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Jenna inhaled slowly, anchoring herself in her duty as Sheriff.

“I’m sorry, Mary, but your husband is dead,” she said, steadying her voice as she spoke to the dead man’s widow and brother. “We found his body yesterday.”

Mary’s hand shot out, gripping the edge of a nearby shelf for support. Her eyes widened, a ripple of shock passing over her features.

Jenna added as gently as she could, “His body was in the Sablewood Reservoir.”

She watched as the reality of her words sank into Mary’s understanding, leaving her ghostly pale. It was a reaction that Jenna knew all too well—the piercing blade of sudden loss that carved hollows into the living.

Across from them, Tommy’s response was less visible as he questioned, “His body, you said …”

Jenna noted his practiced control. It was the same kind of deliberate calm she’d seen viewing herself in mirrors after Piper’s disappearance.

The room lapsed into silence, punctuated only by Mary’s ragged and sharp breaths. Then Mary’s features contorted with a mix of confusion and despair, her lips parting to ask the question, “How... how did he die?”

“That’s what we’re trying to determine, Mrs. Larson. We were hoping you might be able to help us understand Mike’s state of mind before he disappeared.”

Jenna’s inquiry was gentle, almost coaxing, designed to unravel the truth without inflicting further wounds on Mary’s already battered spirit. But she knew the implications of her next question could shatter the fragile veneer of composure Mary clung to. Jenna hesitated the specter of her own sister’s unsolved disappearance lurking in the depths of her conscience.

“Do you think Mike might ever have considered... suicide?” Jenna posed the question carefully. At this point she wanted to get their opinions without revealing the backpack full of rocks they’d recovered—a detail that might shape their answers, and that she also thought would be cruel to disclose before she knew more about what that fact signified.

“Not Mike,” Mary whispered quickly as her gaze dropped. “I can’t even imagine him doing anything like that.”

Jenna could see that the idea of Mike succumbing to his inner turmoil was alien to his widow. She thought that the staunch resolve that underpinned Mary’s grief came from the same resilience that must have sustained her through two years of not knowing what had become of her husband—and before that, many more years of marriage to a difficult man.

“Mike? Suicide?” Tommy’s voice emerged from deep within, rough and tinged with indignation, as if the very thought were an affront to Mike’s character. “No way. He was too ornery and stubborn. Mike would never have given up like that.” His certainty resonated in the cramped stockroom, reverberating against the shelves lined with overstocked goods.

Nodding in agreement, Mary added, “Mike had his problems, sure.” Her voice was steadier now but layered with weariness. “But he always faced them head-on. Giving up wasn’t his style. He was a fighter, through and through.”

“Look, I’m not saying that Mike wasn’t self-destructive,” Tommy added. “The way he was drinking about the time he disappeared, he wasn’t going to live a long, healthy life. You could see that in his face, hear it in his voice, the toll it was taking on his health. But suicide? No way.”

Jake leaned forward, expressing the gentle yet persistent pursuit of truth that Jenna had come to recognize in him. “What about enemies? Was there anyone who might have wanted to harm Mike?” It was a question that needed asking, despite the discomfort it always brought.

Tommy’s scornful reaction filled the space, his laughter bitter as it resonated against the boxes of stock that surrounded them. “Mike had plenty of enemies in Colstock, but murder? That’s not something folks around here would do, no matter how much they disliked him. This isn’t that kind of place. We put up with a lot in our town.”

Jenna noted the underlying tension in his voice. It was the kind of tone used by someone who wanted to believe in the decency of their community—a wishful thinking that often blinded people to the darker undercurrents of small-town life. Jenna’s experience had taught her that every place, no matter how idyllic it appeared, could harbor malice capable of spilling into violence. Her sharp eyes maintained a steady gaze on Tommy, trying to read what lay beneath his dismissive words.

