October 28, 2025

Barista and true crime podcaster Joss Miller is looking for her next cold case when her brother shows up unannounced in Charleston. She’s sure he’s hiding something—and her detective boyfriend, Andre Baez, seems to know exactly what it is. But neither of them is saying a word.

Before she can figure out what’s going on, someone seeks out Joss with what could be the perfect story for her Cold Justice podcast. A gifted street photographer died two years ago under suspicious circumstances.

The deeper she digs, the more tangled the mystery becomes—and the closer she gets to the real reason her brother came home. If she’s not careful, Joss might uncover more than she bargained for.

Chapter 1

Monday, June 2 at 10:37 a.m.

Never could I have imagined this.

Unexpected tears welled in my eyes as I took stock of the kids scattered around the classroom inside the Rebecca Montgomery Art Center. Being attacked at the café next door, this time last year, was the scariest moment of my life. But God brought me closer to my purpose. I was feeling a sense of overwhelm, but it sprung from joy rather than despair.

Before anyone noticed, I turned my head and quickly wiped the moisture from my eyes. This was the first day of our first annual media arts summer camp, and I had the honor of kicking it off with a podcasting workshop. I’d specifically requested to work with eight to eleven year olds.

The Sugar Creek Media Arts Camp was my brainchild. I thought it would be good to get kids interested in media arts at an early age. Since the art center had become a part of Sugar Creek Café, Fay loved the idea. The café had been a fixture in the arts community for years with its bimonthly Friday Night Jams. Patrons already enjoyed the paintings and photography displayed on the walls of the café, and we’d expanded the galleries in the art center to include sculptures, pottery, sweetgrass baskets and mixed-media pieces.

Watching these young minds craft their own podcast episode was more rewarding than I’d expected. I worked with a teacher to develop a curriculum that included writing, storytelling, oratory and computer skills. We were flooded with applications, but I stuck to twelve slots. With the lower age range, that wasn’t hard to do.

“Okay, everyone, let’s wrap up your scripts. I’m coming around to each of you. I can’t wait to hear what you’re going to record later this afternoon.” I didn’t want to hold back their creativity, but the recordings were going home for their families to hear. The last thing I wanted was an angry parent.

Eight-year-old Kisha Black spun around in her chair. “Auntie, I mean Miss Joss, I wrote about the mystery of the missing Squishmallow!”

Though we weren’t related, Kisha’s mom was one of my best friends, and I’d become an honorary auntie. I reached down and playfully wiggled my eyebrows at the little girl. “A mystery? You trying to give me some competition for my podcast, Kisha?”

She giggled into her hands. “You know my daddy is a detective. He’s always solving mysteries. I might be like him when I grow up, or a teacher like Grandma Eugeena.”

This wasn’t a surprise. Kisha came from a mystery loving family. Her dad, Detective Chris Black, her mom, Leesa Patterson-Black, and my next-door neighbor, Eugeena Patterson-Jones, were true crime aficionados, the latter two were amateur sleuths like me. I was thrilled when Leesa told me how interested Kisha was in the podcasting session.

“A Squishmallow mystery?” I asked, trying to keep a straight face. Andre had gotten me one for my birthday. The purple cat lived on my bed when it wasn’t getting knocked off by one of the real felines in the house. I was curious to hear Kisha’s explanation.

Kisha’s eyes lit up. “They’re super soft stuffed animals! I have one that looks like Grandma Eugeena’s dog. Anyway, my friend Emma brought her Hello Kitty one to school last week, and everyone wanted to touch it. But after lunch, when Emma went to get it from her desk, it was gone!” Kisha put her arms in the air. “We looked everywhere.”

Intrigued, I asked. “Did you all ever find it?”

Her barrettes clanged as she shook her head. “No. But I have some ideas about who might have taken it. Daddy says I need to follow the clues.”

I couldn’t help but grin. “Alright, Detective Kisha. I’m looking forward to hearing more.” I continued moving between the tables checking on each child’s progress. At eleven years old, Amani Gladstone was the oldest in the group, and I could tell she’d written a detailed script. She had filled almost two pages with her curly writing. She’d drawn little hearts over the ‘i’s’ like I did when I was younger.

“And what will your podcast be about, Amani?”

The young girl placed her hands on her hip, swinging one of her two long braids across her shoulder. “I’m going to talk about why adults say one thing but do another.”

Her voice carried a slight edge that made me eye her a bit more carefully. “That’s… a really interesting topic. What made you think of that?”

Amani held her finger in the air as she made her point. “Adults are always telling kids to be honest and tell the truth, but then they don’t.”

By the way she rolled her neck, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go there. But it might also open up some much needed dialogue if Amani shared her episode with her mom later. “Well, I’m sure a lot of other kids will be able to relate to your episode.”

