Deadly Secrets

Jake pulled his beat-up Ford Taurus into Millbrook, the engine sputtering as he parked on Main Street. He got out and stretched, his back cracking after the long drive.

He looked around, taking in the quaint storefronts with faded awnings and American flags hanging limply in the still summer air. An old man sitting on a bench outside the general store eyed Jake suspiciously.

"You lost, son?" the old timer called out.

Jake shook his head. "Nope. Just got into town. Looking for a place to stay."

The old man jerked his thumb down the street. "Try Ma Perkins' boarding house. Big white Victorian on the corner. Can't miss it."

Jake nodded his thanks, grabbed his duffle bag out of the car, and started walking. He could feel the old man's eyes boring into his back. Clearly outsiders weren't common in Millbrook.

The boarding house was easy to spot, its white paint gleaming in the sun. Jake climbed the porch steps and rang the bell. A plump, gray-haired woman answered, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Can I help you?" she asked, looking Jake up and down.

"I'm hoping to rent a room," Jake said. "I hear you're the person to talk to."

The woman - Ma Perkins, he assumed - pursed her lips. "How long you planning to stay?"

Jake shrugged. "Not sure yet. A few weeks at least."

Ma Perkins considered this for a moment, then nodded. "Alright then. Come on in. I've got a room free upstairs."

She led Jake inside and up a narrow staircase. The room was small but clean, with a twin bed and a dresser.

"Bathroom's down the hall," Ma Perkins said. "Breakfast is at 7, dinner at 6. No smoking inside. $200 a week, cash only."

Jake nodded. "Sounds good. Thanks, Mrs. Perkins."

"Everyone just calls me Ma," she said. "What brings you to Millbrook, Mr...?"

"Hawkins," Jake supplied. "Jake Hawkins. Just passing through, looking for work."

Ma Perkins nodded, but Jake could see the doubt in her eyes. He wasn't surprised. Millbrook didn't seem like the kind of place people just "passed through."

After Ma left, Jake unpacked his meager belongings, sat on the bed, and pulled out a file folder. He picked up a worn newspaper clipping and studied it for the hundredth time. The headline read "Local Girl Still Missing After 3 Months." Below was a picture of a pretty blonde teenager. Emily Prescott.

Jake Hawkins hadn’t always been a private investigator. He’d spent ten years on the Boston police force before striking out on his own.

He picked up the handwritten letter that had brought him to Millbrook:

Dear Mr. Hawkins,

I’m writing to you about my daughter, Emily Prescott. She disappeared from Millbrook three months ago. The local police claim she ran away, but I know my daughter. She would never leave without a word.

I’ve been divorced from Emily’s father, Richard Prescott, for eight years. I live in New York City now and feel helpless being so far away. Richard won’t tell me anything, and the few friends I have left in Millbrook say everyone’s afraid to talk.

Please, Mr. Hawkins. I need someone on the ground in Millbrook who isn’t afraid of the Prescott family’s influence. I’ve enclosed a check for your retainer and will cover all expenses. Find out what happened to my Emily.

Sincerely,

Catherine Prescott

Jake reread the letter, sensing the desperation in every word. Catherine Prescott was right to be suspicious. His preliminary research had turned up too many inconsistencies in the official story.

He pulled out his notebook, reviewing the facts he’d gathered so far. The Prescotts were the most powerful family in Millbrook, practically owning the town. Richard Prescott had remarried a year after his divorce from Catherine. Emily had lived with her father and stepmother, visiting her mother in New York during school breaks.

Jake’s instincts told him there was much more to this story. Someone in Millbrook knew what had happened to Emily Prescott, and Jake was determined to find out.

The next morning, Jake headed to the local diner for breakfast. A bell jingled as he entered. The handful of patrons all turned to stare at him. Jake ignored them and took a seat at the counter.

A waitress with bottle-red hair and too much eye makeup sauntered over. Her name tag read "Darlene."

"What can I get you, honey?" she drawled.

"Coffee and the breakfast special," Jake said.

As Darlene poured his coffee, Jake casually asked, "So what's there to do around here for fun?"

Darlene snorted. "Honey, you're in the wrong town if you're looking for fun. Most exciting thing that happens here is bingo night at the church."

Jake grinned. "Come on, there's gotta be more than that. Any local hangouts?"

A guarded look came into Darlene's eyes. "Why?"

Jake shrugged. "Just curious. I'm new in town, trying to get the lay of the land."

Darlene's voice lowered. "Word of advice, honey. Mind your own business in this town.”

Before Jake could respond, the bell over the door jingled. A tall man in an expensive suit walked in. The other patrons straightened up, suddenly alert.

"Morning, Mr. Prescott," Darlene called out. "The usual?"

The man - Prescott - nodded curtly and took a seat at the end of the counter. Jake studied him out of the corner of his eye. So this was Emily's father. Jake could see the family resemblance - the same blonde hair and blue eyes as the girl in the photo.

Prescott must have felt Jake's gaze. He turned and fixed Jake with a cold stare.

"I don't believe we've met," Prescott said. His tone made it clear this wasn't a friendly overture.

