The Truth of Yesterday

Book 4 of the Killian Kendall Mysteries

By Josh Aterovis
Copyright 2026

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Chapter 23

I woke up the next morning when I felt Micah getting out of bed. The sky was just starting to brighten with the first light of day. I sat up and rubbed my bleary eyes.

"What are you doing?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up. I was going to let you sleep in. I need to get back to work."

"What time is it?"

"It's like 6."

"A.M.?"

"Go back to sleep." He leaned over to give me a kiss.

I tugged on his arm. "Come back to bed with me."

"I can't, babe. I really need to keep writing. I probably shouldn't have left last night." He grinned. "Although I'm really glad I did."

"I'll make you glad again if you stay."

"Kill, I can't."

"Just once..." I pushed the sheet down to show him how much I wanted him to stay.

His eyes traveled down my body and I knew I had him. I pulled his arm again and this time he let me drag him back into bed.

The second time he crawled out of bed to shower, I just rolled over and went back to sleep.

I woke up a few hours later and just luxuriated in Micah's bed, surrounded by his scent even when he wasn't there. Eventually, my growling stomach forced me to get up and take my own shower.

By the time I finished drying off, I remembered that I'd come to Micah's wearing only a Greek god costume, and I'd be damned if I was going to drive around in broad daylight wearing only a white mini skirt.

I figured Micah wouldn't mind if I borrowed some clothes, so I rifled through his dresser until I found an outfit that wouldn't be too oversized. I ended up in a pair of his jeans that were probably on the small side for him, but were still a little on the large side for me. The long-sleeved rugby shirt I dug out looked like it probably dated back to high school. I probably looked ridiculous but I had the same warm feeling wearing Micah's clothes that I got laying in his bed.

It was almost noon by the time I got dressed, so I grabbed some food from a drive-thru and swung by the office. I expected the office to be empty as I let myself in, so I was a little surprised when Novak's head popped out of his office.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded. I thought he sounded a little perturbed. "It's Sunday."

"I could ask you the same question."

He stepped out of his office and shut the door behind him, something he never did. He was definitely acting suspiciously.

"This is my office. I can come in whenever I want. You technically work Monday to Friday."

"No, my job as your assistant might be weekdays only, but my job as an investigator is seven days a week."

Novak had to concede my point. "But the ball isn't until tonight, so why are you here on a Sunday afternoon? You must have a pressing reason."

Of course, I didn't. I'd mostly driven to the office out of habit, but now I needed a damn good reason to rest my case. My eyes fell on Paul's file and a light bulb went off. "I want to know about safe-deposit boxes."

Novak raised one eyebrow. "Safe-deposit boxes?"

"Yes."

"What about them?"

"I found out Paul had one and went to a lot of trouble to hide his key, which makes me wonder if it contains something important. Is there any way I can find out what's in it?"

"You personally?"

"Um, yes."

"Not that I'm aware of. The police, or next-of-kin, would most likely have to open it."

"What if I had Paul's key?"

Novak frowned at me. "Is this hypothetical?"

I nodded quickly. "Yes, purely."

He looked as if he didn't quite believe me. "Even if you had his key, you'd have to provide some proof of identification to get the bank's key in order to open the box. It requires two keys, one of which the bank—"

"Right. I know about the two keys and how that works. So, basically, what you're saying is, I'd have to talk to his family or turn the information over to the police and wait until they got around to looking into it."

"No, what I'm telling you is that you need to turn the information over to the police, period. This is an active murder investigation."

"Active is a relative term in this case."

Novak gave me an exasperated look. "Killian..."

"Can I talk to Paul's mom first, at least?"

He sighed. "I suppose, but if you turn up anything remotely relevant to the case, you'd better contact the authorities immediately."

"Yes, sir."

We sat staring at each other for a few moments.

"Is there anything else?" Novak finally asked.

"I mean...I'm sure I can find something..."

"Killian, you're becoming a workaholic. Go get some fresh air. Walk through the zoo, bike through the park — do something outside that isn't related to your cases in any way. For goodness sake, take a break."

"I'm not becoming a workaholic," I said weakly.

"Did it even occur to you to relax today?"

"I slept in!"

"And then what did you do? You drove right to the office."

I blinked. "That's beside the point."

"No, that's exactly the point. You're working too hard. Go enjoy yourself for the rest of the afternoon. That's an order."

I snapped up straight and sketched a mock salute. "Yes, sir, Novak, sir. The zoo it is!"

He gave me a dirty look. "Get the hell out of here. Go have some fun...if you haven't forgotten how."