I glanced at the clock on the wall. Fifteen minutes until lunch break, then we’d record the podcast episodes this afternoon. Thanks to our camp sponsor, the local tech company, Synaptic, we had a nice setup with real microphones and recording equipment. The company’s CEO also insisted we have MacBooks loaded with their newest software.

It was the same software I used to edit my podcast. Since I found it super easy to use, I knew these young digital natives would have no issues with it. I figured all of them had their hands on a phone or tablet since they were toddlers. The biggest obstacle this morning had been getting my campers to settle on stories they wanted to record.

“Joss,” My boss Fay Everett’s voice drifted from the classroom doorway. “Lunch is ready. We have everything set up in the back room. I can take them over to the café for you.”

“Sounds good.” I clapped my hands twice. “Alright, young podcasters, it’s time for lunch. This afternoon you’ll get to hear your voices come through those fancy microphones.”

The kids cheered as they headed toward the door. They lined up behind Fay, and I took a breath before gathering the scattered pencils and markers.

A noise near the doorway caught my attention. I spun around, expecting to see a child returning to the classroom.

Instead, I glimpsed a man standing in the hallway. He appeared familiar to me, but I couldn’t recall if he was one of the campers’ parents. Something about his intense stare made my skin prickle. Despite the café being next door, I suddenly felt very alone.

***

Monday, June 2 at 11:56 a.m.

My mind whirred to the incident that happened last June. The man who attacked me inside the café was behind bars, but from that incident, I’d learned I couldn’t trust anyone. Even though the café was right next door, it seemed far away.

The stranger and I stared at one another for what felt entirely too long before I found my voice and croaked out, “Can I help you?”

The man stepped forward. “I’m sorry for disturbing you. Fay let me in. My name is Devante Cavanaugh. I’m teaching the photography class tomorrow. I wanted to see how things were going.”

“Oh.” My shoulders sagged with relief. That’s why I recognized the man. I was the one who’d researched him online and discovered he lived right here in Charleston. He looked different in person. I cocked my head to the side and then blurted. “Didn’t you have dreadlocks?”

He smiled, rubbing his hand across his low cut fade. “Yes, I parted with them a few weeks ago.”

I nodded, suddenly aware that I was still clutching the basket of pencils and markers to my body. “Well, change is always good.” I placed the basket on the desk at the front of the room and wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans. “Hmm… as you can see, we stuck to a young group for this first camp.”

Devante’s brown eyes were piercing above high cheekbones. “They seem bright and…” he tilted his head as if listening for a sound, “energetic too.”

I laughed. “Yes! Food makes us all pretty excited. I promise they’re a good group. Do you want to meet them? I need to catch up to them.” It was great that Fay came to get the campers, but she still was managing the café too.

Devante moved out of the way as I rushed past him. Even though he’d identified himself, my discomfort quickly returned, and I wasn’t sure why. He didn’t appear to be a monster. In fact, he was incredibly handsome. His looks didn’t make me nervous; I had a handsome boyfriend who I was head over heels in love with. Maybe it was the cologne that seemed to reach out and grab my nostrils as I passed. It was strong and spicy.

The familiar scent of freshly ground coffee soothed me as I slid through the double doors that connected to Sugar Creek Café. This time of day, I was usually serving up coffee concoctions alongside pastries and muffins. The lunch crowd wasn’t quite in full swing, but I could hear our group of campers as I drew closer to the back of the café. While I couldn’t see him, I could feel Devante trailing behind me.

The front of the café was set up with tables and chairs in the center and booths along the windows. Unlike some of the trendier coffeehouses, Sugar Creek Café gave off an at-home-in-your-kitchen vibe. In the back were couches and chairs for those who wanted to read or study. Last night, we’d pushed the plush chairs closer to the wall and set up tables and folding chairs in the center.

I’d asked Fay why not have the campers eat lunch inside the center, but she said, “Might as well give them the whole café experience.” This was a big deal for some kids who never ventured outside of Charleston, or explored their hometown.

All twelve campers chattered as they devoured their turkey sandwiches, chips, and fresh homemade lemonade. Fay arrived early every morning to bake fresh pastries or muffins and to make gourmet sandwiches. This group would have a special treat that café patrons wouldn’t get, Fay’s decadent M&M chocolate chip cookies.

I was enjoying seeing the kids having such a good time. I almost forgot about Devante. I glanced back and found him standing off to the side, observing the kids. But I’d caught his eye. Out of habit, I smiled, then quickly turned away from those intense eyes. It was times like this when I wished Andre had a ring on my finger. Not that that would deter some men. Of course, I could’ve been reading too much into the man’s intentions.

I hadn’t had a ton of boyfriends in the past, but my experiences with men had made me wary. I casually looked in his direction again, but he’d moved over to the wall of photos. Fay supported the arts, including several local photographers. It occurred to me that Devante might not be among the photographers on the wall. I hoped that wasn’t a problem. Most of the photographs were of places in Charleston. Devante specialized in portraits.

