Page 33 of Fatal Fame
She headed toward the stairs, not slamming doors or storming out, but moving with quiet determination.
Noah returned to his case files, but concentration proved impossible. Evelyn Cross had been right about one thing—Mia was old enough to make her own decisions about risk. The question was whether those decisions would be informed by wisdom or driven by the kind of youthful confidence that mistook knowledge for invulnerability.
Mia saton her bed with her laptop open, ostensibly working on college applications but actually researching everything she could find about Pierce Landry's investigation. The videos from the town hall meeting were already circulating on social media, showing her Uncle Ray breaking up the fight and Pierce beinghelped to his feet with a bloody lip and what would become a spectacular black eye.
The comments sections were brutal, locals defending the community's right to privacy, true crime enthusiasts criticizing the violence, conspiracy theorists indicating that the violent reaction proved Pierce was onto something significant. Mia found herself caught between worlds, understanding both perspectives but not entirely agreeing with either.
Her phone buzzed with an incoming FaceTime call, and she was surprised to see her grandfather's name on the screen. Hugh rarely used video calling, claiming that the technology made him feel old and confused.
"Hi, Grandpa," she said, accepting the call and propping the phone against her pillow.
Hugh's face appeared on the screen, sitting in what looked like his home office with warm lighting that made him look distinguished rather than aged. "Hello, sweetheart. I wanted to check in with you, see how you're doing after all the excitement in town."
"You heard about the town hall meeting?"
"Hard to avoid hearing about it. Small town, big news." Hugh's expression was concerned but not disapproving. "I also heard that you've been helping that podcaster with his investigation."
Mia felt a familiar surge of defensiveness. "Dad's already lectured me about that."
"Has he? And what did he say?"
"The usual. Too dangerous, stay away, let the professionals handle it." Mia couldn't keep the frustration out of her voice. "He acts like I'm still twelve years old and can't make my own decisions."
Hugh nodded thoughtfully. "Your father means well. What have you learned from working with Mr. Landry?"
“Not much. If he's learned anything significant, he hasn't shared it with me. I'm starting to think I was just being used for my local connections and family name."
"That's disappointing, but not surprising. Outsiders often underestimate what locals bring to investigations." Hugh leaned forward slightly, his voice carrying the kind of conspiratorial tone that made Mia feel like she was being included in adult conversations. "Sometimes as Sutherlands, we have to create our own path instead of waiting for others to recognize our value."
The phrase resonated with Mia's growing frustration about being treated like a child by both Pierce and her father. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that you have instincts, connections, and knowledge that could be valuable to the right investigation. Maybe the question isn't whether to help Mr. Landry, but whether there are other ways to pursue justice that don't require his approval or cooperation."
Mia felt something click into place, a sense of possibility that she hadn't considered before. "You think I should investigate the case by myself?”
"I think you should trust your instincts and follow your interests, regardless of what other people think is appropriate for someone your age," Hugh replied with the quiet authority of someone who'd spent decades making difficult decisions. “Like you said, every investigator needs a first case that's truly theirs. Maybe this is yours."
The idea was both thrilling and terrifying. Conducting her own investigation would mean defying her father's explicit instructions, but it would also mean finally taking active control of her own life and interests instead of waiting for permission from adults who seemed determined to keep her on the sidelines.
“Do you really think I could handle something like this?"
“You're a Sutherland, which means you have generations of law enforcement instincts in your blood. More importantly, you're smart enough to be careful and connected enough to access information that outsiders can't get."
The call ended with Hugh encouraging her to trust her instincts and follow her interests, regardless of what others thought was appropriate. As Mia closed her laptop and prepared for bed, she found herself thinking about possibilities rather than limitations. For the first time since Pierce had arrived in High Peaks, she felt like she had a clear path forward, not as Pierce's local assistant or her father's protected daughter, but as an investigator in her own right, capable of uncovering truths that had been buried for too long.
11
The Adirondack Inn had probably been elegant once, back when High Peaks was still discovering its potential as a tourist destination. Now it felt like a relic of more optimistic times with faded wallpaper, worn carpets, and the kind of furniture that spoke to decades of budget-conscious renovations. Pierce sat at the desk in his room, laptop open and case files spread across every available surface, trying to make sense of an investigation that seemed to get more complicated with each new piece of information.
The rest of the Cold Trail team occupied chairs around the room, their usual enthusiasm replaced by the kind of wary tension that came from realizing they'd walked into something more dangerous than expected. Marcus paced by the window, periodically checking the parking lot as if he expected to see angry locals gathering with torches and pitchforks. Camila reviewed her notes with focused concentration, trying to find patterns in chaos. Theo monitored social media feeds on his tablet, tracking online reaction to their investigation. Sienna worked on damage control, crafting social media posts thatwould maintain audience engagement without escalating local tensions.
"Okay, let's go over what we have," Pierce said, calling the informal meeting to order. "And what we don't have."
"What we don't have is cooperation from anyone who actually knows anything," Marcus said without looking away from the window. "Torres won't even take our calls. Hung up as soon as you identified yourself."
Pierce nodded grimly. Michael Torres, Rebecca's ex-boyfriend and the married cop with the convenient alibi, had proven impossible to reach. Three attempts at phone contact had resulted in immediate disconnections, and his real estate office claimed he was unavailable for the foreseeable future.
"What about the rest of the names from Keith's suicide note?" Camila asked. “Which by the way, we have Mia to thank for finding out what was on it.”
