The Beaufort Police Department is exactly as you'd expect it to be: small-town. Cold and uninviting, it's stereotypically patriarchal, almost like a gentlemen's club where a woman is not welcomed. Of course, the problem with a small-town police department like this is that they don't have the resources to deal with a case like Ivy Carmichael's. As much as they'll be loathed to admit it, they need me here just as much as I need to be here. 

I follow Detective Tommy Redmond through the station, navigating the misplaced desks until we finally arrive at an office in the far corner. Tommy's rank and name are etched into the plaque. The room is bigger than I thought it would be, possibly in thanks to the fact that Tommy's desk is pushed up against a wall. The walls are grey, not by choice but by age, and there are few, if any, personal effects on display. A circular table takes up much of the open space in the office along with three matching chairs, papers scattered on every surface available. 

Tommy shrugs out of his coat and throws it over the back of the chair next to his desk, sighing as he notices the rain drips onto his carpeted floor. He ignores this little detail as he turns to me and points over my shoulder.

"I promised you an office, didn't I?" He asks. From the way he pushes me aside and makes his way into the vacant office next to his, I don't believe he neither wants nor needs me to answer. In keeping with the rest of the building, the office that I inherit is dank and dingy, with a flickering light unable to decide if it wants to work or not. Reaching up, Tommy punches the light casing, a trick that ends will the room bathing in a harsh glow. "It's not much but you have everything that you're going to need. Desk, chair, computer. Sorry about the cot in the corner of the room, the guys tend to use it for some shut-eye when they're on duty. Do you need me to show you where the amenities are or can you remember?"

My eyebrow steeply arches. "Remember?"

"Please, don't act as if you've never been in here before," Tommy says, an amused tone to his words. "As I recall, you weren't always a good girl, Darby Charleston. Right, if you don't need me to give you the full tour, shall we gather the troops and update them? We don't exactly have time to lose. Plus, someone has to speak to the Carmichael family. It's not easy telling a parent that their kid is missing, abducted. Do you want to- or shall I?"

Since this was Tommy's investigation and I was only here to assist, I passed on the offer of letting Ivy's parents know of her kidnapping. From what Tommy said, the brother, Zeke Carmichael, was in no fit state to speak to his parents. It didn't bode well for us, either, if he was inconsolable. While I left Tommy in his office, phone held to his ear, I wander through the station, pausing when I see Zeke Carmichael sitting in one of the witness rooms. 

I was doubtful of his story, as I said to Tommy before. There was no way that this kid was in the house when Ivy was taken, not with all that destruction downstairs. He was clearly lying to us but I'd yet to work out his motives for doing so. Either he was complicit in her disappearance or he's withholding the truth to cover his own back. Part of me wanted to believe that Zeke was involved somehow but from the way he looked like a lost little puppy, eyes filled to the brim with tears, I knew that he wasn't. Reading people is part of my job and if working hundreds of similar cases to this taught me anything, it's that whoever did this, they'd done it before, meaning they were older, far older than this nineteen-year-old kid in front of me. 

"Darby, are you ready to brief everyone?" 

I let Tommy do the talking. Not only would the officers on the case be more inclined to listen to him, he was the better public speaker, his words filled with authority when he announced that we have very little time to find Ivy's abductor. For every minute we are wasting in this station, Ivy Carmichael is a second closer to never being found. The comment hung in the stale air. Then there was noise, movement, men leaping into action to make sure that the good reputation of this town wasn't damaged any further. They can't be seen to be repeating past mistakes, Tommy had all but said. 

"You wanted to interview the brother," Tommy comments. He charged ahead of me, bursting into the witness room and dropping into the chair opposite Zeke Carmichael, getting straight down to business. "So, son, want to tell me why you lied about being at home last night?"

Zeke snapped his head up and met Tommy's gaze before he shifted awkwardly and looked in my direction. "Who is she?"

"Don't deflect," I warn him. "Deflection is not going to help us find your sister, not now, not ever. Plus, it makes you look guilty. You don't need to know who I am, I'm unimportant. I know you weren't home at the time your sister was taken but what I don't know is why you said you were. Answer Detective Redmond's question, Zeke."

"Our parents are out of town," he announced, not that it was new information. "I came home from college to make sure that Ivy was okay. She's sixteen. Mom and Dad don't think she's old enough to be home alone, especially since she got a boyfriend. But a few of my high school buddies were having a party and with Ivy being at the school dance, I left the house. I drank way too much and my friend wouldn't let me drive myself home. So I stayed the night. Then when I got back home this morning, I walked in to-"

His face contorts as he remembers what he'd seen when he walked through his front door. Rug crumpled. Pot plants overturned. Broken glass. Blood on the floor. Patio door wide open. Sister nowhere in sight. 

"Who is the boyfriend?" I ask, folding my arms over my chest. I noticed Tommy frown and turn to me, forehead wrinkled in confusion. Zeke, too, didn't seem to be following. "You said that your parents didn't trust Ivy to be home alone because she had a boyfriend. We'll need to bring him in for questioning. Name, please?"

