Page 10 of 4th Silence (Schock Sisters Mystery #4)

He says nothing. An answer in itself.

“So that’s it?” I ask, forcing steadiness into my voice. This escalated quickly. Too quickly. “Your career’s more important than the truth?” Than me ?

“It’s not that simple, Charlie.”

“Isn’t it? There are inconsistencies with this case, and the bigwigs are nervous because Mary is upset about our investigation. Since when does a civilian, who may herself be the murderer, get to call the shots on a case? What if that bag is connected? We’re on to something. I can feel it.”

“Feelings don’t hold up in court,” JJ replies, his jaw set. “And Mary is not a suspect. Detective Loren looked into her and everyone else at the party. None had motive.”

“Someone at that party murdered that girl.” I’m practically yelling.

“I don’t care what Loren or anyone else says.

Mary Hartman is far too defensive about this for her to be innocent.

” I pull out all the stops. “Your instincts have led you to reopen cold cases that everyone else has written off,” I remind him. “Trust mine and Meg’s now. Please.”

“Please,” Meg echoes. “Seriously, JJ. I’ve never been more certain of anything. Mary’s involved in this.”

For a heartbeat, conflict flashes across his face, and I see my JJ. The one who cross-examines me over takeout while dissecting case files, the one who challenges my theories and respects my rebuttals.

Then it vanishes, replaced by the impassive mask of Joseph Jefferson Carrington III, U.S. Attorney. “I can’t,” he says, adjusting his cufflinks. All business again. “I won’t jeopardize my job based on hunches and missing handbags.”

The space between us cracks open into an unbearable chasm, separating our professional and personal lives. I suspected this moment might come someday, yet its reality is like a sucker punch.

“So where does that leave us?” My voice betrays the vulnerability swallowing me up.

“It leaves us exactly where we are,” he says.

“On opposite sides of a closed case. I’ve always thought I could trust you.

That we were on the same page. Now?” He strides to the door without answering the question.

He doesn’t have to. He tries to hide the hurt in his voice, but I still hear it.

I agreed to stay away from Mary, and I didn’t.

I broke his trust. “You can drop off those boxes at my office tomorrow.”

I watch him leave, the words I want to call out locked in my throat. Meg grasps my hand, and it spurs me into action. I’m not going down without a fight. Not for the case—for us.

I chase him down the hall. “I thought you were different. That you respected me and my work.”

He pauses, his profile sharp against the glow of the reception area’s light. For one suspended moment, I think he might turn back and embrace me, but he only glances over his shoulder. “I thought the same about you.”

As he exits, I stand rooted in place, staring at the spot where he stood, my mind whirling with a thousand scenarios—what I should have said, what I could have done, whether anything would have changed his mind.

“Charlie?” Meg’s voice breaks through my spiraling thoughts as she comes up next to me. “You okay?”

I blink, forcing hot tears away. “No.” She guides me back to the conference room. I slump into a chair. “But I guess feelings don’t matter.”

“They do matter.” She pulls up a chair beside me. Her eyes, so reminiscent of mine, search my face. “He’s out of line and a bastard for choosing his job over you.”

“His job means everything to him.”

“He’s a fool, then.”

I accept her hug, a few tears slipping down my face. “What am I going to do?”

“This isn’t over. I’ll go through everything tonight and have Matt take the boxes to JJ’s office tomorrow. We keep going, regardless of what JJ and the mayor want. In the end, when we solve this thing, they’ll be sorry.”

She wants to take my mind off JJ’s betrayal and get me to focus on something I can control. Classic Meg. Next, she’ll offer me some of her gummy bears or a pot brownie. Maybe I need one. “Without the bag, without official backing, without?—”

“Without fear of stepping on official toes,” she finishes. “We never needed permission before to solve a cold case, and we don’t now. Mary Hartman’s expensive accessory disappeared that night for a reason. It has to be connected to the murder. I’m sure of it.”

Her phone buzzes loudly across the table, displaying Jerome’s name and a photo of him playing his guitar. Meg’s eyes flick from it to me, her hand hovering indecisively before she deliberately turns the screen face down.

At least this is something that can distract me from my damning feelings. “Everything okay?”

Her fingers drum on the table. “It’s complicated.”

I raise an eyebrow, studying the unusual flicker of uncertainty on her face. “When isn’t it with you two? What’s going on?”

She tugs a strand of hair, twisting it around her finger. A debate rages behind her eyes. “We should focus on you and JJ.”

Another classic Meg move—deflect with a redirection worthy of a magician’s assistant. I wiggle my fingers at her. “Spill.”

She huffs loudly, grabbing a pencil to doodle on a notepad. Once, twice, three times around a circle, each rotation digging deeper into the paper. “Jerome asked me to marry him two days ago.”

The words hang between us, and I try to process them. Perfect. A fresh wound and now a surprise proposal bomb. Better to focus on Meg rather than JJ. “As in…marriage? Jerome Metcalfe? The guy who showed up to my birthday dinner wearing two different shoes?”

“That’s him,” she confirms with a slight grin that lights up her face, then fades like the last sparks of a firecracker. “He’s been different lately. More serious.”

