Scrolling through every article available, Elena isn't surprised that they just stop only days after John's hanging. Frustrated because there really isn't much to go on, she does notice a short write up that John's wife vanished around the same time as the murder. She digs a little deeper, typing in Isobel Ander's name but nothing comes up that isn't related to the murder. If only she knew her maiden name...

Determined, she slides back her chair and gets up, seeking out Sheila.

"Can I help you?" the older woman asks before Elena even opens her mouth.

"Do you know the maiden name of John's wife? I'm trying to see if anything comes up on her?"

"Fleming."

"Thank you," Elena ducks out and goes back to the small room, this time she types in Isobel Fleming. Apparently she was the lead cheerleader in high school, Elena finds mundane references to her but nothing really newsworthy. Sighing, she prints a few things and picks up her bag to leave.

"Done?" Sheila remarks, her eyes snapping to meet Elena's.

"I am. Thank you for you help today. I'm just going to see if I can find Damon," she points towards the door. "It was nice meeting you."

Sheila nods and watches till she sees Elena pass the window. Getting up, she does a little searching of her own, looking up pictures of the Anders family at Ellijay events. She wonders why Margaret Anders wants to throw a

fly in the ointment after all these years? Picking up the phone, she waits for the other person to pick up.

As soon as she hears the click, she simply says, "She just left...," and hangs up.

Walking down the sidewalk, Elena looks in some of the windows, the quaint little shops. She notices her rental car parked in front of the police station and realizes she needs to get back to her motel so she can get a change of clothes, pick up her things and maybe rent a room here.

Just as she lays her hand on the door handle, it swings open. Vicky steps back to let her enter. "Miss Gilbert?"

"Please call me Elena. Is Damon back yet?"

"He's in his office, just knock first," she cautions and then goes back to her desk.

"Thanks," she nods and raps on his door.

"Come in," sounds from behind it. Damon looks up, a smile forming on his face when he sees who it is.

"Any luck?"

"No not really, Sheila told me Isobel's maiden name and I thought maybe I could find hits on that name but nearly every one that came up is the traditional spelling of Isabelle. Of course, she could have changed that if she's still alive. I'm going to try to dig a little deeper."

"Good idea. I thought maybe we could go to see Judge Lockwood too?"

"Will he talk to us?"

"I think he'll see us whether he'll tell us anything is anyone's guess. I hope he will. However, he's a tough cookie, obsessed with his own importance and likes to intimidate people, he won't just admit to his own mistake."

Elena gives it a thought. "Okay... Listen, I see my rental outside. I'm going to drive back to Blue Ridge to get my things. Can you recommend a motel here in town?"

"You can stay with me if you want?"

"I don't want to impose Damon. You've already gone out of your way to help..."

"You're not imposing. It's settled, go get your things," he stands up and pulls a key out of his pocket. "When you return, we'll go to talk to Judge Lockwood."

"If you're sure?"

"I'm absolutely sure," he walks around his desk, grabs her keys from the holder, follows her outside and opens the door.

"I'll see you later," she slides in, their fingers touching when she does. Her breath hitches in her chest and she wonders if he feels it too? He pushes the door shut and leans in through the open window.

"Drive carefully," he cautions and steps away, waving as she backs up and drives off. He wonders if she feels the same inexplicable pull that he does?

Elena's silver gray rental cruises down the highway, travelling northeast. She's sitting in the front passenger seat with so much soft leather around her that she can barely hear the 389 horsepower, 6-liter engine... Glancing down at the speedometer, she slows down when she sees she's doing eighty mph again. But it's hard to keep her foot light when she feels the power of the car.

As the car engine sings to the highway, Elena relishes the breeze that twirls in her long brunette locks and whistles in her ears. Under the sunshine every hue is kissed into brilliance, art there for the seeing, for the willingness to pause and be with it in the moment. The countryside is beautiful and before long, she reaches the Blue Ridge city limits, pumps the break till she slows down to the speed limit and leisurely drives through the town, turning it at her motel.

Plopping down on the bed, she stares at the ceiling for a few minutes then pulls her phone out of her pocket and calls home. "Hi daddy."

"Elena, how's it going?"

"A little frustrating, and I haven't really learned anything new. I got arrested for speeding."

"Elena! How many times have I told you your lead foot is going to get you in trouble?"

"Too many times to count," she laughs. "It's all good, the sheriff turned out to be a nice guy. He's actually helping me. How's grandma?" she changes the subject.

"She's sleeping right now. I'll tell her you called."

"Thanks dad, I'll let you go, I need to take a shower so I can go back to Ellijay. I'll talk to you soon."

"Be careful and I love you."

