Page 20 of The House That Held Her

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I watch the door swing open, and Chief Miller strides back in with Jenkins on his heels. Their expressions are startlingly casual, almost smug, like they’re convinced they already have the upper hand. My pulse quickens at the sight of their self-assured grins, and I see Shannon straighten, ready for a fight. The tension crackles through the small room like static electricity.

“Chief. Deputy.” Shannon’s tone is razor-sharp, bristling with authority. “Before we proceed any further, I’d like to gain some clarity on this situation: Is my client under arrest? Because if she is not, this entire line of questioning lacks any legal basis. I see no probable cause or articulable suspicion here—merely the fact that Margot visited Penny Lark, like she has many Mount Dora residents. That is insufficient to transform a perfectly lawful visit into grounds for custodial interrogation. If you intend to charge her, cite the specific statute and present your evidence that ties her—beyond mere conjecture—to this alleged crime. You and I both know coincidence does not constitute probable cause, and holding her without substantive proof is a flagrant violation of her Fourth Amendment rights. So please, Chief, enlighten us: exactly what compelling, admissible evidence do you possess that justifies keeping her here in the first place, let alone asking her questions, alone, after she’s made it clear she wants legal representation in the room.”

Jenkins glances at Miller, clearly uncomfortable with Shannon’s relentless questioning. Miller, who was so confident a moment ago, can’t hide the way his mouth tightens. For a few beats, he looks like he might explode.

Shannon isn’t about to give him a reprieve. “Also, since Penny’s body was discovered under suspicious circumstances, I’d like clarification on exactly what you found. It sounds like you divulged information regarding her state to my client earlier today, though I’m sure you wouldn’t do such a thing due to the glaringly obvious unethical and illegal implications of sharing information with a potential suspect before making them aware they are a suspect, right?”

I sit there, my heart pounding, trying not to show how incredible it is to watch Shannon work in her element. This is the same feeling I had during Lila’s trial—Shannon’s as fierce as I remember. She leans forward, then drops the bomb I didn’t see coming. “And one last thing, Chief. Why is it that the people around you always seem to wind up dead? Amelia, George, Cecilia, and now Penny Lark. That’s quite suspicious, wouldn’t you say?”

Miller’s face darkens, and his jaw sets like stone. “George Hawthorn isn’t dead,” he snarls, voice low and shaking with pent-up anger. “He’s missing. And if you’re suggesting I had a hand in any of those deaths, you’re out of your mind. Yes, I was their friend, just like I am to the majority of this town. I am also a police officer. Amelia’s death was a tragedy. All of it—every horrible thing that happened in that house—was Normand Hawthorn’s fault. He abandoned those kids with a drunk and never looked back.”

His voice rises, spittle flying as he jabs a finger inches from Shannon’s face. “He cared more about those damn orange trees than his own children.”

Shannon just fixes him with a cool, measured stare. “Thank you for clarifying that, Chief. So, you’ve essentially admitted you have no evidence and are holding my client here under false pretenses. Which means you have nothing to charge her with. We came seeking answers—you gave us nothing but wasted time.”

Miller’s shoulders lift, like he’s gearing up to yell again, but no words escape. Jenkins shifts in his seat, refusing to meet my eyes.

Shannon stands, and I scramble to my feet as she motions for me to join her. “That’s what I thought,” she says, voice icy. “We’re done here.”

We make it to the door when Miller’s furious growl echoes behind us. “Don’t leave town, Margot.” He practically spits my name. “This is still an active investigation.”

Jenkins blocks our path for a moment, flashing a sinister little grin. “We don’t appreciate outsiders meddling in our town’s affairs. Especially when someone ends up dead.”

Shannon glares back, her tone loaded with contempt. “Noted, Deputy. Now, move.”

Jenkins mutters something under his breath and steps aside, letting us exit. The hallway beyond feels stifling, and my pulse is still racing. It’s only once we pass through the station’s double doors that I exhale a shaky breath, the humid night air washing over my clammy face.

Shannon and I slip into my car, slamming the doors with more force than necessary. As I pull out of the lot, I look back at the building, the station’s parking lot lights flickering behind us. The shapes of the patrol cars and the looming figure of the station seem to shift ominously under those sputtering lamps, like shadows are reaching out for us.

For a while, neither of us speaks, the silence broken only by the hum of the engine and the occasional slap of tires against asphalt. Finally, Shannon glances at me. Concern and determination blend in her eyes. “So. Now what?” she asks, her voice gentler than it was inside.

I can still feel the leftover adrenaline buzzing in my veins. The image of Chief Miller’s furious face looms in my mind. “Thanks to that brilliant brain of yours,” I say quietly, “we already know our next clue.”

She frowns, looking puzzled. “We do?”

“It’s time to find Marty Hughes.”