Page 12 of Ain’t Pucking Sorry (2-Hour Quickies #8)

Massimo

"It's Jax," Reese says, slapping a folder on her desk. "The lab matched the fingerprints on the GRIT cards."

I frown. "Birdie's grandson? How do we even have his prints on file?"

"Juvenile record," she explains. "Nothing serious—graffiti at the high school two years ago."

"That's hardly the profile of a criminal mastermind."

"People escalate," she says, grabbing her keys. "Let's bring him in for questioning."

We find Jax at the high school, helping set up for an art exhibition. He's eighteen, lanky, with Birdie's sharp features and bright eyes hidden behind shaggy hair.

"Jax Myers?" Reese approaches him calmly. "We need to talk to you about some incidents around town."

His eyes dart between us. "Am I in trouble?"

"That depends on your answers," she says. "Can you tell us where you were the night Ellen's Bakery flooded?"

"Home, I guess? That was like, forever ago."

"And the library electrical fire?"

He shifts uncomfortably. "I dunno… I don’t keep a diary or anything."

"Your fingerprints were found on cards left at several crime scenes," I say, watching his reaction.

His face pales. "That's impossible."

The high school principal approaches, concerned. "Is everything alright?"

"Mrs. Patterson," Reese nods. "We're investigating some incidents around town. Does Jax have any particular technical skills we should know about?"

Mrs. Patterson brightens. "Oh, absolutely. Jax is remarkably talented with electronics. He created an incredible video tutorial on electrical wiring for the science fair last year.."

"A video on electrical wiring?" Reese's eyebrows rise.

"Yes, very detailed—how circuits work, how to identify issues… he even demonstrated how improper wiring can cause shorts."

Jax fidgets with the strap of his backpack.

"And this blue cardstock," I ask, showing her one of the GRIT cards. "Have you seen it before?"

"Of course. Our art teacher uses paper like that in different colors.”

“Do students have access to it?”

“All our art class student aides do." Mrs. Patterson turns to Jax. "You took some home like a month ago, didn't you? For your portfolio?"

"Yeah, I grabbed a few sheets. For art. Not, like, crime."

"May I see your backpack, Jax?" Reese asks.

He hands it over. Inside, tucked between textbooks, are several sheets of the distinctive blue cardstock.

"Perfect match," Reese says quietly.

At the station, Jax sits in the interview room, knee bouncing nervously.

"I didn't do anything wrong," he insists.

"Your fingerprints on the cards. Your electrical expertise matches the library fire." Reese leans forward. "Help me understand why, Jax."

"I didn't—"

"Did Shelby pay you?" I interrupt.

Jax looks genuinely confused. "Who?"

"Marcus Shelby, the developer? Did he hire you to damage local businesses?"

“I don’t know any developer.”

"Marge volunteers at the library," Reese says suddenly. "Your grandmother's friend. Have you ever borrowed her keys? Maybe to return a book after hours?"

His eyes widen slightly. “No, never.”

"The bakery pipe would require plumbing knowledge," I add. "But I bet there are plenty of YouTube tutorials on that, aren't there?"

"I want to call my grandmother," he says, voice cracking.

"Soon," Reese promises. "But first, I need to understand why you did this."

"I didn't—" he stops, looking defeated.

Reese's phone buzzes. "I need to take this," she says, stepping out.

In the hallway, I hear her side of the conversation. "Yes, Mayor... We've identified the suspect... No, not a threat to the festival... A young man, yes... We're handling it... I understand the council's concerns..."

When she returns, her expression is set. "I have to take you in, Jax. For vandalism, destruction of property, and mail tampering."

"But—"

"You have the right to remain silent," she continues, the words practiced but not unkind. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

Later, after processing him and placing him in a holding cell, Reese returns to her office where I'm waiting.

"The mayor's pleased," she says, dropping into her chair. "Case solved before the festival. The council can stop panicking."

"You believe Jax did all this alone?" I ask carefully.

"The evidence is clear," she says. "Teenagers do impulsive things, especially smart ones who think they won't get caught."

"What about motive?"

She shrugs. "Attention, maybe? Boredom? We'll get to the bottom of it."

"You seem satisfied," I observe.

"I am." She leans back, something like relief washing over her face. "After weeks of pressure, we finally have answers. The festival can proceed without fear. The mayor's happy. First time he's ever thanked me for anything."

I don't share her certainty. Something about this case still doesn't sit right.

But watching Reese’s shoulders finally relax after weeks of tension, I decide she’s right. She’s got the experience, the instincts.

And me? I’m just glad the case is closed and she can finally breathe again.