Page 44 of Once Marked
But those words clashed with another statement.“Rachel didn’t show up for our afternoon drinks,” Grace had said with a dismissive wave.“I assumed something came up unexpectedly and that she’d contact me later on.”
The contradiction nagged at Riley like a splinter under the skin.If Rachel Brennan was so dependable, why hadn’t she reached out if she was going to miss a meeting she’d agreed to?Wouldn’t a person who fit Grace’s glowing description be punctual, or at least considerate enough not to inconvenience others?Reliable people didn’t just change their plans and never bother to alert anyone who would be left sitting around alone waiting for them.
“Something doesn’t fit,” she whispered, barely audible.
“Agent Paige?”Sylvia’s voice was tentative, breaking through Riley’s thoughts.
“Sorry,” Riley said, her gaze snapping back to focus.“Just thinking out loud.”The room around them seemed to be waiting for whatever came next.
“Is everything alright, Agent Paige?”Sylvia asked, her eyes reflecting concern.
“It’s about reliability...and trust,” Riley replied cryptically, feeling the pieces of the puzzle nudging closer to alignment.
Sylvia’s innocence seemed clear to her now.But more importantly, perhaps she could be a bridge to the other side of this mystery.Riley leaned forward, her voice cutting through the silence that had fallen on the group gathered there.
“Ms.Sitwell,” Riley said, with an intensity that demanded attention, “what can you tell us about Grace Mitchell?”
CHAPTERTWENTY TWO
Riley’s question about Grace Mitchell lingered as Sylvia Sitwell’s living room grew silent.It was obvious that the Director of the Outer Banks Tourists Office was uncomfortable as her glance flitted from one of her visitors to the next—like a bird trapped in a net, seeking escape.
“I...I don’t know Grace Mitchell very well,” Sylvia stammered.
Both Sheriff Beeler and Ann Marie looked at Riley, waiting for her to manage the interrogation she’d started.
She spoke sharply, “Ms.Sitwell, I think we both know that’s not true.We don’t have time for games.Do you know Rachel Brennan?”
“Of course.She works for Sylvia.”
“She’s been abducted.Her very life is at stake.”
Riley watched beads of sweat gather at Sylvia’s temples, the moist dots betraying her feigned ignorance.
“Maybe...maybe I shouldn’t say anything more without my lawyer present,” Sylvia whispered, so faintly it was almost swallowed by the room’s silence.
Riley felt a flash of impatience.The patterns were coming together, revealing connections she had only sensed before.She had a momentary glimpse into the killer’s mind, images without words—ephemeral, but supporting her conviction that time was very tight now.
“Ms.Sitwell, we can’t wait for lawyers, and every second counts,” Riley said.“By impeding our investigation, you could be charged with obstruction of justice at the very least.Or your silence might lead to Rachel’s death.Is that what you want?”
Then Riley saw the subtle shift, the momentary lapse in the woman’s armor.
“Let me tell you what I think is going on here,” Riley said, leaning forward.“I believe that Grace Mitchell is actually Diana Winters.She didn’t drown all those years ago.Instead, she faked her own death.Am I on the right track, Ms.Sitwell?”
Riley held her breath, not allowing her gaze to waver from Sylvia’s face.The theory she’d just stated had formed from scattered pieces of evidence, the patterns and behaviors that she had long ago learned how to read during years of profiling, of diving into the darkest corners of a killer’s mind.
She waited for the tell, the crack in the armor, and it came — not as a shattering but as a hairline fracture spreading rapidly through glass.
Sylvia’s complexion drained of color, leaving her looking like a ghost of herself, a specter caught between two worlds.She slumped back into her chair, her posture deflating as if someone had let the air out of her defiance.“How...how did you know?”she whispered, disbelief painting her features in stark, vulnerable strokes.
Riley watched Sylvia closely, noting the surrender in her posture, the resignation in the lines of her face.Her own response was a silent gesture, a simple tilt of her head that urged Sylvia to continue.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Sylvia seemed to reach some internal crossroads, her decision made clear by the steadying of her shoulders and the lift of her chin.The tension in the room was a tangible thing, like an electric current that hummed through the air, threatening to spark.
Her eyes were glazed with memories as she spoke, her hands knotted together in her lap.“For a long time, I believed Diana had drowned.But about ten years ago, a woman named Grace Mitchell moved to Darnley and set up a real estate business.”
Riley noted the tremble in Sylvia’s voice; it was the sound of walls crumbling, of the truth surfacing after years submerged in silence.
Sylvia’s gaze seemed to drift to a place far beyond the confines of the room.“The moment I saw her, I was struck by her resemblance to Diana.Of course, she had changed—she was no longer the teenage girl I remembered.Even so, there was something...familiar about her.”