Just as Jake opened his mouth to respond, Petey, a young store employee, appeared at the door. “Mrs. Larson? Mr. Cummings says he needs you back at the checkout. There’s a line forming,” he said, his voice carrying the unease of someone who didn’t want to be the bearer of interruptions.

Jake made a move as if to keep the conversation going, a protective instinct to maintain the flow of information. But Jenna caught his eye. With an almost imperceptible shake of her head, she conveyed her strategy without words. She needed Mary out of the room; she thought that Tommy might reveal more without his sister-in-law’s presence. Perhaps it was her innate intuition whispering to her, or maybe it was the years spent unraveling the patterns of human behavior. Either way, Jenna trusted her hunch.

Mary, still clutching the edge of the shelf, glanced between Jenna and Tommy before nodding at Petey. “I’ll be right there,” she said, her voice steadier than before but still tinged with sorrow.

Her form rigid with the weight of grief, Mary started to walk away, but then she lingered in the doorway. She leaned against the wood as if clinging to a lifeline in a sea of turmoil.

“You know, I’d started to think... well, I thought maybe Mike had found out where Sly went and joined him,” she murmured, her voice brittle like thin ice over a winter lake. “They were best friends, after all. It was the only explanation that made sense to me. But now—well, now I know how wrong I was.”

With those words, she stepped away into the brighter light of the store, leaving her brother-in-law behind in the dim stockroom with Jenna and Mike.

Sly? Jenna thought. Another name to check up on.

She turned to face Tommy, “Tell us more about your brother, Mr. Larson. What was he really like?” Jenna asked, her tone even, betraying none of the empathy she felt.

“Sheriff, you had some run-ins with him yourself, didn’t you?” Tommy replied. “Back when you were deputy, didn’t you participate in some of his arrests?”

Jenna thought back to those nights when she and Frank had driven to Colstock to scoop up Mike and take him to the jail in Trentville. The truth was, Mike hadn’t made much of an impression on her. He’d seemed like just another small-town drunk.

“I don’t want to rely on whatever I saw back then,” she replied. “I need to hear about him from a more personal perspective.”

Tommy exhaled deeply, his breath stirring the dust motes in the air. He dragged his hand through his hair. “Mike was... complicated,” he began, and Jenna noted the weariness in his voice. “Always angry, always ready for a fight. Nobody really knew why he was like that. Our mom used to say he was born with a chip on his shoulder.”

Tommy’s gaze seemed to pierce through the walls, reaching into a past littered with hardship and discord. “Mike never could hold down a job for long,” he said, his tone revealing a touch of exasperation. “He’d get fired up over something minor, blow up, and that’d be the end of it. And he got rough with Mary. I wound up having to watch out for her, make sure she didn’t come to serious harm.”

Jenna observed Tommy’s hands as they fidgeted. “And the drinking?” she prompted.

“Started off casual, like most folks around here. But... with him it got worse, like it does with some.” He paused, clearing his throat. “Got him into a fair bit of trouble. Fistfights at bars, shouting matches in the street. Made himself more than a few enemies.”

“Any enemies that stand out?” Jenna probed, curious but cautious not to lead him.

“Here in Colstock, grudges don’t usually go away, but they don’t explode either— just simmer on low heat,” Tommy responded. “But Mike, he had a knack for turning up the flame.”

Jenna nodded, filing away each word, aware that the portrait being painted was incomplete, but every stroke revealed more of Mike Larson’s tumultuous existence.

Tommy shifted uncomfortably, his boots scraping softly against the concrete floor. Jenna noted the resignation etched into the lines of his face. “He and I were opposites in every way. I always tried to do right by everyone,” he said, a rueful smile flickering across his lips. “Guess that made me the golden boy by default. Naturally, I inherited the family farm when our parents died. That was fine with Mike. He never wanted the responsibility. Ever since then … well, I guess I’ve been responsible to a fault.”

“Responsibility like that can be heavy,” Jenna offered, watching as Tommy’s eyes unfocused, lost in reflection or regret.

