Grim Harvest: Chase Adams Season Two (A Chase Adams FBI Thriller Book 16) by Patrick Logan

Author:Patrick Logan [Logan, Patrick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pathological Ink
Published: 2024-10-30T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Chase wanted to get out of the car to talk to the sheriff or one of the deputies, or, at the very least, get close enough to listen, but knew that she’d only be sandbagged.

Or worse.

She didn’t have to, though.

There were dozens of people taking videos. Within ten minutes, they’d all be uploaded online.

Chase was tempted to call Linus back but didn’t want to overload the man.

There was, however, someone else who would be perfect for this job.

Chase called Georgina.

“Hey, Aunt Chase, how’s it going in the boonies?”

“Oh, just great. Lovely weather. Listen, I was wondering if you could do me a favor?”

“Sure. What do you need?”

“You know your podcaster friend?”

“Raven.”

“Yeah, Raven. I’m thinking she should do a special episode on Maple Hollow.”

Chase heard Georgina take a deep breath.

“That bad, huh?”

“That bad. There should be dozens…” Chase looked out the window. Sheriff Thomas was roughly shoving the perp into the back of a car. He wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t not smiling, either. “Make that hundreds of videos online about this place. Just tell her that if she finds anything to let me know first before she does her podcast. Anything about the sheriff or the town.”

Chase figured that with Raven’s experience in podcasting—her niece had gushed about how popular her friend’s show had become—she’d know what to look for.

“Okay. Be safe, Chase.”

“I will. Thanks, Georgina.”

The scene outside grew even more ridiculous. Before getting behind the wheel, the not-unsmiling sheriff waved to the onlookers.

Waved.

Like he was some sort of hero honoring his guests.

“What an asshole,” Tate muttered. Then to Chase, “What do you want to do?”

Chase wasn’t sure. They were stuck in a sort of stasis until they figured out what the hell was going on in Maple Hollow.

They couldn’t just wait around, though.

The sheriff may have arrested a new scapegoat, but they had no idea if Gill had been found.

Or if he was alive.

Hell, they didn’t even know if the rest of Archie Beaumont had been discovered.

“Chase?”

“Give me a second.”

Chase scanned the crowd, not really sure what she was looking for. She let her instincts take over, thought about her voodoo.

Should she have touched Archie’s remains?

The thought revolted her.

Should she have touched Brenda Focci? Angus or Amy Peterson?

She felt useless.

She felt guilty.

“There,” she said, extending a finger. Tate followed where she was pointing with his eyes.

“Where?”

“There.” Standing away from the tourists was Ella Sacker. Her eyes were still red, her cheeks raw.

Tate turned the wheel—chunk, chunk, chunk—and made a wide berth around the barricades blocking cars from entering the main drag.

He opened the window, gestured for the few stragglers trying to catch the best-angled shot of the sheriff to move out of the way. Tate was avoiding sending them scattering by honking his horn, not wanting to draw the sheriff or his deputies’ attention.

It was slow going and before they even got close to Ella Sacker, the woman turned and started to walk away.

“Stop the car,” Chase said.

“What?”

“Stop the car, Tate.”

He did and Chase hopped out. She ran up to Ella, startling the woman.

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