Boy Lost in Blackberry Cove (Blackberry Cove Mysteries Book 2)

A Child Vanishes. A Town’s Secrets Begin to Surface.

When eleven-year-old Thomas Lemay disappears from his bedroom without a trace, Blackberry Cove is shaken to its core. An open window. A missing teddy bear. And days later, a trail of abandoned stuffed animals deep in the forest—eerie breadcrumbs pointing to something far more sinister.

New to the job and reeling from personal tragedy, Sheriff Gregg Hunter thought Blackberry Cove would be a quiet place to rebuild his life. But the search for Thomas pulls him into a tangle of small-town secrets: a fractured family, a priest with too much interest in the case, and whispers of past wrongs no one wants unearthed.

As Hunter races to find the missing boy, a parallel threat brews—Mayor Stannard, long suspected of dark deeds, is being blackmailed. With his secrets on the verge of exposure, the mayor will go to dangerous lengths to silence anyone in his way.

Two mysteries. One town full of lies. And a sheriff caught in the middle—running out of time.

Uncover the secrets of Blackberry Cove. Start reading today.

Excerpt from the book

SEPTEMBER 5TH, 9:18 AM

Gregg Hunter knew personally how terrible it was to have a child go missing. He also knew the odds were low that eleven-year-old Thomas Lemay had been snatched by a stranger. Being sheriff, Gregg had to go by the statistics, and statistically speaking, the boy had likely either run away or his disappearance had been caused by a parent or someone the family knew.

As Gregg entered Thomas’s room for the first time, he noticed its stark emptiness. Unlike most children’s rooms, the space was devoid of any toys or personal belongings. There were no army figurines, no scattered Hot Wheels, no books. The peeling paint on the twin bed and wardrobe—along with the faded colors on the walls—gave the room a neglected look.

When a breeze swept through the open window, Gregg went over to take a closer look. Thomas’s parents claimed the boy had most likely run away during the night. Their theory was that he had exited the house through the window because the front, and only, door had been locked from the inside with a latch. But something didn’t seem right to the sheriff as he stuck his head out through the opening and peered straight down from the second floor. The drop seemed too high for a boy—or anyone—to fall without risking serious injury on the rocky surface below. Still, if Thomas hadn’t used the window, why and how had the door been locked?

The creaking of floorboards in the hallway told Gregg that Deputy Marc Chips had arrived.

“So,” Gregg asked, even before Deputy Chips entered the room, “did the parents tell you if anything is missing?”

The sheriff watched as the deputy poked his head through the doorway before coming inside. “Yeah,” the deputy replied, flipping through his notebook. “They said a stuffed animal is gone; a teddy bear that Thomas couldn’t sleep without.”

“The boy is eleven, right?”

The deputy smiled. “That’s what they said.”

As the sheriff stepped to the side of the bed, he pulled up the sheets before bending over and sniffing. “Thomas wet the bed this morning.”

“Really?”

“Smell for yourself.”

“No thanks,” the deputy said, raising his hands and taking a step back. “I believe you.”

The sheriff just smiled. “It may be nothing, but make a note of it.”

“What does it suggest?”

If there was one thing Gregg appreciated about Marc, it was the deputy’s eagerness to learn. “It means he’s an anxious kid. Now, we need to uncover what might have caused that anxiety, whether it was bickering parents, a bully at school, or a threatening relative. Maybe it’ll lead to a possible motive behind his disappearance.”

The deputy nodded, making a final note in his pad. “The parents are ready for an interview.”

“Yeah, let’s see what they have to say.”

As they made their way downstairs to join the waiting parents, Gregg noticed Thomas’s mother, Andrea Lemay, sitting on the sofa, surrounded by a pile of tissues, while his father, Frank, paced around the room.