I rolled my eyes and slipped out of the office.

"I know how to have fun," I mumbled under my breath.

I decided to go to the zoo, tucked into a stretch of parkland that followed the Wicomico River like a green ribbon through the middle of town. It wasn’t a big zoo — nothing compared to the sprawling urban ones — but it had a certain charm. Winding paths, old brick buildings, shaded benches where you could sit and listen to the chatter of monkeys or the splash of water in the otter pond. I used to come here more often, back before my life got so…full. Or maybe "cluttered" was the better word. It had been at least a year, maybe two, since I’d set foot inside.

I wandered aimlessly, letting the afternoon sun warm my face as I lingered by the jaguars, watched the bears amble lazily in their enclosure, and paused to admire the monkeys’ acrobatics. I stopped by the alligators for longer than I meant to, studying their still, prehistoric forms. It was nice, pretending for a little while that there was nothing pressing waiting for me outside the zoo gates.

The problem was, the moment I told myself not to think about work, I realized there wasn’t much else to think about. Things with Micah were good — better than they’d ever been, really. My so-called gifts were on hold until I could find someone to teach me, and frankly, I was happy to keep them in the farthest mental closet possible. They were more stressful than work any way you measured it. School was fine.

And that was...it.

Had my life been boiled down to three categories — dead people, work, and school — with Micah as the bright spot in between?

I need a hobby, I thought, and then actually laughed out loud at the absurdity. A little girl nearby stopped mid-step on the path, gave me a wide-eyed look, and inched closer to her mother like I was some kind of zoo exhibit myself. When would I find the time for a hobby anyway?

I drifted over to the playground next to the zoo. For such a perfect fall day, it was surprisingly quiet — just the warm scent of wood chips, a few scattered shouts, and the creak of the swings in the breeze. A young woman sat on a bench, keeping half an eye on two kids who took turns racing up the slide the wrong way, the other half absorbed in whatever she was reading on her tablet.

I took a seat on one of the empty swings. The chains were cool against my palms as I leaned forward, letting the swing sway lazily. I watched the kids — totally lost in their game, breathless with joy, without the faintest thought of bills, grades, or mortality — and felt ancient. Would I ever feel that carefree again?

That’s when I felt it — that subtle shift in the air, the prickle of someone close behind me. Before I could turn, hands pressed firmly into the small of my back and shoved. I let out a startled yelp as the swing lurched forward. Instinctively, I twisted to look, but the sudden movement made me lose my grip on the chains. My feet scrambled for purchase as I fell backwards.

Strong arms caught me before I could hit the ground.

I looked up into Micah’s face, his expression caught somewhere between concern and a mischievous smirk.

"Are you trying to kill me?" I asked accusingly.

Amusement won out, and he laughed. "Sorry. I wanted to surprise you, not send you to the hospital."

I laughed too as I managed to get my feet under me and stand up. "You almost succeeded in doing both. How did you find me?"

"I'm a reporter."

"No, really."

"Novak called me and said he'd sent you out to relax and that you might need a little more convincing to take the afternoon off. He suggested I might find you at the zoo. I decided to surprise you since I had to run out so early this morning. Sit down, and I'll push you."

I sat back down obediently, and he gave me a gentle push.

"I don't know why Novak is playing matchmaker so much lately," I grumbled.

"Probably for the same reason he's concerned about you working too much. He cares about you."

I smiled. "I guess. Although I also think he's trying to get rid of me for some reason."

"No conspiracy theories."

"What about your story? What's going on? You never did fill me in last night."

"To be fair, we got distracted." He sighed. "It's like a bad soap opera. There's hate, greed, cruelty, deception — you name it. And it seems I've only scratched the surface."

"So how far do you think it reaches?"

"Don't know yet, but I've definitely uncovered something big."

"I guess I don't understand what's going on with all this, really. I've been so busy I haven't taken the time to read everything. I thought it was just some development shenanigans."

"It's a lot to explain, and even I don't know how it all connects just yet, to be honest." He stopped pushing me and sat on the swing next to me, kicking lazily. "Basically, though, it has to do with the environmental-protection laws. It appears the commissioners and other authorities were being paid off to allow development where there shouldn't have been any, such as in protected wetlands. Turns out that's just the tip of the iceberg. But that's enough work talk. You're supposed to be relaxing, and I'm supposed to be enforcing your break, not whining about my job."

"You weren't whining, but fair enough," I said, thinking about Novak's accusing me of being a workaholic. "Let's take a walk."

"That sounds nice."

We ambled through the park along the river. There weren't too many people around, so we essentially had the place to ourselves.

