Page 51 of Not This Night

"Thank you," Ethan said with a nod, his voice a gentle hum in the tense air. He crossed the threshold first, his posture relaxed yet observant.

Rachel followed, her boots silent on the polished wood. Her eyes swept the interior, cataloging exits, windows, the subtle signs of life within the mansion's walls. Bethany hovered by the door, biting her lip, her fingers twitching like she might at any moment snap the security chain back into place.

"Mrs. Meyers," Rachel began, her tone level but carrying an undercurrent of urgency. "We need to discuss what happened here three weeks ago. The gate guards told us you called them about an incident. Do you remember that? Anything you can tell us about that day could be crucial."

Bethony's eyes darted to Rachel's badge, then to her steady gaze. The woman drew in a deep breath, her chest rising and falling with the weight of recollection.

"Three weeks..." Bethany murmured, looking past them to some unseen memory. "It was just an ordinary day until..." She trailed off, lost for a moment in the past.

"Take your time," Rachel encouraged, her voice a blend of steel and velvet. She needed details, facts, but she knew the importance of patience in drawing them out.

Bethany nodded, exhaling slowly as she gathered her thoughts, her nerves, her resolve. "I was working from home that day," she started, her voice gaining strength as she spoke. "There was nothing unusual until..."

Rachel leaned in, every sense attuned to the woman's words.

Bethany's eyes flicked to the window, then back to Rachel. "The truck," she said, the words tumbling out with newfound clarity and a verbosity that reminded Rachel of a cheesy romance novel. "A red Ford F-150. Rust eating away at its wheel wells, paint faded like an old barn."

“You know trucks?” Ethan said, surprised.

She cackled as if delighted by this response, perhaps accustomed to it, like a well-worn, favorite parlor trick. “My son’s a mechanic.”

Rachel stepped closer, her body language open, encouraging. "Go on."

“Well, he’s single. Good-for-nothing layabout, though. Quit that job as a mechanic. He’s a wastrel.”

"Er, not your son, ma'am. The truck."

"Ha. Never seen it before, and I know most of the cars around here." Bethany twisted a ring around her finger, a nervous tick. "It idled at the curb, engine grumbling. And then..." She paused, swallowed hard.

"Then what, Mrs. Meyers?" Rachel prompted, her voice gentle but insistent.

"Shouting," Bethany hissed, as if the word itself was distasteful. "Loud, violent—scared me half to death. I peeked through the blinds just in time to see this... this man, storming up to that nice couple’s place."

"Anything about the man? What he looked like?"

"Big," Bethany said. "Bulky jacket, even though it wasn't cold. Hat pulled down low. But it was the truck that stuck with me."

Rachel's pulse quickened. A vehicle nobody recognized, a heated confrontation—it fit. It was a lead. "The plate, did you happen to get a look at the license plate?"

Bethany nodded, her gaze snapping into focus. "Yes. I have a thing for numbers. They stick up here." She tapped her temple.

"Can you remember it now?" Rachel asked, the urgency in her voice barely contained.

Bethany rattled it off without hesitation.

Rachel repeated, etching it into her memory. Her heart thrummed with progress. This was good—no, this was gold.

"Thank you, Bethany. That's incredibly helpful," Rachel said, her gratitude genuine.

Bethany's eyes flickered with a semblance of pride. "I gave them the plate number that same day. To the security team." Her voice cracked, the veil of composure slipping. "They patted my head, told me they'd handle it. Like I was some hysterical child seeing bogeymen."

Rachel watched the frustration play across Bethany's face, the dismissive treatment she'd endured igniting a flinty anger in the ranger's own belly. The security team had overlooked a crucial piece of evidence, and Rachel's disdain for their negligence bled through her otherwise impassive facade.

"Seems they were more interested in quieting me down than following up." Bethany's hands clenched into fists, the memory of being brushed off still raw.

"Your vigilance is what matters now," Rachel said, her tone sharpening with a resolve that mirrored the steel in her spine. "You've given us something actionable. That number could lead us straight to him."

Gratitude mingled with urgency in Rachel's voice as she leaned closer, bridging the gap that suspicion and protocol had set between them. "Bethany, you may have just cracked this case wide open."

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