“Not a reenactment.”
“Then what?”
Lila studied the mountains behind the courthouse.
“Think about it. Every case that grips people, they don’t just listen. They hunt. They share. We give them something they can actually chase.”
“You’re going to make the sheriff furious.”
“Good,” she said lightly. “That’s momentum.”
She tipped her head toward the frozen image of Eleanor Harper on the monitor.
“Besides, in Sylva, the women who come home all seem to have something in common.”
Micah frowned. “Which is?”
“Badges,” she said. “Or men with badges.”
She started counting them off on her fingers.
“Sara Parker wore one. Tessa Quinn dates a deputy. Caitlin West is with the sheriff.”
Micah went quiet.
“Lauren Pierce didn’t have that,” Lila said. “Caroline Simms didn’t either.”
She looked back toward the courthouse.
“One vanished after dropping her baby off at David Mercer’s house. The other disappeared on a college campus and stayed missing for three years.”
The comments poured upward too fast to read.
Emojis. Theories. Names. Half-finished accusations.
“You’re talking about a stunt,” Micah said.
“I’m talking about focus.”
“They’re already running with it.”
“They always do.”
Lila adjusted her mic and looked once more at the frozen image of Eleanor Harper on the screen.
“Because if there isn’t a pattern,” she said softly, “people will keep looking until they find one.”
The chat exploded again.
And once a story was told well enough, people stopped asking if it was true.
4
Harper & Associates — Afternoon
The old Cotton Exchange building had been standing on Main Street since before electricity reached Sylva.
The faded painted lettering still clung to the brick outside.
