| Romance Fiction posted November 1, 2025 | Chapters: |
2 3 -4- 5 
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Getting One Side of The Story
A chapter in the book After The Storm
Mending The Heart Chap 4
by Begin Again
The Sheriff's Office sat between the post office and a tax preparer that only opened a few months each year. A flag flapped against the pole in the light wind as Marla parked at the curb. Rudy sat upright in the passenger seat, eyes steady on the building.
"I won't be long," she told him.
He gave a quiet bark and laid his chin on the armrest, still watching her as she crossed the sidewalk.
Inside, the lobby was small—three chairs, a bulletin board with curling flyers, and a coffee pot half full. She stood for a moment before a side door opened.
A deputy came out with a folder in his hand. He looked younger than she expected, maybe mid-thirties, clean-cut, with a tie a little crooked.
"Morning," he said. "Can I help you?"
"I'm Marla Bennett. I called about my father's personal things—Robert Bennett."
Recognition flickered across his face, that small-town look that said he knew the name even if he didn't know the story. "I'm Deputy Lane," he said. "Give me a second."
He disappeared and returned with a shallow cardboard box. "We held these until the case closed," he said quietly. "Of course, it's closed now."
He lifted the lid, naming each item as he went. "Wallet, pocketknife, wristwatch." The watch face was cracked, its hands frozen between nine and ten. Then he picked up a smaller plastic bag. "This was in his coat pocket."
Inside was a small brown glass bottle—empty, label half-peeled and stained.
Marla stared at it until the edges of the room went soft. "He quit fifteen years ago," she said. "He hated the smell of it."
Lane nodded. "The report lists a possible cardiac event and a fall. We don't assign meaning, ma'am—we just log what's there."
"I understand," she said, though she didn't. "Can I see the report?"
He slid a clipboard toward her. "Initial here." He pressed his finger near the yellow mark.
She signed. When he came back with the copy, he turned the first page around. "Date and time of call—nine twenty-four p.m. Location—north side of barn. Weather—drizzling rain, light wind. Ladder noted on scene."
Her eyes stopped in the middle of the page: Position — ground, three feet from the north wall. One head wound. Preliminary cause — cardiac event, accidental fall.
Lower down—Caller / first on scene: Jonah Reyes.
She pressed her thumb along the edge of the paper. "I was told he had a heart attack," she said. "That he fell off a ladder."
"That's how it's written," Lane replied. "A heart episode is listed as possible. Ladder present, tin loose on the roof."
"The roof? Was he on the barn roof?"
Lane flipped the sheet. "Doesn't say anyone saw him up there. Just that a ladder was found. Soil disturbed near the base, no clear slip marks."
"So they don't actually know where he fell from."
"That's correct."
He hesitated, then added, "There are photos in the file—roofline, ground, ladder, the whole scene. Sheriff Green can release copies if you want them."
"I do," she said, her voice firmer now. "I'll request them."
Her gaze went back to the time — the watch stopped at 9:17, the call made at 9:24. Her father on the ground, an empty bottle in his pocket—things that didn't belong together.
"Can I take the box?"
"Yes, ma'am. They're yours."
"One more thing," she said. "You mentioned Jonah Reyes as the caller."
"That's right."
"He found him."
"He did. Stayed till help came."
"Did my father know him?"
Lane hesitated. "Can't rightly say."
She slid the report into the box and set the bottle on top, as if to keep it from floating away. Lane opened the door for her. "I'm sorry for your loss."
Outside, the flag rope tapped the pole. Marla set the box on the truck seat. Rudy leaned forward to sniff, then looked up at her. She rested her hand on the lid a moment before getting in.
A woman she'd known from school passed by with a bag of groceries. "Marla Bennett?" she said, smiling. "You holding up?"
Marla managed a small smile. "Doing what needs doing."
Denise Leary waved and kept going.
In the cab, the box sat beside her. She lifted the bagged bottle and turned it in her hands. The glass was clean. No smell. No sense. She set it back carefully and stared at the name on the report—Jonah Reyes.
"Dad didn't climb," she whispered, maybe to Rudy, maybe to herself. "He'd have hired it out."
Rudy leaned over and pressed his head against her shoulder before settling again.
