hide something. A safe, most likely. But if we antagonize the mayor any more than we already have, he could catch on, cleaning out any evidence before dropping dead weight like Jerry Spring. And Spring in cuffs doesn’t sound as tasty without Hamilton wearing matching bracelets.

“You’d best be on your way, then,” the mayor declares. “Clearly, you didn’t come here for our help.”

“We will be subpoenaing your financial records along with Jerry’s,” Lucas says. “I want everything done through proper, legal channels so there can be no claim of impropriety.”

The air shifts in the room. It feels thicker, harder to breathe as we turn to leave. I can feel Jerry and Hamilton’s eyes drilling holes into the backs of our necks as we walk through the French doors.

The silence that follows is even heavier. Only when we’re back outside am I able to draw a deep breath again.

“You might’ve jumped the gun a little, Lucas,” Mitch says.

“He irked me,” Lucas defends, then gives me an apologetic smile. “And I didn’t take kindly to the way he treated you.”

It swells my heart with a feeling I didn’t know I’d ever experience again—emotional safety with the knowledge that someone’s got my back.

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