"I love you too, dad. Give grandma a hug for me," she hangs up and tosses her phone aside.

After stripping down, she slowly steps into the shower, letting it beat down over her head in steamy rivulets. Closing her eyes to the water as the heat soaks into her skin, she leans against the cool tiles and relaxes under the water as it cascades down her body, massaging her muscles. Soaping up a sponge, she runs it under her arms, down her legs, under her breasts and finally between her legs. An image of Damon appears in her mind. Dropping the sponge, she turns the hot water up a little and washes her hair. She suspects he doesn't have a girlfriend because if he did, he certainly wouldn't have invited her to stay in his spare room? If a boyfriend of hers pulled such a thing, he wouldn't remain her boyfriend long. Shrugging off such thoughts, she finishes her hair, rinses the suds away and turns the water spigots off.

Reaching for a towel, she wraps it around herself and then combs through her hair. She puts a little makeup on, just a little blush, mascara and a spritz of perfume. After putting on some clothes, a pair of jeans and a flowy top, she packs her things and takes them out to her car. Before she leaves, she runs over to the office to settle her bill and turn in the key. Once that's done, she's quickly back on the road to return to Ellijay, her fingers anxiously tapping on the steering wheel at the prospect of meeting the judge.

After dropping off her things at Damon's place with the key he gave her, she opts to walk back to police headquarters instead of driving, she could use the exercise. Walking briskly, she breathes in the fresh, fragrant air of the blooming flowers and the green trees. Could she live in a small town like this? Would it satisfy her? Honestly she doesn't know, she likes the city but she also likes the peace and quiet the small town offers.

Turning right when she reaches Main Street, she picks up her pace a little but stops to take a whiff of some rose bushes that she passes. A few minutes later, she trots the last few steps and goes inside the station.

"You're back?" Damon turns around with a cup of coffee in his hand.

"Here's your key, I dropped my things off."

"Keep it for now, you might need it. Um, are you hungry, we could go to the café down the street? Esther is a great cook, you had a taste of her burgers..."

"That sounds great and I am hungry," Elena rubs her belly playfully.

"Yeah, that," he laughs, opens the door and follows her outside. Together they walk down the sidewalk and across the street, going inside Esther's Grill when they reach the place. Urging her forward with his hand on her lower back, he leads her to a in across from her, Damon waves the woman over.

"Esther, this is my friend, Elena," he takes the menus from her.

"I'm Esther, pleased to meet you. Do you want something to drink while you decide?"

"Just cold water for me please," Elena responds, picking up the menu.

"The usual, Esther," thanks, he winks at her and she swats him with the towel she pulls from her waist. When he gives her a faux scandalous look, she rolls her eyes and goes to get their drinks. After she delivers them, they place their orders. Maybe 10 minutes later, Esther serves their food, plates brimming with French fries, condiments and their burgers.

"This is so good," Elena mumbles the same as she did the first time she had a bite of one of this cafe's burgers.

"Told you so," Damon winks, stuffing a few French fries in his mouth.

"Did you find anything on a missing person's report for Isobel?"

"Strangely enough, no," Damon takes a swallow of coffee.

"That's rather odd don't you think? I mean someone disappears without a trace and no one is concerned?" Elena drops the last piece of burger into her mouth.

"Maybe she didn't have any relatives? And let's not forget, she was an adult and able to make her own decisions."

"What if she was a runaway at one time? Would there be any record of it?"

"Elena, if she was, it was over 40 years ago. They didn't have records like we do now. There was no Center for Missing and Exploited Children back then, no national database."

"You're right, I didn't think of that," she smiles at Esther when she refills her water glass.

"Who wants the bill?"

"I do," Elena insists, taking it from her. "You've gone out of your way to help me, the least I can do is buy you lunch," she opens her wallet and pulls out some cash along with a tip then hands it to Esther.

"Well thank you," he wipes his mouth and stands up, following her out of the café. Since the Judge lives only a couple of blocks off Main street in a big old corner house, they walk rather than take Damon's squad car.

The mansion looms proudly behind creaky iron gates, flanked by rows of skeletal trees crowned in green, swaying gently to the light summer breeze. At its threshold stands the delicate marble fountain, the soft gurgling of the clear water melodic as it resonates in the surrounding silence. Ivy and ferns grow through the crevices of the old winding stone path, which leads directly to the colossal structure.

"Wow," Elena stares at the palatial estate. "How does a Judge afford this place?"

"His family is rich, they own half the county and more," Damon explains as they approach the front door. Raising his hand, he picks up the door knocker and uses it, slamming it against the plate. Soon the huge ornate door opens.

"Sheriff?"

"Mrs. Lockwood?"