She started the engine and pulled away from the curb. Instead of turning toward the orchard, she went the other way—past the diner, past Harpers, past everything familiar enough to sting.
The report lay open on the seat. She imagined the photographs Lane had mentioned—the barn, the rain on the tin, the ladder at its angle, the outline where her father had fallen. She didn't need to see them to picture the scene, but she would.
"Tomorrow," she murmured. "I'll get the photos."
The night he died had been windy. Tin lifting, they'd said. Ladder nearby. But ladders didn't sprout where you needed them, and her father had always been the one who said, "You climb. I'll spot."
The old ladder in the barn was too short—no marks on the fascia.
"If he didn't climb," she whispered, "someone wanted it to look like he did."
Up ahead, a green pickup pulled onto the road—ladder rack, fence tools, coil of wire—Jonah's truck.
She didn't honk or wave. She followed, keeping her distance, watching how he braked at corners and slowed before the turn toward the creek.
He parked on the grass near the bridge and cut the engine. She stopped a ways back, gripping the wheel. The evidence bag crackled on the seat beside her.
"Stay," she told Rudy, then opened the door.
The air by the water carried the cool weight of the creek. Jonah stood at the fence line with a toolbox, checking the top run, steady and unhurried.
He heard her boots in the grass and turned. His eyes caught hers—calm, measuring, maybe already expecting her.
"Marla," he said.
She stopped a few feet away, the report and the bottle still stuck in her head like a word she couldn't swallow.
"I went to the Sheriff's Office," she said.
He nodded once and then patiently waited for her to continue.
"They gave me his things. Wallet. Watch. Knife." Her voice hitched. "And an empty bottle. Said it was in his coat pocket."
Jonah's jaw tightened, but he didn't look away.
"They told me it was a heart attack. Said he fell off a ladder. I always pictured an orchard ladder—not the barn."
The quiet that followed was filled with the sound of the river.
"You called it in," she said. "The report has your name."
"I did," he said. "I was passing by, checking the fence near the willows. I saw him on the ground, checked for a pulse, called it in, and stayed till they came."
She studied his face. His hands were still. His eyes didn't move.
"The ladder was there," he said. "And the tin was lifting. Both true."
"Do you think he climbed?"
Jonah's gaze followed the distant line of the barn, as if the question needed space to land. "Your father told me once he didn't like heights," he said quietly. "Said he'd hire it done. No, I don't think he climbed."
The ground felt steadier under her feet—but not safe.
"Then why the bottle?" she asked. "Why write it that way?"
"I don't know," he said softly. And she believed him.
She inhaled sharply before speaking again, "His watch stopped at 9:17."
"That's about when I found him," Jonah said. "I remember looking at my own watch when I called."
"Did you see anyone?"
He shook his head. "No. But the ground near the ladder was — messy. Rain makes it hard to read."
She met his eyes. "I'm asking for the full file," she said. "Photos, everything."
"Good," he said.
A gust came up the creek, bending the grass flat, then letting it rise again. Marla looked at the barn beyond the bend and at Jonah's quiet patience—the kind that comes from fixing things you didn't break.
"I'm not done here," she said.
He didn't argue. Just nodded once.
When she reached the truck, Rudy's head appeared above the dashboard. She reached in for the evidence bag, the paper crackling in her hand.
Jonah had followed her to her truck.
"I'm going to the courthouse for the full file," she said. "After that, I'll find you."
"I'll be here," he said.
She got in, started the engine, and stared through the windshield for a long moment before shifting into drive. Rudy pressed against her arm, warm and solid.
"Okay," she whispered. "We start with what we can touch."
She turned toward the square, the flag at the Sheriff's Office small in the distance, the report on the seat beside her, and Jonah's name in her mind.
"I'm going to the courthouse for the full file," she said. "After that, I'll find you."
"I'll be here," he said.
She got in, started the engine, and stared through the windshield for a long moment before shifting into drive. Rudy pressed against her arm, warm and solid.
"Okay," she whispered. "We start with what we can touch."
She turned toward the square, the flag at the Sheriff's Office small in the distance, the report on the seat beside her, and Jonah's name in her mind.
"Someone's not telling the whole truth, Rudy. And we're going to sniff it out."
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