Jake stood and walked over, extending his hand. "Jake Hawkins. Just got to town yesterday."

Prescott ignored Jake's outstretched hand. "What brings you to Millbrook, Mr. Hawkins?"

"Looking for work," Jake said smoothly. "Hear you're the man to talk to about that. You own the lumber mill, right?"

Prescott's eyes narrowed. "That's right. But we're not hiring at the moment."

Jake nodded, unfazed. "Well, if you hear of anything, let me know. I'm staying at Ma Perkins' place."

Prescott stood abruptly. "Darlene, I'll take my coffee to go."

He strode out without a backward glance. Jake returned to his seat, noting the way the other patrons relaxed once Prescott was gone.

"Friendly guy," Jake muttered.

Darlene set his plate in front of him with a clatter. "I told you to mind your own business," she hissed. "Trust me, you don't want to get mixed up with the Prescotts."

Jake dug into his eggs. "Why's that?"

Darlene glanced around nervously. "Let's just say they run this town. And they don't like outsiders poking around."

Jake smiled. "Good thing I'm not poking around then."

But Darlene wasn't fooled. She leaned in close. "I mean it, honey. For your own good, stay away from the Prescotts. Especially after what happened to their daughter."

Jake's fork paused halfway to his mouth. "Their daughter?"

But Darlene had already turned away to help another customer. Jake finished his breakfast slowly, his mind racing. Clearly, Emily Prescott's disappearance was still a touchy subject. And her family seemed to have an iron grip on the town. Jake was more convinced than ever that he was on the right track.

Over the next few days, Jake did his best to ingratiate himself with the locals. He helped Ma Perkins fix a leaky pipe, and even bought rounds at the one dingy bar in town. But every time he tried to bring up Emily Prescott or her family, people clammed up.

It wasn't until his fifth night in town that Jake got his first real lead. He was nursing a beer at the bar when a drunk stumbled up next to him.

"You're the new guy, right?" the drunk slurred. "Jake something?"

Jake nodded warily. "That's right. And you are?"

"Tommy. Tommy Fletcher." The man swayed on his feet. "Used to work for Prescott at the mill. Till he fired me last month."

Jake's interest was piqued. "Why'd he fire you?"

Tommy's bleary eyes darted around. "Saw something I wasn't supposed to," he mumbled.

Jake leaned in. "What did you see, Tommy?"

But Tommy's face had gone pale. He stumbled back, nearly falling. "Forget it," he said. "Forget I said anything. I like breathing."

He lurched away, leaving Jake frustrated. He was about to follow when a hand clamped down on his shoulder. Jake turned to find himself face-to-face with the town sheriff.

"Mr. Hawkins," the sheriff said. "I think it's time we had a chat."

The sheriff - a burly man named Gaines - led Jake to a booth in the corner.

"You've been asking a lot of questions around town," Gaines said. "Making some folks nervous."

Jake shrugged. "Just trying to get to know the place. Is that a crime?"

Gaines' eyes hardened. "Cut the crap, Hawkins. I know you're not here looking for work. So why don't you tell me what you're really after?"

Jake considered his options. Maybe it was time to lay some cards on the table.

"Alright," he said. "I'm looking into the disappearance of Emily Prescott."

Gaines' face went carefully blank. "That case is closed. Emily ran away. End of story."

Jake leaned forward. "Come on, Sheriff. We both know that's not true. A 16-year-old girl doesn't just vanish without a trace. Something happened to her. And I think you know more than you're saying."

Gaines stood abruptly. "I'm going to say this once, Hawkins. Drop it. For your own good. This isn't the kind of town where you want to go digging up trouble."

The next day, Jake decided to take a more direct approach. He drove out to the Prescott estate on the edge of town. The place was massive - a sprawling mansion set back from the road, surrounded by manicured lawns.

Jake pulled up to the gate and pressed the intercom button. A crackly voice answered.

"Yes?"

"Jake Hawkins to see Mr. Prescott," Jake said confidently.

There was a long pause. Then the gate swung open with a creak.

Jake drove up the long driveway, gravel crunching under his tires. He parked in front of the house and got out, straightening his jacket.

The front door opened before he could knock. A severe-looking woman with graying hair pulled back in a tight bun stood there.

"Mr. Prescott will see you in his study," she said. "This way."

She led Jake through a cavernous foyer and down a hallway lined with oil paintings. They stopped at a heavy wooden door. The woman knocked once, then opened it.

"Mr. Hawkins to see you, sir," she announced.

Jake stepped into the study. Prescott was seated behind an enormous desk, looking as polished and cold as he had in the diner.

"Mr. Hawkins," Prescott said. "To what do I owe this... pleasure?"

Jake took a seat across from him without waiting to be invited. "I'll get right to the point, Mr. Prescott. I'm here about your daughter."

Prescott's face hardened. "My daughter ran away. The case is closed. I suggest you leave it that way."

Jake leaned forward. "With all due respect, sir, I don't believe that. And I don't think you do either."

Prescott's hands clenched on the desk. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Then enlighten me," Jake pressed. "What really happened to Emily?"

Prescott stood, his face flushed with anger. "Get out of my house. Now. Before I have you thrown out."

