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“That was your dad,” Holden said to Knox before his gaze settled back on me. Despite the seriousness of the subject, there was still a certain warmth in his eyes that hadn’t been there when he’d looked at Knox. “And he had some news.”
“I know.” Knox gave an offhand shrug. “He called Monroe first.”
Holden frowned at that, but he wasn’t the type to pout over being called second. “So he did. Anyway, he and the task force will be holding a press conference soon because the remains have been identified as Mrs. Melanie Stapleton. The presumptive cause of death is strangulation, same as the suspect’s other three victims.”
“What happens next?” Sam was the first to speak. He had a surprisingly intense voice that belied his choirboy looks, each syllable holding gravity that ensured we all turned in his direction.
“Like I said, there will be a press conference. Not sure if they’ll ask Monroe and me to attend.” Holden’s mouth twisted. “Then the prosecutor’s office will likely pursue the indictment as well as continue to find evidence linking the suspect and the victim.”
“No, I mean, what happens to Mrs. Stapleton?” Forehead creasing, Sam took on a vaguely censuring tone. He was the kind of dude no one wanted to let down, what with his air of infinite patience. “And Worth. Who’s calling Worth?”
“Rob said he notified Worth first, but he didn’t mention his reaction. As for the remains, I’m not sure. Guess that’ll be up to the family.”
“There’s not really anyone. Just Worth.” Sam’s lament made my gut clench. Remains. I’d participated in countless recovery operations, and even so, the reminder hit like a buoy to the face. And I wasn’t surprised that the son hadn’t been on the scene. That many years of not knowing had to scar a person, and Sam seemed as concerned about Worth as the victim. “She deserves a proper burial. Worth needs closure, but so does the whole town. So many people searched over the years.”
“Yeah, some sort of memorial would be a good idea.” Holden’s tone was thoughtful. “Doubt Worth wants to plan it though.”
“Maybe he shouldn’t have to,” Knox mused, the same tone he’d used for proposing I rest up at the B&B. My back prickled, on edge for whatever plan he was about to suggest. “Safe Harbor needs to do right by all of them and hold a memorial.”
“It’s not the town’s fault,” I snapped without thinking. Or rather, thinking of the perp. The criminal who’d done this to the victim, the family, to this town. The loss that couldn’t be measured also couldn’t be healed by some pretty words and somber music. Closure was important, but what was closure without justice? Without someone held accountable? Nothing.
“Fault doesn’t have anything to do with us doing the right thing,” Sam said reasonably.
“There will likely still be a trial,” Holden added as if he knew the Ev-shaped direction of my thoughts. “But Sam has a point. You brought Mrs. Stapleton home. Returned her to all those who wanted answers. She deserves a dignified burial.”
“I didn’t do anything,” I mumbled, perilously close to telling them to keep me out of whatever performative grief they thought the town needed. My reaction had far less to do with Mrs. Stapleton and what she deserved and more to do with Ev and what he’d never received and with how fucking awful that funeral had felt, knowing his family could never get the closure they deserved. Or the justice.
And Holden seemed to sense that distinction. “You did what you could,” he said firmly, catching my gaze. “Sometimes you have to accept the minor win. Closure is a process, not a single event.”
“True.” Sam had a voice that deserved a pulpit, but hell if it did anything to soothe my churning thoughts. “However, certain types of events, a time to honor and reflect, can help.”
“Hey, Knox? Why don’t you show Cal the interior of the house? I know he’s itching to get his hands dirty.” Holden had a voice that went right to every achy part of my soul, and he also knew exactly what I needed. Distraction. “I’ll brainstorm with Sam about what the town could do for the Stapletons, but you guys go ahead and get to work.”
“Thanks.” I nodded at him as I turned to follow Knox into the house. The cement pavers leading to the porch were wobbly. Maybe this place had also been waiting for closure. Fanciful thought, but I was a man of action, not pretty words. I’d leave those to Sam and Holden. And I couldn’t serve up justice, much as I’d like to. But I could hammer and sand and paint and put my back into doing right here. More than a job, more than a paycheck and a way to pay off my diving debts and get out of this town, doing the work this house needed felt like a mission.
