Criminal puzzles In Texas

Chapter One

The coffee stain on the counter had long since dried, but Victoria Stewart kept scrubbing it with the edge of a paper towel anyway. Her motions were slow, distracted, like muscle memory filling in for thought. The kitchen around her was still — no simmering pots, no clatter of dishes. Only the low, mechanical hum of the refrigerator broke the silence, blending with the faint sounds of life drifting in from outside: a lawnmower, distant teenage laughter, a skateboard rolling down the sidewalk. Arizona sunshine poured in through the window, warm and golden, catching on the edge of the countertop like it didn't know everything was about to change.

She glanced at the envelope lying flat on the kitchen island — the one she'd opened, half-read, and folded shut again. The letterhead bore the official seal of San Antonio PD's Criminal Investigations Division. It looked harmless enough. Almost routine. But to her, it might as well have been a grenade.
She had built something here in Phoenix — something steady. A solid career as a forensic investigator, a house with charm and creaky floors, and, most importantly, stability for Samantha. Uprooting all of that for a new position in Texas felt like tearing through carefully woven fabric. Necessary, maybe. But painful.
From the hallway came the unmistakable rhythm of her daughter's sneakers — shuffle-thump, shuffle-thump — and Victoria steeled herself. The confrontation she'd been rehearsing all morning was about to become real.
"Sam?" she called out, voice controlled but soft.
No response. "Can you come here for a minute?"
Footsteps padded closer. Samantha appeared in the doorway, a vision of teenage disinterest — oversized hoodie slipping off one shoulder, wet hair pulled into a messy braid, earbuds still in but not playing. Her thumbs flew across the screen of her phone, texting without looking up.
"What?" she asked, flatly.
Victoria set the towel down and folded her arms over her chest. "Sit down. I need to talk to you."
Samantha's brow furrowed, just slightly, before she sank into one of the kitchen chairs with a dramatic sigh. "Okay, am I in trouble?"
"No. But this is important." She slid the envelope across the table. Samantha didn't pick it up, just stared at it like it might bite. "They've offered me a new role," Victoria said. "In San Antonio."
A beat passed. Then another. Samantha blinked. "Wait, what?"
"I've been transferred. It's not a demotion — actually, it's a step up. They're making me second-in-command of the unit down there. The current lead is heading to D.C."
"You're serious?"
Victoria nodded. "We'll need to move. Probably within the month."
Samantha stared at her in disbelief. "We're moving? To Texas?"
"It's not a decision I made lightly, Sam. But — "
"You didn't ask me!" Samantha's voice cracked, rising with each word. "You just decided! What about school? What about my friends? My swim meets?"
"I thought about all of that," Victoria said carefully, trying not to sound defensive. "And I'll make sure you're placed in a school with a pool. I already looked at two options."
"Did you look at their art program? Their design clubs? Do they even have sewing machines?"
Victoria flinched inwardly. "We'll figure it out. I promise."
"Unbelievable." Samantha stood suddenly, chair legs screeching on the tile. "Why is it always your job that wins?"
"That's not fair."
"Yes, it is." Her voice was raw, all the more cutting because it came from a place of truth. "It's always you working late, you solving crimes, you coming home with blood on your shoes. When do we ever just get to be normal?"
Victoria sighed, the words landing like punches. "I'm doing this for us. It's a better position, better pay, and a safer city. It's stability — "
"I don't want 'stability!'" Samantha shouted over her shoulder as she disappeared down the hallway. "I want to stay!"
Victoria followed her to the bedroom door but didn't go inside. "You'll still have your swimming, your sketchbooks — "
"What if I don't want any of that there?" came the muffled reply.
Victoria pressed her forehead gently against the wall. The old plaster was cool under her skin. "Then we'll make it your own. We'll start over — together."
Silence. Then, more quietly: "What if they don't have a design club? What if it's just some boring school with vending machines and security guards?"
"Then we'll build one from scratch," Victoria said. "And we'll get one of those vending machines that actually works."
It earned a sniff of reluctant laughter from behind the door.
She turned back to the kitchen and stared at the untouched cup of coffee. It was already cold. She reheated it in the microwave for the second time. When it beeped, she took a sip, grimaced, and drank it anyway.
"Mom?"
She turned to find Samantha back in the doorway, arms crossed but no longer furious.
"If I have to move…" she said slowly, "I get to pick my room. No arguing. Also, I want a dog."
Victoria raised an eyebrow. "A dog?"
"A big one. Not one of those yappy purse dogs. And it has to like water."
Victoria tried not to smile. "You're designing it in your head already, aren't you?"
Samantha shrugged. "Maybe."
"We'll see about the dog," Victoria said, trying to sound stern.
"Non-negotiable."
"But the room's yours," Victoria conceded. Samantha gave a little nod and disappeared again. Victoria leaned back against the counter, the sun now higher in the sky, casting long streaks of light across the kitchen floor. It wasn't a win, not really — but it was something. A small thread of connection. And she knew better than anyone how important it was to hold onto those threads before they disappeared.

San Antonio was waiting. So was the new team. So was Alan.
And sooner or later, the truth — all of it — would surface.