Zeke's shoulders sagged in defeat, his head bowing in shame. "I don't know his name. Ivy and I don't have a particularly close relationship. Ever since she found out she's adopted, she's been a nightmare. It's easier not to talk to her sometimes," he confesses, hands wringing nervously. After a moment, he frowns and says, "I think his dad owns that auto place out near Westfield. Something Danvers?"

A cold shiver ran down my spine at hearing that name. Tommy felt the same, too, I could tell. We cut the interview short, asking one of the officers to sit in with Zeke Carmichael until the parents got back into town in a few hours. A feeling of sickness churned my stomach as I followed Tommy back to his office, the door slamming behind me. The cheap blinds rattled. In the far corner of the room, a whiteboard caught my attention. In three long strides, I grabbed the nearest marker pen and scrawled the name that was swimming in my mind onto the board. 

Kyle Danvers. 

He was older than me. About thirty-eight. Closer to Tommy's age. Back in the day, he was the local bad-boy, the son of a career criminal and an addict mom that made her money selling herself on street corners. It was a side of Beaufort many people refused to acknowledge but Kyle had grown up on the rough end of town, giving him the stigma of being the number one suspect in many crimes throughout his teenage years. Only a few believed that he was a good kid, my older sister, Carina, had been one of them. I always believed that her faith in him was misplaced. 

Given his age, I was sure that Kyle wasn't Ivy's boyfriend. A son, perhaps? Maybe the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. 

"What's his story nowadays?" I ask, pointing to the name on the board. 

"Long story short, he's married to Kelsee Flint, daughter of Beaufort's beloved former Mayor," Tommy began, pulling a face at the mention of both Kelsee and her father, Stetson Flint. "He opened up Danvers Auto Shop about a year or two after they married, around the time that they had their kid, Brady Danvers. He's about sixteen now. I'd stake my house on him being Ivy's boyfriend. But Kyle hasn't been in any trouble for almost twenty years, Darby. It won't look good if we go after Stet's son-in-law or his grandson, come to think of it. The public won't forgive us if we drag the former Mayor into this investigation."

I scoff. "I don't care about any of that, Tommy. The only thing we should be focusing on is finding Ivy. She's the only person who matters, to hell with everyone else. Including Mayor- sorry, former Mayor Flint. Can we get someone to bring in Kyle Danvers? And his kid."

Back in the day, Stetson Flint was a man you did not want to cross. Whenever there was a bad bit of press for Beaufort, he'd conjure up a good-news story to repair the reputation of his beloved town. He is, and will always be, one of the most sickly people I've ever had the misfortune of meeting. I'm not overexaggerating when I say that the townsfolk have mastered the ability to be seen as sweet and innocent, despite the murky underbelly that's threateningly close to spilling over. Stetson Flint is as dirty as they come. I know it. I can feel it. 

He will hate the fact that his family is being dragged into the investigation, even more so when he realizes that they'll be questioned as possible suspects in Ivy's disappearance. If I know him as well as I think I do, he'll be storming through the doors within minutes of the news reaching him, throwing his weight around, making demands, and uttering the phrase, 'I'm the Mayor, for crying out loud' at least six, maybe seven, times in under ninety seconds. Should that happen- and I'd stake my house on it happening- I'll have the greatest pleasure in adding the word 'former' to the phrase. Former Mayor. 

"Darby, it's the middle of the night," Tommy whines, rubbing his stubble irritably. "Surely this can wait until the morning?"

"No, Tommy, it can't," I argue. I pick up the photo of Ivy that I've been carrying around since leaving the Carmichael's house and wave it under Tommy's nose. "This girl is missing. She was taken. We don't know who did it, we don't know why they did it, and we sure as hell don't know where she is right now! So, no, Tommy, it cannot wait. Whoever did this, they've done it before. They'll do it again. You're damn right I'm going to catch them and it all starts with bringing Kyle and Brady God-damn Danvers in."

With a heavy groan, Tommy leaves the room, his voice shouting for an Officer Grant. While he's making arrangements, I take the photo of Ivy Carmichael and place it on the board, her blue eyes drawing me in. There was something painfully familiar about them, almost as if I've seen them somewhere else before. It unnerved me. 

"Where do I know you from, Ivy?" I ask the photo. "Who are you?"

No sooner have the words slipped from my lips, my mind whirls with another piece of information that Zeke had given us. I leave Tommy's office and rush around, looking for him, finding him in the nook that is the kitchen. He's on the phone, his words hushed until he sees me watching him. 

"I have to go," he mutters, then hangs up the call. "Yes, Darby?"

"She's adopted," I comment, my hands talking as much as I am. "Her brother said so earlier. What if her birth parents are the ones who did this? We need someone to open up the adoption records for Ivy Carmichael. Tonight. Now."