“Sure, but it wasn’t the same for Mike. It was like he was chasing his own tail, circling closer to the fire each time.” Tommy’s voice faded as he continued. “I kept thinking, if I could just get him to settle, to find some kind of peace...”

“Did you ever talk to him about it, about trying to change?” Jake chimed in.

“More times than I can count,” Tommy admitted, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “But talking to Mike was like trying to plant seeds on stone. Nothing took root. And man, did he ever have a temper.”

“What can you tell us about Mike’s disappearance?” Jake asked.

“That night... it was rough,” Tommy began, his voice more subdued than before. “Mike just got the boot from his job at Lohmeyer’s Feed Store. We were at The Rusty Nail, and he couldn’t shut up about ditching this place, starting anew.” He paused, searching their faces for understanding. “Kept saying there was nothing left for him here.”

Jenna listened intently, her mind meticulously cataloging each word. From Tommy’s account, she painted a mental image of the bar: dim lighting casting shadows, the clink of glasses, the smell of stale beer mixing with the desperation in Mike’s voice. She pictured him there, restless and seeking an escape that would never come.

“Anything else he said that stood out to you?” she probed.

“Nothing specific,” Tommy admitted. “Just... just that he needed a fresh start.” His gaze drifted away, and she noted the flicker of pain behind his eyes. It was clear that the memory of that evening was a wound still raw upon his conscience.

Tommy’s next words fell heavy in the room, laden with regret. “I tried to talk him out of it,” he confessed, his stare sinking to the floor. “Told him Mary needed him that he couldn’t just bail on her.” His shoulders tensed under the weight of remembrance. “But I was a mess myself that night. I wasn’t much of a drinker, and that night I drank more than usual to keep Mike company. I felt sick, so I left early.”

Jenna leaned forward slightly, observing the lines of strain carved into Tommy’s features.

“Never saw my brother again,” he said.

The phrase reverberated within her, a stark reminder of the finality of disappearance. How many times had she herself turned over the last moments before Piper vanished, searching for some missed sign, some unheeded warning?

“Must be hell, playing that night over and over,” Jenna murmured, her voice low and empathetic. Her own experiences as both a sister and a sheriff lent her words authenticity. She watched Tommy closely.

“Every damn day,” he confirmed, barely audible. “Wondering if there was something I could’ve said, something that would’ve made him stay.”

A detail from earlier, the mention of Mike’s plans to leave, snagged her thoughts. “Mary mentioned someone named Sly. Can you tell us more about him?” Jenna inquired, pinning Tommy with an unflinching gaze.

“Ah, Sly,” Tommy responded, a flicker of warmth briefly illuminating his somber expression. He leaned back against the cool metal shelving, his posture relaxing as if the memory brought a momentary comfort. “That was his nickname—he was always a sly one. And he was the only person in town who could really put up with Mike for long stretches. They were like two peas in a pod, those two.” His eyes drifted to a spot on the dusty concrete floor, lost in remembrance.

“When Sly vanished six years ago, without so much as a goodbye, it knocked the wind out of Mike’s sails. It’s like he lost a part of himself that day.”

Tommy paused, his gaze returning to Jenna with a mix of defiance and sorrow. “Mike never did recover from that loss. Always seemed like he was searching for something after Sly left. Something he couldn’t find.”

Jenna listened intently as Tommy spoke of Sly, her mind working overdrive to connect the dots. Then, abruptly, a vivid flash from the previous night’s dream pierced her consciousness. The figure emerging from the water, his words an indecipherable tangle through the liquid barrier.

“You said Sly was his nickname,” she said.

“That’s right.”

“What was Sly’s real name?” she asked.

When Tommy said the name aloud, Jenna gasped. She felt her heart rate quicken, not from panic but from the sudden rush of insight. Now she knew what the man in her dream had been trying to tell her.