We paused on the little arch bridge to kiss. When he pressed his lips against mine again, I melted into his arms. It didn't take long before I began to get aroused.

Micah noticed immediately. "Have you ever had sex in a public place?"

"No! And I don't intend to start now."

"You have no sense of adventure," he said.

"I just have no desire to get arrested. You're supposed to write the news, not make it."

He laughed. "I love having sex with you."

"It's only been a couple of hours."

"That's too long."

"Now who's insatiable?"

"I love you, Killian."

"I love you too."

We stood for a while just holding each other until a dog walker came down the path at a brisk stroll. We pulled apart, but she just smiled at us as she passed by with her spaniel.

"I'd better get back to work," Micah said with a sigh.

"Don't go!"

"I have to if I'm going to be free to go to the ball tonight. This was just a quick break. But you're under strict orders to take the rest of the afternoon off. Relax. Read a book. Binge watch a TV show. Just no work. Got it?"

"You sound like Novak."

"I guess we both care about you. Why don't we meet at my apartment around six and get dressed for the ball together? I picked up the tuxes yesterday."

"That sounds fun." I waggled my eyebrows.

"Then it's a plan," he said with a chuckle. "We just can't get too distracted or we'll never make it to the Ball."

"But we'd sure have a ball."

He laughed and gave me a quick kiss before we walked hand in hand back through the park and zoo to where we'd both left our cars. After one final kiss, we drove off in our separate directions.

I headed home so I could get my dress shoes and relax before meeting Micah in a couple of hours.

"Well, it's not that Hermes costume, but you still look pretty damn hot," Micah said from behind me.

I contemplated my reflection in the full-length mirror in his bedroom. The tuxedo was sleek, perfectly tailored, and undeniably expensive. I’d never worn one before, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. Mostly, I felt like an imposter.

"I think I look like a penguin," I muttered.

"Babe, penguins don’t turn me on. You do. Nuff said."

I snorted and turned, giving him an appreciative once-over. "How come you’re so much better looking in these things than I am?"

We were wearing nearly identical tuxedos — black suits, crisp white shirts, satin lapels. Nothing fancy, just classic. And yet, somehow, Micah looked like he’d stepped out of the pages of GQ, while I looked like a kid playing dress-up. Truthfully, I hadn’t even felt this ridiculous in the Hermes costume.

"Oh stop," he said, rolling his eyes as he crossed the room to adjust my bow tie. "You look fantastic. Put your shoes on."

I did as instructed, but as I stood after lacing them up, I caught my reflection again. "I’m not wearing one of these at our wedding," I said absently, following him toward the door.

He stopped so suddenly I walked right into his back. Turning slowly, he arched an eyebrow at me, lips quirking into a mischievous smile.

"What did you just say?"

Heat flooded my face. "What?"

"You said our wedding." His smirk widened. "We’re getting married?"

My mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish gasping for air. "I… I… I—"

"Are you proposing to me, Killian Kendall?"

I thought I might pass out right there in his bedroom. My knees went weak, my pulse hammered in my ears.

He broke into a grin and let me off the hook. "Breathe, babe. Inhale, exhale. I’m just teasing."

Air whooshed back into my lungs, and I sagged with relief. As much as I loved Micah, I wasn’t ready for vows, rings, and forever. Not yet.

Micah softened, brushing a thumb over my cheek before straightening my tie again. "One day, maybe we’ll be there. It’s not such a bad thought, is it?"

I shook my head, tugged him close, and kissed him before I could second-guess myself. For a moment, I wanted to forget tuxedos, cases, and everything else.

But Micah eventually pulled away, eyes sparkling. "Before we get too carried away and decide to skip the ball, I have a few more surprises for you."

"More surprises?" I asked warily.

He strode to the breakfast bar and returned with a flat white box. It was heavier than I expected when he handed it over.

"Open it."

I sat on the couch and lifted the lid. My breath caught. Nestled inside was an exquisite Venetian-style mask, covered in thousands of tiny glass beads arranged in a swirling pattern of brilliant colors. It shimmered like living flame.

"Micah, it’s beautiful! Where did you get it?"

"I have my sources," he said with a grin, clearly pleased with my reaction. "I was hoping you’d like it. Every bead was hand-sewn."

"It must have cost a fortune."

He waved that off. "Let’s not talk about that. But I can tell you I couldn’t afford two of them, so mine’s a little less...elaborate." He produced a feathered white half-mask and held it up with mock pride. Pretty, yes. But compared to mine, it looked like something from a discount costume shop.

