Page 13 of Fatal Fame
"That could be very helpful," Pierce said. "Maybe your father could give us access to what the state has on file."
"Unlikely, but I can ask." Mia led them to a section of the archives and pulled out a box. "Here we go. The newspaper coverage of the case."
She spread the materials across a nearby table, and Pierce felt the familiar thrill of seeing primary source documents for the first time. The headlines told the story in stark black and white: "Local Mother and Son Found Dead," "Police Seek Leads in Double Homicide," "Community Grieves for Beloved Teacher."
"You remember much about this case?" Pierce asked, studying the photographs that accompanied the articles.
"No, I was eight at the time. This was ten years ago," Mia said. "But I heard about it growing up. Rebecca was a teacher at the local high school. People always figured it was one of the many people she was seeing at the time."
The casual reference to Rebecca's dating life caught Pierce's attention. In his experience, small communities rarely spoke so openly about the personal lives of murder victims unless those personal lives were central to the local narrative about what had happened.
They spent the better part of an hour going through the newspaper's coverage, and Pierce was struck by how thin it was for such a significant crime. A few initial reports, some appeals for information, and then the story seemed to fade from the front page with unseemly haste.
"Interesting how quickly this dropped out of the news cycle," Pierce observed.
"Small town," Mia said. "People want to move on, especially when there's no resolution. Nobody likes living with unsolved mysteries on their doorstep."
Before they left, Mia brought Pierce over to her desk and showed him a front page article from that morning's edition. The headline read "True Crime Podcaster Investigates Local Cold Case," and Pierce felt the familiar ego boost that came with seeing his name in print.
"Well, look at that," Pierce said, not bothering to hide his pleasure. "Word's getting around town that we're here."
"Oh yeah," Mia said. "The whole community's buzzing about it."
Pierce snorted. "Not sure if that's a good thing or not."
"I'm sure you'll find out," Mia replied, closing the paper. "But listen, it would really go a long way if you had a local connection here. Someone who could act as a buffer, mediate things between you and the community."
Pierce looked at her, recognizing the pitch beneath the helpful suggestion. "And that would be... you?"
She grinned, and Pierce caught a glimpse of the ambition beneath her helpful exterior. "I've grown up here. I know this town like the back of my hand. Our family has roots in this area going back multiple generations, all in law enforcement. I mean, of course I'd take a backseat to the professionals, but if I could tag along, it would be amazing experience."
Pierce looked at his team, seeing calculation in Marcus' eyes and skepticism in Camila's. Theo was already thinking about the audio possibilities of having a local guide, while Sienna was probably considering the social media angles.
"I thought you had to work here," Pierce said.
Mia shrugged. "I do, but like I said, I know people and I can shift things around. Plus, having someone who understandslocal dynamics could save you from stepping on landmines you don't even know exist."
Pierce nodded slowly. The offer made sense from a practical standpoint—local knowledge was invaluable, and having a member of a law enforcement family could open doors that might otherwise remain closed. But he also sensed the hunger beneath Mia's helpful offer, the desperation of someone who wanted to be part of something larger than her small-town life.
"We'll need to discuss it as a team," Pierce said finally. "But I think it could work out. First thing, though—we need somewhere to stay. Marcus was supposed to book accommodations but apparently got distracted."
"Not a problem," Mia said, pulling out her phone. "I know just the place."
4
The Sutherland house settled into evening quiet as Mia pushed through the front door at nearly eight o'clock, her mind still buzzing with the afternoon's excitement. Meeting Landry had felt like stepping through a doorway into the adult world she'd been yearning to join—real investigation, real consequences, real purpose beyond the endless scanning of newspaper archives.
She found Noah in his study, exactly where she'd expected him to be. The room smelled of leather and dust, with the underlying smell of black coffee that had been reheated too many times. He sat hunched over his desk, surrounded by thick folders.
Noah had a ritual with his records, a private order that she'd observed but never understood. He would spread case files across the desk in careful patterns, cross-referencing timelines and connections and building a case one piece of evidence at a time. Tonight, he seemed particularly absorbed, his pen moving across yellow legal paper in the quick strokes that meant he was onto something.
"Dad?"
He looked up. The transition from investigator to father was visible, a conscious shifting of mental gears that reminded Mia how much of his life existed in spaces she couldn't access.
"You're late," he said, though his tone carried concern rather than reproach. "Everything okay?"
Mia settled into the leather chair across from his desk, the same spot where she'd sat on many a night when he'd helped her with homework or listened to her recount the day's adventures. But tonight felt different, charged with the potential for conflict she could sense building between them.
