Page 22 of The Sole Suspect
Thunder cracked overhead, making us both jump. The storm matched my turbulent thoughts—Dominic’s warnings, Richard’s reaction to the photograph, the figure in the raincoat. All these threads connecting in ways I couldn’t quite grasp.
“Here.” I watched as Penny let go of my hands and dug through the trunk. He lifted a crisp navy button-down from the trunk and held it up. The deep color would complement my great-grandfather’s brocade vest perfectly. “Try on the rest of the outfit. If we’re walking into danger, we might as well look fabulous doing it.”
I managed a weak laugh. “Is that your solution to everything?”
“Has it ever failed me?” He adjusted his lucky penny pendant, then reached for a pair of trousers. “Besides, your great-grandfathers didn’t let society tell them who to love. Your grandfathers didn’t let rumors about Chesapeake Joe’s past stop them. We’re not letting mysterious threats and complications with alphas stop us.”
He was right. Come what may, we’d get through it.
“Now,” Penny clapped his hands. “About your hair...”
I groaned, but let him fuss. Outside, the storm raged on, but in Vintage Vogue’s tiny back room, I felt almost ready for whatever challenges might lie ahead.
Almost.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Fairfax Mansion’s grand ballroom buzzed with activity as we prepared for tomorrow night’s bachelor auction. Penny balanced precariously on a ladder, draping burgundy silk between crystal chandeliers while Sarah and Emma arranged fresh dahlias below. The scent of autumn flowers mixed with coffee and pastries from Wilson’s Bakery, the aromas filling the cavernous space.
“A little higher on the left,” Adelaide called from her position near the marble fireplace. She adjusted her glasses as she studied the decorations. “Richard would have a fit if we damaged his precious moldings.”
“Your brother’s not due back until next week, right?” Penny secured the fabric, then climbed down to survey his handiwork.
“That’s right,” Adelaide pivoted on her heel as she beckoned Penny to follow her. “Now, about the lighting...”
“Has anyone seen Jake?” Rosie’s voice carried from the mansion’s kitchen. “He was supposed to help with the catering setup.”
I glanced up from the stack of auction programs I’d been sorting. Jake had been oddly scarce since agreeing to participate in the auction. His anxiety had only worsened since the Holloway incident.
“Found him!” Penny pointed toward the French doors leading to the garden. Jake shuffled in, his shoulders hunched in his oversized sweater, phone clutched in his hand.
“Sorry I’m late,” Jake mumbled. “Got distracted on my way here. You guys need to see this.”
He pulled up something on his phone, hands shaking slightly as he held it out. “These kids in my building were doing this last night. The art’s kind of beautiful, in a weird way.”
I leaned in to look at the photo. My breath caught. The image showed fresh graffiti on an abandoned warehouse wall—swirling letters in black and red paint, the same distinctive style that had defaced Rosie’s shop two months ago.
And the campaign posters last week.
“Jake,” I kept my voice gentle, noting his nervous fidgeting. “Do you know these kids?”
He nodded. “Tommy and Malcolm. They live two floors down. Deputy Martinez caught them this morning—criminal mischief and vandalism, she called it. Let them off with a warning since they’re minors, but...”
“The same style,” Penny whispered, his eyes meeting mine.
“They wouldn’t talk to the deputy, but they’ve been bragging about some rich guy paying them,” Jake continued, scrolling through more photos. “Showing them exactly where to hit, whatto write. They thought it was just some weird art project at first, getting paid to ‘express themselves.’”
My heart raced. “Jake, would these kids talk to us?”
He shrugged. “Maybe? As long as they don’t think you’re a cop. They’re probably still hanging out behind the convenience store on Mason. That’s where they usually go after getting in trouble.”
“We need to talk to them.” I turned to Penny. “Coming?”
“And miss this?” He was already grabbing his vintage beaded purse. “Adelaide, we’ll be back for the final decorating decisions!”
Adelaide waved us off with a gesture of her clipboard, too absorbed in directing Emma’s flower arrangements to protest. As we followed Jake out of the mansion, I couldn’t shake the feeling we were finally closing in on some answers.
The convenience store’s back lot reeked of stale cigarettes and spilled energy drinks. Two teenagers slouched against a brick wall, smartphones glowing in the late afternoon shadows. Their expensive sneakers and carefully distressed jeans didn’t match the “troubled youth” image they tried to project.