I lifted my mask carefully out of the box, afraid even to touch it. "It’s a work of art. I'm afraid to wear it."

"Of course it is. And of course you’re going to wear it. After the ball, we’ll have it framed. It deserves to be displayed, not hidden away."

Emotion welled up, unexpected and overwhelming. I hugged him tightly. "Thank you," I whispered.

"You’re welcome. Now we need to go or we’ll be late."

I nodded, distracted by my thoughts. I’d wanted to be there early, before Jake arrived, to observe without being seen. And Micah, always the planner, was making sure I’d get that chance.

We were halfway out the door when I remembered he’d promised a few surprises. So far, I’d only seen the mask.

"Hey, what are the oth—" I broke off mid-sentence, eyes widening as we stepped into the parking lot.

Waiting at the curb was a limousine. Not just any limo — an obscenely long, glossy black stretch with a uniformed chauffeur holding the door open.

"You didn’t."

Micah’s grin was positively wicked. "Oh, I did."

The ride was surreal. Soft leather seats, chilled champagne, the city lights flashing past the tinted windows. Micah poured us each a glass, handing mine over with a wink.

"I know you’re technically working tonight," he said, clinking his flute against mine, "but I wanted it to be special. The Equality Ball is one of the biggest social events of the year. Even if you’re on a case, it should still feel like a night to remember."

I took a sip of champagne and leaned in close, my lips brushing his ear. "Mission accomplished."

I leaned in for a kiss.

The gala was being held in the grand ballroom of the Wiltshire, the most luxurious hotel in the city. I’d never set foot inside before, but its reputation preceded it. People spoke about the Wiltshire with a kind of reverence, as if it weren’t just a hotel but a monument to wealth and taste.

It lived up to every word of the hype.

The ballroom opened before us like something out of a dream: sweeping red carpets underfoot, crystal chandeliers dripping from gilded ceilings, and polished dark wood so glossy it almost doubled as a mirror. The whole place shimmered in warm, golden light, making it feel as though we’d stepped onto the set of some long-lost Hollywood epic. For a second, I forgot why we were there.

When we arrived, the room was still sparsely populated, which was exactly how I’d planned it. It gave us the chance to stake out a spot near the edge of the action — a vantage point where we could see the grand entrance and still keep a discreet eye on the rest of the room.

The crowd began trickling in not long after we settled, their laughter and chatter filling the cavernous space until it swelled into a living, breathing thing. Soon, it felt as though half the Eastern Shore had descended on the Wiltshire.

Micah, who knew almost everyone worth knowing in town, leaned close to supply a running commentary as people filtered through the doors. His voice was low and amused, sometimes affectionate, sometimes dry, as he identified one power player after another: the mayor and his wife in matching smiles, the police chief with a chest puffed up like a rooster, the county sheriff looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, and a smattering of politicians, including one congressman who seemed to shake every hand twice. Mixed in were the old-money families — names I’d only ever seen in headlines or on buildings — gliding in with the kind of practiced ease that came from never having to worry about whether they belonged.

It was dazzling, overwhelming, and impossible to keep straight. After a while, the names and titles blurred together in my head, a jumble of faces, power, and money.

And somewhere in this glittering parade, Jake was going to walk through the door.

I noticed that many of the local officials who wandered by us seemed to recognize Micah. As they did, their faces would take on rather disgusted expressions, and they would make a show of turning their backs to him. Some of the looks were downright hostile.

"Does your status as official pariah have anything to do with your article?" I asked him finally.

"Yeah. Try not to let it bother you. Just ignore them."

"You'd think they'd be grateful to have the corruption exposed," I said.

Micah snorted. “You’d think so, but that’s not how it works. First off, the ones who got exposed were popular. Some of them had been in politics around here for decades. That makes me the bad guy. Secondly, corruption spreads like mold — it clings to everyone it touches, whether they’re actually involved or not. It leaves a film of suspicion on everything. And since this is an election year? Guess who’s the villain again. Finally, I’d bet good money some of the people here tonight are just as corrupt as the ones I exposed—only better at covering their tracks. This thing’s bigger than we realized, and I’m just starting to see how deep it goes.”

“Maybe you should put your mask on so they won’t recognize you.” Not many people were wearing theirs—most just carried them as an awkward accessory.

He laughed, about to answer, when the mayor approached. My pulse spiked. For a second, I braced for fireworks, expecting him to tear into Micah over the article. Instead, the man beamed, his politician’s smile wide and unthreatening.

He shook Micah’s hand, then mine when Micah introduced me. After a few polite words in my direction, his focus slid back to Micah.