I’ve noticed a few changes—Jerome with his honey-blond hair neatly tied back, his clean-shaven face, his presence more adult-like. A far cry from the disheveled artist who floats through Meg’s life, trailing the scent of marijuana and creative chaos.

“What prompted this?” I ask.

“The music store offered him an assistant manager position. He’s showing me dozens of fixer-uppers and condos.

” Meg laughs, a hint of hysteria in it. “Can you believe it? Jerome, who once lived in his van for six months because he ‘forgot’ to pay rent, wants to buy real estate. And he wants me to be his wife.”

Her phone buzzes again, and we both watch it vibrate on the table. “You haven’t said yes?”

She gestures helplessly. “I panicked and said I needed time to think. I’ve been dodging his calls since.”

“But you love him.” Not that that’s a reason to get married, but it sure helps.

She stares at the ceiling and fiddles with her pencil. “Honestly, part of me believes it could work. He makes me laugh. He sees the world in colors I never notice. But marriage? Jerome can barely commit to a simple breakfast order.”

“What scares you more?” I ask softly. “That he’s not ready, or that you’re not?”

She jams the end of the pencil into the pad. “I…I don’t know if I’m built for that life, Charlie. This whole settle-down thing. What if, in five years, I wake up feeling suffocated? Or what if he does?”

“There are no guarantees, but I’ve seen the way you look at him when you think nobody’s watching. Why does it have to be marriage? What if you just try living together?”

“I don’t know. This whole thing confuses me.” She chuckles. “God, listen to me. Your relationship with JJ just collapsed, and here I am, whining over commitment.”

“Hey,” I say firmly, “my romantic disaster doesn’t invalidate what’s going on with you. We’re both allowed to be messy sometimes.”

That draws a genuine laugh. “The Schock sisters—screwing up their professional and private lives in one fell swoop.”

“Whatever you decide with Jerome, I’m in your corner. Even if it means helping you escape out a bathroom window on your wedding day.”

Her smile wavers. “You’d do that for me?”

“I’ll bring the getaway car and snacks.”

The files lay scattered around us, briefly forgotten reminders of official restraints now closing in on our investigation. Yet, in that moment of sisterly support, those obstacles feel less insurmountable.

Still, JJ’s order has become a ticking clock. I gather a pile of papers to start running through our copier, the FOIA rules be damned. “Mallory’s confirmation is huge.”

Meg rolls up the sleeves of her white shirt, sorting through photos with habitual precision. “This could be the lead we need.”

I tap my finger against my bottom lip. “We need to trace the bag’s journey. Who might have seen it after the murder?”

Meg’s eyes light up. “What about the event staff? Catering, the cleanup crew—someone might have noticed it.”

“Good thinking,” I agree, thumbing through a file until I locate the list of service personnel. “I can have Haley track these people down tomorrow. Seeing as how it was thirty years ago, it’s a long shot, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Do you think the murder was planned or a spur-of-the-moment thing?” Meg asks.

“Premeditation points to someone at the event, not a random break-in gone wrong, but it could still be a random act. Someone got mad at the girl, a game got out of hand. Might have even been an accident.”

“Whatever happened, it’s been covered up. What if Mary had already sold off the bag or pawned it?” Meg asks. “I think we should talk to the daughter. I can do it—she doesn’t know who I am. I can say I overheard her talking about it, and I’ve always wanted one.”

“Nah. That’s a job for Matt and his pretty blue eyes. I’ll sic him on the woman tomorrow and let him come up with some story to get her to tell him about it.”

Before we can continue brainstorming, my phone rings. I snatch it up, half hoping it’s JJ calling to apologize. It isn’t.

“Charlie, hey. It’s Alex Hartman.”

My brows shoot to my hairline. I put the call on speaker for Meg. “Alex. This is… unexpected.”

“I want to apologize for my reaction at the gala.” His voice is stripped of its earlier arrogance. “I was out of line.”

Meg’s expression mirrors my surprise.

“I thought about what you said,” he continues. “About Tiffany deserving justice, regardless of political fallout. My mother believes you’re doing it for the notoriety. I know better. I want…” He clears his throat. “I want to help. I might have some useful connections that could prove beneficial.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “We’ve been officially ordered off the case.”

“I know.” He doesn’t sound daunted. “Which is why I thought you could use an ally who knows all about the family and our friends. One who was there that night. I was only nine, but some of those folks are still around.”

I can’t believe our luck. It’s too lucky. Time to test his loyalties—with his family, his job, and especially his mother. “We’re trying to track down any clue that could lead us to a missing Sherman bag your mother received as a gift that Christmas Eve. Do you remember it?”

“Uh…no. Like I said, I was nine. Purses weren’t of interest to me.”

“Are you up for helping us locate it?”

The slightest hesitation. “How about I come by tomorrow, say around eight-thirty? You can tell me everything you know so far, and I’ll see what I can do to answer your questions.”

JJ might have closed the official investigation, but he forgot one crucial thing: I never leave a puzzle unsolved. And now, with an unexpected ally on the inside, we might just be able to reopen this case on our terms.