Page 60 of In Her Path

Meredith sighed. “You see the problem I’m having? Claire here was very talkative a few minutes ago. Very confessional. But now that we have an audience, she’s gone silent.” She gestured toward a small crate beside her, where a cell phone lay face-up, its screen showing 0:00:00 in bright red digits. “She was supposed to be dead by now. I’m running late.”

Jenna took a half-step forward. “Meredith, this doesn’t have to end this way. Whatever’s happened, whatever you’ve done—we can talk about it. But Claire needs to be released from that noose.”

Meredith’s expression didn’t change. “I don’t think so, Sheriff. Claire has something to say first. Don’t you, Claire?” Her foot nudged the stool slightly, not enough to topple it but enough to make her point.

Claire’s breath caught. Her eyes, fixed on Jenna’s, held a desperate plea.

“Tell them,” Meredith said, her voice hardening. “Tell them what you told me. About Bruce. About how you watched him walk out of that council meeting with his head down, and how you told yourself it wasn’t your problem.”

Jenna felt a faint recognition of the name, but she couldn’t quite place it.

Claire’s lips parted, but no sound came out. Her throat worked visibly as she swallowed.

“Tell them,” Meredith insisted, her foot applying more pressure to the stool. “Or I’ll finish this right now.”

The cellar fell silent. Jenna could hear her own pulse pounding in her ears, could feel the seconds stretching into eternity. She needed to say something, to buy time, but the words stuck in her throat.

It was Piper who broke the silence.

“You won’t do it,” she said, her voice clear and certain. “They’re saying that Bruce won’t let you.”

The effect was immediate. Meredith’s head snapped toward Piper, her composure cracking for the first time. “What did you say?”

Piper took a step forward, into the circle of lantern light. “Bruce is here,” she said. “Now he’s speaking to me.” Her eyes had that distant look again, listening to something only she could hear. “He says: ‘We made a promise together at the willow tree, Meredith. We promised to always show mercy, even when they showed none.’”

Jenna had no idea what those words might mean, but Meredith clearly did. Her face drained of color. Her hand, which had been resting lightly on the rope, fell to her side. “That’s not possible,” she whispered. “No one knew about that. No one but Bruce and me.”

“Bruce says he’s sorry he left you,” Piper continued, each word falling into the stunned silence. “He says the pain was too much, but he never meant for you to carry this burden. He says it’s time to let go.”

Something broke in Meredith then—some final dam holding back a flood of grief. Her knees buckled, and as she fell, her foot caught the leg of the stool. The wooden seat wobbled dangerously.

Someone dashed past Jenna, moving with the speed of pure reflex, lunging forward, hands outstretched to steady Claire as the stool tipped. It was Jake, who had come to the cellar and slipped down the stairs quietly. In the same moment, Frank was beside him, pulling a pocket knife from his jeans and slashing at the rope. It parted with a snap, and Claire collapsed into Jake’s arms, gasping.

Jenna was already moving toward Meredith, who had sunk to her knees on the dirt floor, her face in her hands. “I killed them,” she sobbed, the words barely intelligible. “For Bruce. For what they did to him. I cut out their tongues because they silenced him. Because no one listened.”

“Meredith Soll, you’re under arrest,” Jenna said, the formal words feeling hollow in the face of Meredith’s breakdown. She pulled handcuffs from her belt and secured Meredith’s wrists behind her back, the woman offering no resistance. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

But Meredith wasn’t listening. She was rocking back and forth, repeating Bruce’s name through her tears, lost in a private hell of her own making.

Behind them, Jake had helped Claire to a sitting position on the dirt floor, supporting her with one arm. The Mayor’s breathing was ragged, her neck marked with an angry red line where the rope had cut into her skin.

“We need medical,” Jake said, already reaching for his radio. “An ambulance to Trentville Memorial, ASAP. Possible neck injury, shock.”

Claire shook her head weakly. “I’m okay,” she managed, though her voice was hoarse. “Just... just give me a minute.”

Frank had moved to the foot of the stairs, his attention caught by something beyond the cellar. “I hear engines,” he said. “Must be Spelling’s team.”

“I’ll go direct them,” Jenna said, rising from beside Meredith. “Frank, stay with Claire. Jake, keep an eye on our suspect.”

She climbed the stone steps quickly, pushing through the cellar doors into the bright morning light. Three Highway Patrol vehicles were pulling into the clearing, dust rising behind their tires. Jenna raised her arm, signaling their location.

As the first vehicle skidded to a stop, Colonel Spelling emerged, his posture military-straight despite the urgency of their arrival. He spotted Jenna immediately and strode toward her.

“Sheriff,” he called. “Status?”

“We have Claire Simmons alive but injured,” Jenna replied. “And we have the murderer in custody. It’s Meredith Soll, the Mayor’s assistant. She’s confessed to the murders of Curtis Paige and Diane Holt. They’re down in the storm cellar.”

Spelling was already turning to bark orders at his team.