Jake stood as well, holding up his hands. "Alright, I'm going. But this isn't over, Mr. Prescott. I'm going to find out the truth about what happened to your daughter."

As Jake turned to leave, Prescott called out, "You're playing a dangerous game, Mr. Hawkins. I strongly suggest you leave town. Today. While you still can."

Jake paused at the door and looked back. "Is that a threat?"

Prescott's smile was cold. "Consider it friendly advice."

As Jake drove back into town, he noticed a black SUV following him. It stayed a few car lengths back, but Jake knew he was being tailed.

He pulled into the parking lot of the local grocery store and got out. The SUV cruised by slowly. Jake caught a glimpse of the driver - one of Sheriff Gaines' deputies.

Great. Now he had the local cops watching his every move. Jake knew he had to be careful. But he wasn't about to give up. He was too close to the truth.

A sliver of moonlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting Jake’s room in a pale glow. He lay awake, his mind racing over the day’s events, when a faint shadow passed across the strip of light beneath his door.

Jake froze, every muscle tensing. His eyes fixed on that narrow gap, waiting.

There it was again - a shadow, slower this time. A floorboard creaked softly in the hallway.

Silently, Jake eased himself out of bed and crept toward the door, his bare feet making no sound on the worn carpet. Another creak, closer now.

His hand hovered near the doorknob, ready to yank it open. But before he could move, a thin piece of paper slid under the door with a soft rustle.

The shadow paused, then retreated. Jake waited, listening intently as the footsteps faded down the hallway.

Only when he was sure the corridor was empty did he bend to retrieve the note.

It was a hastily scrawled note:

"Miller's Pond. Midnight. Come alone if you want the truth."

Jake's pulse quickened. This could be the break he'd been waiting for. Or it could be a trap.

After a moment's hesitation, Jake got dressed. He had to risk it. This might be his only chance to find out what really happened to Emily Prescott.

Jake slipped out of the boarding house and into the night. The streets of Millbrook were deserted. Jake kept to the shadows, watching for any sign of Gaines' men.

Miller's Pond was on the outskirts of town, a popular hangout spot for local teens. As Jake approached, he saw a lone figure standing by the water's edge.

As he drew closer, the figure turned, and Jake recognized her in the moonlight. It was Darlene, the waitress from the diner.

"You came," she said, her voice trembling slightly.

Jake nodded. "I'm here. Now tell me what you know about Emily Prescott."

Darlene glanced around nervously. "You have to understand, nobody in town dares to talk about this. The Prescotts... they're powerful. Dangerous."

"I can handle myself," Jake assured her. "Just tell me the truth."

Darlene took a deep breath. "Emily didn't run away. She was murdered. And Prescott covered it up."

Jake's heart raced. "How do you know this?"

"Because I saw it happen," Darlene whispered. "I was here that night. Emily was meeting Bobby Simpson. They'd been secretly dating. Mr. Prescott found out and he was furious. He showed up and started yelling. Then he just... lost it. He pushed Emily and she fell. Hit her head on a rock. She didn't get up."

Jake's mind reeled. "And then what happened?"

"Sheriff Gaines showed up," Darlene continued. "He and Mr. Prescott talked for a long time. Then they wrapped up Emily's body and took it away. The next day, they announced she'd run away."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Jake demanded.

Darlene's eyes filled with tears. "I was scared. The Prescotts run this town. They made it clear what would happen to anyone who talked. But I can't live with the guilt anymore. Emily deserves justice."

Jake put a hand on her shoulder. "You did the right thing, Darlene.”

Suddenly, floodlights blazed to life around the pond. Jake squinted against the glare. Sheriff Gaines stepped out of the shadows, flanked by his deputies.

"Well, well," Gaines drawled. "What do we have here?"

Jake pushed Darlene behind him protectively. "It's over, Sheriff. I know the truth about Emily Prescott. And I've got it all on tape." He patted his jacket pocket meaningfully.

Gaines' eyes narrowed. "Hand over the tape, Hawkins. Now."

Jake shook his head. "No can do. But I'll make you a deal. Let us go, and this doesn't have to go any further. Try to stop us, and tomorrow morning every news outlet in the state gets the whole story."

For a long moment, nobody moved. Jake could see Gaines weighing his options.

Finally, the sheriff stepped aside. "Get out of here, Hawkins. And don't come back."

Jake nodded and took Darlene's arm, guiding her away from the pond. They walked briskly through the dark streets, heading back to Ma Perkins' boarding house where Jake's car was parked. As they hurried along, Jake glanced over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of Gaines talking urgently into his radio - no doubt calling Prescott.

“What do we do now?" Darlene asked, her voice shaky.

"Now we go to the state police," Jake said grimly. "It's time the truth came out."

Two weeks later, Jake stood in front of the Millbrook courthouse, watching as Richard Prescott was led into court in handcuffs. A crowd had gathered, murmuring in shock and disbelief.

As Prescott was led up the steps, he locked eyes with Jake. His face was a mask of hatred and defeat.

Darlene appeared at Jake's side. "I can't believe it's really over," she said.

Jake nodded. "Emily can rest in peace now."