"You can keep your small talk. Give me deep conversations. I like riding trains of thought to unknown destinations." –John Mark Green
The door creaked loudly, the groan of its ancient hinges echoing through the vast, hollow house as Quinn pulled it open. She hesitated for a moment, her fingers still gripping the cold brass knob, her breath caught in her throat. The flickering candlelight from the living room behind her cast a dim glow onto the porch, illuminating the scene beyond the threshold.
The door creaked loudly, its hinges groaning as Quinn pulled it open. Her fingers remained curled around the brass knob, the weight of the house pressing heavily on her shoulders as she took in the sight before her. Standing on the porch was a man in a neatly pressed shirt, black slacks that seemed a size or two too small, and a plain red tie, exuding a polished, professional demeanor. He looked to be in his early 40s, his dark hair neatly combed back, his face clean-shaven. Despite his practiced smile and polite stance, there was something slightly off about the way he held himself—like he was walking a fine line between charm and control.
Quinn's posture relaxed marginally, though her mind raced as she took in the sight before her. Behind the man, a small group of young adults loitered on the porch steps, their figures silhouetted against the fading twilight. They were a stark contrast to the man's polished appearance—scruffy, tattooed, pierced, intimidating, and entirely out of place.
"Miss Quinn Beverly?" The man asked, his voice smooth and pleasant yet carrying a faint undertone of authority. He extended a hand, but Quinn didn't move to shake it. Her eyes flicked to the group of young adults gathered behind him, and her unease grew. The man seemed unfazed by their attitudes, his focus entirely on Quinn. "I hope we're not intruding," he added smoothly, his tone as polished as his appearance.
Quinn hesitated, her green eyes flicking from the man's outstretched hand to the group behind him, then back to his face. "No...You're not," she said cautiously, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "Can I help you?"
The man at the door cleared his throat, pulling her attention back to him. "Miss Beverly, I'm Lucas Davens, the mayor's assistant," he introduced himself, his smile widening just enough to seem practiced. "I've been sent to formally welcome you to Riverford on behalf of Mayor Filton and to offer any assistance you might need while you settle in."
"Oh. It's nice to meet you," Quinn nodded hesitantly. Her grip on the doorknob tightened as her eyes flicked back to the group. "And them?" she asked, her tone wary.
Lucas gestured toward the young adults behind him. "These are local volunteers. They've been assigned to assist you with the move—unpacking, cleaning, minor repairs. They'll be available throughout the week to help with anything you need."
The girl to the left snorted, the sound sharp in the quiet night. "Volunteers, huh?" she muttered, her tone dripping with sarcasm. The pacing young man smirked, but neither Lucas nor Quinn acknowledged it.
Before Quinn could respond, she heard the familiar sound of Laura's footsteps behind her. "Who is it?" Laura called, her voice light but cautious as she appeared in the doorway. Her blue eyes immediately took in the scene, lingering on Lucas before darting to the group behind him.
Lucas's smile didn't waver. "Ms. Haulsen, I presume?" he said, extending his hand toward Laura.
"Call me Laura," she replied evenly, shaking hands briefly. "How can I help you?"
"I'm Lucas Davens, representing Mayor Filton," he explained again. "We wanted to ensure you felt supported during this transition. These volunteers are here to help with anything you might need."
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Innocent Until Found Dead
Mystery / ThrillerEighteen-year-old Quinn Beverly's life unravels the day her parents are found dead under suspicious circumstances, their bodies pulled from the icy waters of Lake Santeetlah. When the coroner's report raises disturbing questions-suggesting both murd...