quite wide and deep in some areas.
The gurgle of the water as it traveled was soothing to some—but Silas didn’t care for it.
Rushing water reminded him of Spencer’s murder.
Swearing mentally at his inability to stop his brain from throwing too many pieces from his childhood into his way, he realized without the report, he was wasting his time at the crime scene.
Maybe he’d already known that at a core level but he had to come to test himself.
He didn’t see the raw, lush beauty of Seminole Creek—he saw the place someone had dumped his brother’s body.
Oppenshaw had probably been right; his thought process was too cluttered with shit from the past to be of any use here.
But he wasn’t leaving.
Hell, he couldn’t if he tried.
The pull to remain was too strong.
Without another word, he left Quinn behind at the scene. It was getting dark, anyway. If she wanted to stumble around without any light that was her business.
He needed food, a shower and bed.
In that order.
Tomorrow he was attacking this case with his head on straight.
Quinn knew when the FBI agent, Silas Kelly, had left the scene, because she found herself releasing the breath that must’ve been pent up inside.
There was something about the austere man that troubled her.
He wasn’t friendly in the least.
But that wasn’t it.
Okay, so he was good-looking. Older than her by close to ten years, but he wore his age well.
His skin was clear, his eyes sharp.
If she was being honest, he probably could double as a model or something.
But that wasn’t what was pulling at her, either.
Quinn sensed something beyond the stoic face, the stern glance.
Pain.
The man was hiding something really painful, something that he preferred to keep private.
Which, of course, only pricked at her need to know more.
Her uncle Leo was always telling her that she was the cat that curiosity eventually killed.
A little morbid but probably true.
What could she say? She loved uncovering details that others would rather hide.
Such as...why was an FBI agent poking his nose into a local case that, on the surface, had absolutely no connection to anything with federal jurisdiction?
Time for a little fieldwork. Someone in town had to know more about Silas Kelly.
Seeing as the sheriff was being unaccountably mum on the subject of this recent murder, she’d just have to go to a different source.
The one man she knew who knew everything about Port Orion was right under her nose.
Uncle Leo.
Pocketing her pen and pad, she wandered a few more times up and down the bank, steering clear of the tape, and when she found nothing that stood out, she followed Silas’s lead and left the scene.
Just in time, too. Her nose felt ready to fall off.
Quinn popped into the diner to grab some soup—minestrone for her and chowder for Uncle Leo—and went home.
The best way to get her uncle to start talking was to ply him with his favorite foods.
Chowder was his weakness.
“I’m home,” she called out, carrying her bags of goodies. “And I’ve brought something yummy.”
Leo hollered from his office. “I’ll be right there. I can smell the chowder already!”
Quinn chuckled and found some bowls to ladle up their portions. She broke off some sourdough bread and liberally buttered it so by the time Uncle Leo appeared she had everything ready to go.
“You are an angel from heaven,” he said, sinking into the chair at the table, his eyes as round as the soup bowl. “How did you know that I was craving chowder?”
Quinn pretended to think then answered, “Because it’s a day that ends in Y.”
“Clever girl,” Leo quipped before dipping in, his expression of glee tickling her.
Uncle Leo was like a father to her but cool like an uncle. She liked to call him her funcle.
After a few bites, Leo leaned back and eyed Quinn with suspicion. “All right, out with it, missy...what’s on your mind? You always bring me chowder when you want something.”
“Not true,” she protested but she couldn’t help the smile because it was true. “Maybe I just love seeing you happy and I know chowder is the way to your heart.”
“Exactly,” he returned drily. “What do you need?”
Since there was no further point in denying it, Quinn said, “Okay, since you asked... I need information.”
“Is this on the record?” he said semi-seriously. “Because I don’t need to be quoted on nothing.”
“Off the record,” she assured him. “I just need to know some Port Orion history.”
Leo lost his seriousness. “Oh, then. That’s easy. What do you need to know?”
Quinn jumped right in. “So, there’s an FBI agent in town, seemingly interested in the murder of Rhia Daniels, and he says he’s from here but I don’t know him. I mean, he’s older than me, but I thought you might have some insight.”
“What’s the name?”
“Silas Kelly.”
At the mention of the name, Leo’s gaze shuttered and he shook his head. “Sad story there. Hard to believe he came back.”
“What do you mean?”
“What’s an FBI agent interested in the Daniels case for?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I was hoping I could find out by learning who he is to this town. Can you help me?”
“I don’t know much more than what was told in the papers,” Leo said, tearing off a chunk of bread to dunk in the chowder.
“Yeah,