"I gave Haley the day off if that's why you're looking at me so shocked," she eyes him pointedly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to insult you."

"You didn't, how can I help you?"

"We're here, I mean me and this is Elena Gilbert, to see the judge."

"Gilbert? I don't think I know the name."

"She's not from around here. She's writing a book on the Fell murder."

"Oh," her voice turns colder. "Follow me," she leads them through the house to a huge study. When they enter, the first thing they see is a huge high-backed chair. It's so big that they can't see Judge Lockwood's head.

Slowly it spins and they find themselves face to face with the older man, a big cigar hanging between his fingers and a puff of smoke leaving his mouth. The smell of it makes Elena's lungs burn. Looking around, somehow the ostentatiousness of the room doesn't surprise her. There's a large portrait of the man in a robe with a gavel in his hand. She strongly suspects it's a younger version of the man. Turning back to him, Elena has to fight the urge to fan her face as residual cigar smoke hangs in the air, shifting like ghosts in the breeze.

"Richard, the sheriff and Miss Gilbert are here to have a word with you."

"Come on in," he remarks and turns to his wife, "Carol, would you mind getting us a brandy?"

"Oh no thank you, Mrs. Lockwood, I'm on duty," Damon interrupts.

"And you?" Carol asks.

"No, but thanks for the offer," she watches the woman walk away.

Elena considers the man, he's tall, thin, pale. A chill moves down her spine as she notices the way his eyes trail over her.

When the man says, "Have a seat," Damon nods, urging her forward with his palm against the small of her back. After they sit down, he takes a long pull on his cigar, blowing the smoke out, causing Elena to cough.

"Please explain why you're here..." he bids them arrogantly.

With Damon's warning, Elena can see they won't get anywhere being all respectable and polite. Before the sheriff can start, she takes a deep breath... "It's about the Logan Fell murder... Why did you pronounce him guilty after a sham trial?"

"Elena?" Damon's eyes widen at her accusation.

The man flies out of his chair before Elena can blink. Laying his palms on his desk top, he looms over her like a cobra ready to strike. "What right do you have to come into my home, 40 years after a murder and accuse me of impropriety?"

"My grandmother is Margaret Anders Gilbert. She told me what happened in the courtroom and how her brother wasn't given the opportunity to present a defense..."

"That's because he pled guilty."

"What?" she stands up, not willing to let him intimidate her.

"You heard me," he looks away when the door cracks and Carol returns with a brand snifter. He swirls it in the glass and then takes a long swallow.

"Then why was John hanged so quickly after the trial and what happened to Isobel?"

"That's the way we did things back then and how would I know what happened to his wife?"

"My grandmother said she slept around, do you know anything about that?"

Damon's jaw nearly hits the floor at her audacity. He stands up when he sees the Judge's face redden in anger.

"Get out," he bellows, storms over to the door, opens it and points them out.

"You haven't seen the last of me," Elena retorts and marches out with her head held high. Damon thanks him for seeing them but doesn't apologize for her. He's kind of amazed by the fact that she has more balls than half the men in this town who cower in front of the old man.

"You got a rise out of him," he laughs when he catches up to her outside.

"I hope I didn't get you in trouble," she looks back at the house and notices the Judge step away from the curtain. "It's hard for me to shed my reporter's instincts."

"Nah, it's all good, he's more of a figurehead in this town than anything else," he explains as they step outside the property and head down the sidewalk to go back to the police station. As they walk into the square, Elena points to the little park like area.

"You want to have a look?" he asks, playfully quirking his brows.

Momentarily mesmerized, she can't escape the pull of his eyes. They're blue like the sea, crystal clear blue- shimmering, crashing and churning.

"Elena?"

"Sorry," she laughs and brushes a strand of hair out of her face. "It is pretty here, the whole town is quaint."

Shaking herself out of it, her mind goes back to the fiery encounter at the Lockwood home. She could use a few minutes for the burst of adrenaline to wane and leave her body. Does the Judge know something? Or was it just pride and bluster that made him throw them out of his house? Elena's about two steps in front of Damon when they start to cross the street.

Neither of them sees the Jeep careening around the corner.

A cacophony of sounds hit Elena's ears like a tidal wave. In shock, she stands frozen, eyes wide and directly in the path of the speeding car.

Sorry it's later today. Hectic night at the hospital. You can be having a fairly good night, busy but manageable and then we get a busy patient, it can all go to hell in a handbasket as the saying goes. I was exhausted when I got home this morning.

Huge thanks to every one of your for the reviews, follows, favorites, kind words. They mean the world to us.

Lots of love and thanks to you, Eva.

Have a safe and wonderful day, thanks you all again and we'll see you next time.