The café door chimed as people arrived for the lunch hour. Though Fay said I wasn’t officially on duty in the café today, familiar habits had me peeking around the corner in case I needed to jump in and help. To my surprise, my boyfriend Detective Andre Baez walked in and behind him was my brother.

“Nate?” My voice came out low, under my breath.

My brother mainly stayed missing in action since we’d lost our father. Surprisingly, he’d stayed in Sugar Creek this past Thanksgiving and into the New Year, the longest he’d been in town in years. He even came for Mother’s Day three weeks ago. But why was he here now? And why was he hanging out with my boyfriend?

Andre wore one of his suits, but must have left the jacket in the car. His red tie hung slightly loose around his neck with the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbow. Next to him, my brother wore a light blue t-shirt that stretched over his biceps and jeans. On his feet were Nike sneakers that I was sure was one style among several hundred pairs. My brother had always been a sneakerhead.

I glanced over at the kids. They were chatting and finishing up their meal, so I walked over to greet Andre and Nate.

“Hey, sis.” Nate grinned before giving me a one-armed hug. “Surprise.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked Nate, before walking into Andre’s outstretched arms. “Glad you dropped by,” I murmured into his chest. “And why didn’t you tell me he was coming?”

I stepped back, eyeing my brother and my boyfriend.

Andre’s expression was carefully masked. I’d told him if I knew how to play poker, I would never go against him. Because of his training, he’d perfected the art of maintaining a stoic face, which also alerted me that something was up.

“I didn’t know,” Andre shrugged.

I tilted my head, ready to question him further.

Nate quickly interjected. “Now hold on, Sis. We ran into each other. Andre said he was going to catch lunch at Sugar Creek Café and that I could find you here.”

I studied my brother’s face. Mmm, right! My brother happened to run into my boyfriend. I still hadn’t figured out how Andre tracked down Nate and got him to come home for the holidays, when Nate had been ignoring my texts and emails.

I wanted to know exactly where they’d ran into each other. Instead, I asked. “How long are you staying?”

Nate licked his lips. “Not sure yet. Depends on a few things.”

That was pretty vague. What was he hiding?

Andre cleared his throat and pointed. “Is that your group of future podcasters in the back? Sounds like they’re having fun.”

“Yep, we’re recording their episodes after lunch. I’m hoping to get them all recorded by the time camp ends at four o’clock. It took longer than I’d thought for them to come up with ideas.”

Andre raised an eyebrow. “Do you have any help?”

“Hailey, the teacher who helped me with the curriculum, is coming to help this afternoon. She had something to do this morning.” I glanced at my brother before leaning closer to Andre. “Are we getting together tonight?”

Andre grimaced and then shook his head. “They added me to a task force for a case that came up.”

I stepped back, crossing my arms. “A task force? That sounds pretty serious.”

He nodded. “Yeah, it involves a couple of agencies, including the Feds.”

My heart sank. When Andre was on a task force a few months ago, we hardly saw each other. I crossed my arms and eyed Nate, suddenly wanting to place my frustration on my brother. “Does Mom know you’re here?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. Thought I would grab some lunch for her. What does she usually like?”

I sighed. “The chicken salad croissant sandwich and an iced latte.”

“Auntie Joss?”

I turned to find Kisha behind me.

She glanced over and then sprinted toward Andre. “Hey, Uncle Andre.”

Andre bent down to hug the little girl. “Hey, Kisha.”

“Have you seen my daddy?”

Andre grinned. “I saw Detective Black this morning. He told me you would be at camp today with Auntie Joss.”

Kisha clapped her hands together. “I can’t wait for him and Mommy to hear my podcast.” She grabbed my hand. “Is it time for us to use the microphones yet?”

I rubbed her hand. “Almost. Do me a favor. Make sure everyone puts their trash in the big garbage can back there.”

“Got it.” Kisha headed back to the room.

We all laughed as we heard her repeat my instructions to the group.

“I need to grab something to eat myself.” I playfully punched my brother on the arm. “I’m looking forward to finding out more about this surprise visit.” Turning back to Andre, I reached up and kissed him. “I’ll see you when I see you. Text me if plans change.”

He smiled, “You got it, babe.”

While Andre and Nate headed toward the counter to place their order, I went back to grab a sandwich and make sure the campers had cleaned up any remnants of lunch in the back room. Despite the kids’ chatter around me, my mind raced. Why was Nate really here? And why did it feel like Andre knew more than he was saying?

I was so lost in thought, I’d forgotten about Devante. Maybe he had questions about the camp and his workshop tomorrow.

Feeling bad that I’d left him hanging, I looked around, prepared to apologize.

But he was gone.