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Slowly, I stepped on creaky wood floors until I found the window Ciabatta had been in. The raccoon was thankfully still there, but he hissed when he saw me.

“Whoa, hey. None of that. I’m friends with your mom!” Only a growl made its way back to me. “This isn’t gonna go well,” I said to myself, but I held out a hand anyway. “Come on, little Ciabatta. Let’s go home.”

He ran.

Chasing a raccoon wasn’t on my list of things to do today, but I knew Jackie didn’t want anything happening to him.

First, he went for the stairs. I nearly fell three times trying to dodge random shit in the pathways. Then Ciabatta went downstairs. When I followed, he hissed once more before running behind the counter.

He ran for one of the doors leading to the back, and I was determined to catch up. Except one of my shoes was untied and I tripped and fell right into the door.

The result was a slam that could be heard from miles away. Ciabatta screeched and ran out the entrance.

“My baby!” Jackie called. “I’ve got you, honey!”

I groaned and rubbed my forehead. That was definitely going to leave a mark.

I looked up, making sure I didn’t knock anything over that Hugh would notice. Almost everything was in place, but the door that I’d run into with my face was slightly ajar.

Forcing myself onto my feet, I went to shut it, only to lean on the handle as my head hurt. It opened ever so slightly, giving me a peek of what was inside.

At first, I thought it was a normal storeroom. There were notebooks and various papers scattered all over a desk. I didn’t think much of it until I turned to the side and saw a briefcase.

But it wasn’t a usual briefcase. It was filled to the brim with hundred dollar bills.

“What the fuck?” I muttered. My curiosity got the best of me and I fully entered the room. The briefcase sat open on the shelf. Above it was other stacks of cash.

It was multiple thousands of dollars at least. Maybe more if all of those were hundred dollar bills as well.

Since when did Hugh have this kind of money? Since when did he keep it in cash in his antique shop?

For a while, all I could do was stare. This didn’t match the version of him I knew.

A wild, near-irrational thought burst forth in my mind.

We knew the STM grant owner was in the Facebook group, and we knew they had money. Grace had mentioned the owner’s handwriting likely meant they were older.

No. No way.

It couldn’t be him.

He drove an old car that barely worked. He constantly complained about prices.

There was no way that he could be running the STM grant.

Or maybe that was what he wanted us to think.

Hugh had always been the kind of man that no one understood. He did what he wanted to, and never anything else.

One thing was for sure, though, he did care about the people in this town. Even if he argued with us, even if he didn’t seem to like us, he would never leave this place, and he would never let it go to ruin either.

Suddenly, Kerry seemed like such a long shot. There was no way she could have pulled this off. But Hugh? Hugh could have done this. He could have easily pulled the wool over our eyes the entire time. I had a distinct feeling he was smarter than I gave him credit for.

The more the pieces came together, the more sense it made. Hugh was definitely in the Facebook group, even if he pranked us more often than he was serious.

He had also been quiet lately and no one knew why.

If he had money, then he could have done this.