Page 4 of In the Dark of the Past

I dipped into a little curtsy. “Thank you kindly.”

She turned to the group at the booth, starting with the woman seated beside her.

“River, this is the cool-ass chick I told you about yesterday. Autumn, meet River.”

We exchanged smiles and a warm handshake. She was gorgeous, all angles and contradiction. Her shiny, chocolate-brown, asymmetrical bob framed the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. She was lean and strong in a distinctly feminine way and somehow made a punk-rock leather jacket and flowy maxi skirt with tortoiseshell glasses look like a full-on fashion movement.

“And this,” Libby continued, gesturing to the rest of the group, “is most of our crew. We’re missing a few, but this is Myra, Nivea, Andra, Rand, and Atlas. And you know Cade.”

She pointed toward the bar, where a handsome, bearded man caught my eye. Cade lifted a hand in a casual salute, then winked and smiled as he dried a glass.

“Hi, everyone,” I said, offering a general wave before sliding into the booth beside Autumn.

We all chatted and shared appetizers for a while, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed so much. They were all amazing. And fascinating.

Myra was a doctor and forensic scientist who worked at the county morgue. Nivea was the host of a wildly successful true-crime podcast called Dead Reckoning. Andra was a journalist with a gift for web sleuthing—she’d even helped the FBI on a few cases. Rand ran the local curiosities shop full of paranormal and true-crime memorabilia, and Atlas was a retired Boston detective-turned-private investigator who, in his own words, was “wicked smaht.” It was charming. He was charming. Honestly? They all were.

“So…” Libby said later, once the band had taken a break and we were all rehydrating and refueling. “There’s something I wanted to tell you about. I know you just got back to town and probably have a million and one things to do, but all of us here are part of a little club.” She gestured around the table.

“A club?” I raised a brow.

“We call ourselves the Murder of the Month Club,” Autumn said, a soft blush coloring her smooth, beige cheeks.

“Okay…” I drew out the word.

“Let me paint the picture,” Andra cut in, running a hand down one of her long, wavy blond pigtails. She wore a dress similar to mine and rocked hot-pink cowboy boots covered in rhinestones. She reminded me a little of Jessica Simpson as Daisy Duke.

“We’re all true-crime junkies,” she continued, and everyone around the table nodded enthusiastically—maybe a little too enthusiastically. I grinned.

“Most of us have known each other for years,” Libby said. “With some help from one of our other members at the sheriff’s department, and a little unofficial nod from the powers that be, we investigate local cold cases.”

“Wait. Like…actually investigate them?” I asked, trying to wrap my head around it all.

“Yeah,” Nivea said, brushing the pink streak of her pixie cut out of her eyes. “We get the files, assign roles, and each use our strengths to dig in. We’ve already helped solve two cases and got two more reopened.”

I blinked. That was…not what I’d expected. But also? I was kind of obsessed.

“That’s incredible,” I said, meaning it.

“We could really use a profiler,” Libby added. “So, how’d you like to join the crazy crew? I remember how much you and I loved digging into and talking about true-crime cases back in the day.”

I didn’t even have to think about it. I needed something to fill my time, something with meaning, and what better hobby than helping people finally get the answers they deserved? And I did love me some true crime.

“Hell, yeah. Count me in.”

We clinked glasses like a bunch of college kids.

“Well, look who’s back.”

The voice cut through the music, low and rough, like gravel under tires. My stomach dropped. Every head at the booth turned.

Finn Callahan stood at the edge of the table, sheriff’s badge glinting under the bar’s string lights. I took him in. Time hadn’t changed the way he carried himself. He still stood with his shoulders squared and his jaw tight, tension in every inch of his stupidly handsome face and hard body. His dark-blond hair was shorter than I remembered, more controlled now, but his features were the same. Sharp, handsome, and seemingly carved from granite. Only now, there were new lines at the corners of his eyes and bracketing his mouth. Harder ones. The kind life carved in after something broke. I knew those lines. I saw them every time I looked in the mirror.

“Finn,” I said, my voice ice despite the heat in my chest.

“River.” His gaze locked on mine, unreadable but heavy. “Heard you were back. Didn’t expect you’d dive into this crowd.”

Libby tensed beside me, and Autumn’s brow flicked up. Myra leaned forward, sizing him up.