Page 17 of The Sole Suspect

“That’s a lot of hands being shoved in the cookie jar.” Penny mused.

The shop bell chimed upstairs, followed by footsteps on the old floorboards. “Probably that shipment of consignments I’ve been waiting for,” Penny said, heading for the stairs.

Sarah checked her watch. “My afternoon shift’s starting. I should head back.”

“Thanks for the coffee. And the intel.” I said with a smile.

She nodded. “Anytime.”

After she left, I analyzed our investigation display, attempting to decipher the intricate network of crimson threads. I listened as Penny descended the basement steps.

When I turned to face him, his expression was uncharacteristically serious. “You’re thinking about Dominic again, aren’t you?”

“I can’t help it.” I sank into a worn leather chair. “He helped us expose Holloway, installed security cameras after the brick incident… but then there’s his connection to Blake...”

“And let’s not forget that he deflowered you.” Penny’s eyes sparkled briefly before sobering. “Do you think he’s playing both sides?”

“I don’t know.” The admission hurt. “He said he’s gathering evidence, working from the inside. He warned me about powerful people wanting control of the district.”

I rubbed my temples. “How did everything become such a tangled mess?”

“Indeed.” Penny straightened a crooked string on our evidence board. “Adelaide’s hosting the planning for the fundraisingauction tomorrow. Perfect chance to get your mind off of a certain alpha, at least for a while.”

“Maybe.” The word tasted bitter.

I didn’t really want to get my mind off of Dominic. I wanted to know where his loyalties truly lay. I wanted answers.

I wanted to know if I really slept with the enemy.

CHAPTER SIX

Penny and I slipped through the Historical Society’s grand oak doors, our footsteps echoing off marble floors. The scent of Sarah’s coffee and Maude’s sliders drifted down the portrait-lined corridor, guiding us toward the main exhibition hall. A cluster of business owners huddled near a display case, their worried whispers bouncing off the vaulted ceiling.

“Look.” Penny tugged my sleeve, pointing to a series of photographs hanging on the wall. One black and white image immediately caught my attention.

The photograph captured Millcrest’s Historical District circa the 1970s. My grandfather Benji beamed with pride before Cobblers’ Corner’s window display, his latest award-winning shoes gleaming behind the glass. Beside him loomed the intimidating figure of his mate, Chesapeake Joe—a man whose real name had vanished into rumor and whispered stories of underground criminal rings and mob connections.

“Your grandfather’s shoes were incredible.” Penny pressed closer to the glass. “Look at those wing-tips!”

“Admiring our history?” Adelaide’s voice made us jump. She approached with her curator’s smile, cat-eye glasses glinting in the lamplight. “That’s from quite a significant summer.”

“Summer of ’73, says here.” Penny tapped the small plaque with a manicured nail.

Adelaide nodded. “Your grandfather Benji had just won that craftsmanship award from Boston.”

“And of course, yourothergrandfather.” The way she said it suggested volumes. “Not many people stood up to the development commission back then, but one word from him...” She cleared her throat delicately.

“Benji’s craftsmanship with his mate’s... unique connections opened doors to quite an exclusive clientele.” Adelaide’s diplomatic phrasing made me hide a smile. Everyone knew the stories about Chesapeake Joe, though no one quite knew which ones were true.

Her attention shifted to another figure, and something in her expression changed. “And here’s the man who transformed our district. Brilliant mind for development while respecting historical character.” Her voice softened as she indicated her brother Richard.

“Who’s that beside him?” Penny asked pointing to the sharp-dressed young man standing next to Richard Fairfax.

“Oh, that’s Thomas Wong,” she said, adjusting her emerald brooch. “He worked closely with Richard on the preservation guidelines we still use today.”

The way Richard and the other man stood, shoulders almost touching, spoke of an intimacy beyond business partners.Penny’s sharp glance out of the corner of his eye told me he’d noticed too.

“Thomas Wong.” I repeated the name aloud. It didn’t ring a bell.