Page 23 of Where the Fields Don’t Reach

“I know Emanuel Telfort is to blame for most of the disappearances over the past five decades or so, along with Kalen being responsible for Missy’s abduction, but…” Mason let his voice trail off, as if he were second-guessing his decision to bring up Emily’s death. “I still need to know the answer to something, Hadley.”

She nodded her consent, because she was currently at a loss for words.

“Did you ever recover a trench coat from the Telfort property?”

9

Hadley Dawkins

September 2026

Tuesday – 8:27 am

Hadley turned her Equinox onto Magnolia at the corner where downtown Emberwood began to resemble a town more than a stretch of strip malls. She pressed the steering wheel button to turn up the volume on the speakers. Having been on hold with the community college’s administrative department for most of the drive, she began to wonder if the woman who had answered the phone had forgotten she’d taken the call.

“Chief Dawkins? Thank you so much for holding,” Linda said over what seemed like several conversations at once. “I’m so sorry for the wait.”

“No worries,” Hadley replied with reassurance as she slowed for a four-way stop. She motioned for a delivery van to go ahead of her at the intersection before she rolled forward. “Were you able to locate Mr. Mercer’s schedule?”

“Yes, and it looks as if Mr. Mercer doesn’t have a class until ten o’clock this morning. He typically arrives on campus around an hour beforehand. Would you like me to connect you to his direct line so you can leave him a message?”

“That won’t be necessary, Linda,” Hadley replied, doing some quick math on the time she had to kill. “I appreciate the information.”

“Have a good day, Chief,” Linda said warmly, the line disconnecting shortly thereafter.

Hadley had thirty minutes and was literally less than a mile from campus, which gave her enough time to pick up a coffee. She peered through the windshield, recalling a small café somewhere along this stretch, tucked between a flower shop and an insurance office. She finally spotted the hanging sign.

Fortunately, the parking gods were in her favor this morning. A car was easing out of a slot just past her newfound destination, and she braked to wait, allowing the driver to clear the space before she pulled her front tires to a stop at the curb.

She made the impulsive decision to pick up two coffees as she stepped out of her SUV. The sheriff’s office sat about a block down on the same side of the street, and she’d learned in the last year that Nick had a standing fondness for any coffee that wasn’t brewed at his station. She swore that he stopped in on her in Whistlerun at least once a week just so that he could enjoy the Jamaica Blue Mountain coffee beans she had delivered to her address every month.

Hadley had been meaning to brief Nick on what she had found in Reed’s desk, anyway. She also wanted to inquire about the topic that Mason had brought up last night. She’d gone through her own memory of the evidence log from the previous fall, and she couldn’t recall a trench coat being among the items. Burlap bags, yellow twine, and several chains and cuffs had been recorded into evidence, but no trench coat.

Why hadn’t she thought that odd at the time?

Walking over to the station with a coffee in hand would pave the way for her inquiries, though Nick wasn’t going to be pleased when he heard about the specifics of the citation. He was, in fact, going to be extremely displeased when he learned that his late colleague in the next town over had been quietly pressured by a politician into burying a crime. She might just start out their conversation about the chain of evidence in the Telfort case.

Nick didn’t bend the law for personal favors, and he had little patience for those who did under the label of small-town kindness. Warren’s request and Reed’s quiet compliance on the matter were the kinds of things Nick would want to hear directly from her. Hadley intended to lay both out for him before she left Emberwood today.

The bell above the coffee shop door rang as Hadley stepped inside.

She didn’t carry a purse when on duty. Given how many hours she spent driving the back roads of Whistlerun, speaking with residents, and sometimes even herding roaming dairy cows, it had been easier to buy a thin phone case that kept her personal identification and credit cards tucked inside. She kept hold of her phone while sliding her keys into the right-hand side pocket of her blazer.

The café wasn’t large and had a quaint sense about the interior, with exposed brick along one wall and a chalkboard menu above the counter. The smell of espresso and something cinnamon wafted from somewhere near the back. Six or seven small tables were scattered through the room, most of them occupied by people working on laptops or reading from their phones. Hadley stood in line behind a man in a suit who was talking quietly into his Bluetooth.

When it was her turn to order, she requested two large black coffees. She stepped to the side of the counter to wait, and her attention veered to a plastic container of ChapSticks beside the register. She pressed her lips together. The cooler weather sliding into Cane County over the next few weeks would have them cracked and peeling long before winter. She was running low on the tube she kept in her console, so she made a mental note to stock up on them soon.

“Hadley?”

The voice came from one of the tables in a corner, behind where a three-shelf unit displayed various travel mugs. Hadley didn’t have to turn around to know who it belonged to, and she internally winced at the thought of the upcoming conversation. She forced herself to turn anyway, not really having any other option.

Nora Oliver was sitting at a table near the window with another woman, both in workout clothes, with two empty cups on the table. Nora had her purse already over her shoulder and a water bottle in her hand. She had the posture of a woman who had been about to stand up.

“Nora,” Hadley said warmly, crossing the small distance between the counter and the table. “It’s good to see you.”

Hadley wasn’t exactly being truthful, but greetings were typically used as a sign of respect. She gave herself a pass.

Nora had been Reed’s fiancée, the two of them only months out from their wedding when he’d been killed. There was no good script for standing in front of the woman who had been going to marry the man Hadley once dated, especially when she was the one investigating his murder.