Page 156 of Trouble Comes in Threes

“Does anyone else know you’re back in town?”

I realized I hadn’t told Dermot I’d gone to my aunt and uncle’s house, but he likely knew from Jed. “No. I dropped the kids off at school and daycare and then came to work. I’m about to start trying to clean up this massive mess.”

“Are Jed and Neely Kate with you?”

“No, they had a doctor’s appointment.”

“You’re there alone? I don’t like it. I don’t have anyone available to go watch you. Can Joe spare a deputy?”

“I don’t know. Joe’s dealing with his own situation right now.” I paused. “He’s supposed to be at the arraignment for Sloan Derby and his right-hand man, but instead he’s investigating their deaths.”

He was silent for a moment. “Excuse me?”

“They were found dead in their cells this morning.”

“What the fuck happened to them?” he demanded.

He sure didn’t sound like he’d been responsible for their deaths. “I don’t know,” I fibbed. “Joe’s lookin’ into it now.”

“Now I really don’t like you bein’ alone,” he grunted. “Lock yourself inside the office, and call someone you know in the sheriff’s department.”

“I will.” I stuffed down my fear as I hung up, spun around, and locked the door. How had Clive Maxwell found out we had the box? Then again, we hadn’t been quiet about it. He would have just needed to hear it from the right—or wrong—people.

I quickly called Joe, but the call went to voicemail. “I’m at the office now, but I got word that Clive Maxwell was the father of the girl who probably buried that box. And he…he was convicted of murdering his daughter because she took something of his and buried it. I’ve locked myself in the office, but please come over when you hear this.” I paused. “I love you.”

I hung up and called Randy next, but his phone when to voicemail too. “Randy, I think I’m in trouble. The father of the girl who buried that box we’ve been looking for was convicted of murdering his daughter. I’ve locked myself in my office, but Joe’s investigatin’ two deaths at the county jail, and I’m here alone.” I paused. “If you get this, call me back. I’m hoping Joe will be over soon.”

I hung up and considered calling 911, but this wasn’t a true emergency. Clive Maxwell wasn’t here. I was safe.

I took a deep breath to settle my nerves. I wasn’t leaving this office for a while, so I might as well start cleaning.

I took a sip of my coffee, and then set my things down on the staircase leading to the roof. It was the only place that hadn’t been vandalized.

If Clive Maxwell had trashed our office looking for the box, then maybe he wouldn’t be back. And he hadn’t broken into the farmhouse because our alarm hadn’t gone off. Not to mention, he had no idea when we’d be back here. My nerves began to settle. I was perfectly safe, and I needed to focus on getting the office cleaned up.

I stood at the back of the room and took in the damage. From this angle, it looked worse than from the front. Grief hit me hard, catching me by surprise. I told myself it was just an office, and they were just things, but I’d put my heart and soul into building this place. A lot of the furniture, décor, and rugs had been thrifted, but all combined, they’d made a cozy haven that had filled my heart with joy.

“It’ll be like that again,” I said with a heavy-hearted sigh. I just needed to get started, but it was such an overwhelming mess. I wasn’t sure what to tackle first.

I decided to start with the papers. Once they were all cleaned up, I could determine what real damage had been caused.

We kept all our plans and invoices on our computers and in a cloud, but we often printed them out too. Maybe this was our sign to clean out the old paperwork.

I’d picked up several stacks and set them in a pile on the floor when a knock came from the front door. An older man with longer gray hair and a brown jacket stood there.

Was this Clive Maxwell?

I took a step back as I assessed the situation. I was standing behind a locked door, but it struck me that the front door had been locked when he’d broken in the first time. Funny how I hadn’t thought of that before now. I pulled my phone from my back pocket and started to call 911, but then I realized he could be some random man who wanted to talk about landscape design. The Henryetta Police Department would be the ones responding to the call, and they’d give me grief if this turned out to be nothing.

I pointed to the sign in the front door and shouted, “Sorry! We’re closed.” Although now that I thought about it, the mess was a sure sign we weren’t open for business.

I pulled up Joe’s number and called him, but it went straight to voicemail again. “Joe. When you get this message, I need you to come to my office ASAP. I think the man who killed Jeremiah might be at the front door.”

The man outside the door looked pissed when he saw the phone in my hand. He grabbed the door handle and began to shake it.

I was going to need help sooner than Joe was going to get here, so I sucked up my pride and dialed 911.

“911, what’s your emergency?” the dispatcher asked.

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