“Mr. Gerber—”

“Please, Mr. Mayor, call me Micah.”

“Only if you’ll call me Phil.” His grin widened, all teeth. It reminded me uncomfortably of a shark about to bite. “Micah, I just wanted to congratulate you on your excellent reporting. You’re doing important work, and I want you to know you have my full support. I realize certain people are giving you grief, but you’re on the right side of this.”

“Thank you, Mayor… er, Phil. That means a lot,” Micah said, genuine gratitude in his voice.

They shook hands again before the mayor drifted off to charm his next voter.

I turned back toward the doors, but Micah caught my elbow and steered me in the opposite direction.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“I want you to meet someone.”

He guided me toward a tall man surrounded by a small circle of elegant admirers. I thought I recognized him, though I couldn’t immediately place him. He was striking: tall enough to tower over nearly everyone else in the room, broad in a way that made me think of a redwood rather than a stick figure. His short iron-gray hair was perfectly in place, his square face softened by kind eyes. For all his size, he carried himself with easy, quiet grace.

“Dr. Mason,” Micah said.

The man turned, a smile lighting his features. “Micah.” His voice was soft, cultured, with a warmth that immediately set him apart from the peacocking crowd. He excused himself from his circle and stepped toward us. “So good to see you.” His gaze shifted to me, eyes twinkling as though he were in on some private joke. “And who is this?”

Micah smirked, which put me instantly on guard. “This is my boyfriend, Killian Kendall. Killian, this is Dr. Hiram Mason.”

Recognition hit. I shook his hand. “You’re the president of Pemberton University.”

“That would be correct,” he said smoothly. “A pleasure to meet you, Killian. Are you a student?”

“Yes, sir. First year.”

“None of this ‘sir’ business.” His eyes sparkled again, as though daring me to laugh. “Quite a party, isn’t it? Though I’ve seen better. The music’s a bit lifeless.” He tipped his head toward the jazz band.

“You’d rather they played dance music?” Micah asked, sounding more familiar with him than I expected.

“Disco was my era,” Dr. Mason chuckled. “But my dancing days are behind me.”

Micah grinned. “Oh, I don’t know. I bet you could still outdance anyone here.”

Something in that exchange unlocked a memory. It hit me like an electric jolt, my jaw dropping as I stared. Micah leaned in and gently tilted my chin shut with one finger, smirking.

Dr. Mason, visibly amused, laid a hand on my shoulder. “Our little secret, Killian.”

I nodded mutely, still rattled, as a woman detached herself from the circle he'd been with when we approached and slipped a hand around his arm. She was younger, with dyed-blonde hair and too much makeup caked over fine lines. Her dress strained against her figure, and her jewelry glittered in a way that screamed money without taste. Together, she and Dr. Mason looked mismatched — her flashy ostentation clashing against his dignified composure.

"Dear, this is an old friend, Micah Gerber, and his companion, Killian Kendall," Dr. Mason introduced us. "This is my wife, Lenore."

Before Micah or I could say a word — assuming I was yet capable of speech — her face took on a pouty expression.

"I'm thirsty, Hi," she whined as if we weren't even there.

"Then we'll get a drink. Boys, if you'll excuse me..."

"Of course," Micah said.

"It was nice meeting you, Killian," Dr. Mason said.

I nodded again, and he gave me a surreptitious wink as they moved off.

"Charming lady, isn't she?" Micah said when they were out of earshot.

"That..."

"Hmm?"

"He..."

"Spit it out, Killian."

"He's married?"

"Yep. Thirty-five blissful years, I think it is."

"But..."

"But what?"

I shook my head silently. I'd have to think on that one for a while.

It was turning into a night full of surprises, and I still hadn’t even found Jake. As Micah and I started back toward our spot, I let my eyes sweep across the ballroom one more time — then froze mid-step. My breath caught.

On the far side of the room, I’d finally spotted Jake. That part wasn’t surprising — I’d come here to find him, after all — and it wasn’t even shocking that he’d slipped in unnoticed. With the mayor and Dr. Mason pulling our focus, it would’ve been easy for him to arrive without us seeing.

No, what stopped me cold was whose arm Jake was clinging to.

Micah followed my line of sight and gave a low whistle. “Well, I’ll be damned. Didn’t expect to see him here.”

“You know him?” My voice came out sharper than I intended.

“Not personally. But I know of him. Every reporter in the tri-state area does. That’s Fenton Black.”

The name hit me like a slap, but my brain refused to process it. “No it isn’t," I blurted out before I could stop myself. "That’s Neal!”

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