Page 37 of Unlocking Melodies

“No,” I agreed. “But it's tabled. For now.”

I heard Reuben slam the door and Mia's voice was dry when she took over the call. “Well, that'll keep him scrambling for a few days. But he's not wrong about needing you back eventually.”

“I know.” I ran a hand through my hair. “Keep me posted on his movements.”

“On it. And Ethan? Whatever's keeping you there... I hope it's worth it.”

“Impressive,” Officer Dawn said dryly. “Very shark-like. But it doesn't explain why you left all that to come here.” Her pointedlook at my wall of sticky notes suggested she had theories. Many theories.

“Sometimes priorities change.”

“Mmm.” She stood, straightening her uniform. “Well, this has been enlightening. Oh, and Sheriff Thompson would like to meet with you. Today.” Her casual tone didn't match the weight of her next words. “He's very interested in anyone connected to Jimmy's past right now.”

The sheriff's office felt worlds away from my corporate boardroom. No floor-to-ceiling windows or ergonomic chairs here - just well-worn furniture and the kind of coffee maker that probably predated my first merger.

Sheriff Jake Thompson's office felt like stepping into another world. No mahogany desks or leather chairs here - just well-worn furniture and a coffee mug declaring 'World's Okayest Sheriff' that somehow made him more intimidating than any corporate power player.

“Thanks for coming in,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. “Coffee?”

“Please.” The normalcy of the offer was almost surreal.

“Liam mentioned he's the one who contacted you about Jimmy,” Thompson said, pouring from what looked like the world's oldest coffee maker. “Said you two have history.”

“We do.” I accepted the cup, appreciating the straightforward approach. “Rosewood Academy in New York. We were... close.”

“And now you're here to help?” It wasn't quite a question, but it wasn't an accusation either.

“As much as I can be.” I met his eyes. “Even if he doesn't remember me.”

Thompson nodded thoughtfully. “Must be difficult, seeing him like this.”

The understanding in his voice caught me off guard. This wasn't the interrogation I'd expected. “More than I can explain.”

“I saw the news article.”

“Did you?” His eyes met mine. “The story only ran in local papers. Not the kind of thing that usually crosses a CEO's desk.”

I'd walked into that one. “I have alerts set up.”

“For small-town news about music managers?”

“For Jimmy.”

He leaned back, studying me with the kind of attention that had probably cracked tougher cases than a love-struck billionaire. “Tell me about Rosewood.”

What followed felt like the most intense merger negotiation of my life - except instead of stock options and market shares, we were dealing in memories and motives.

“You were close,” he said, after I'd explained about everything from all those years ago.

“Yes.”

“Then you left. No warning, just a letter.”

“How did you-“

“Small towns talk, Mr. Cole. And Jimmy needed someone to talk to when he got here.” He tapped his mug thoughtfully. “What I can't figure out is why now? After eight years of silence, why show up when he can't even remember you?”

“Because he's hurt. Because someone attacked him and I-“ I stopped, the words sticking.

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