benandsteve.com

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

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The morning sun had just begun to burn away the last wisps of fog. The fog clung to Pine Hollow’s deserted streets. At this moment, Detective Clara Vale stepped off the county bus. The little town—nestled between whispering pines and rocky hills—was where everyone knew your grandmother’s maiden name. In this town, no secret stayed buried for long. But something about the silent hush felt different today, as if the forest was holding its breath.

Clara’s boots crunched on the gravel. She walked to the crooked lamppost at the town square. There, a single bulletin board displayed the hand-painted flyer she’d come to see:

“Missing: Benjamin Hawthorne. Last seen at the Old Mill.”

Benjamin, a local schoolteacher, had vanished two nights before. He left only a trail of broken glass in his classroom. A smear of muddy footprints led into the woods. Clara studied the flyer’s edges—fresh tears around the corners told her someone had already pulled it down once. She taped it back in place and set off.

Her first stop was the Old Mill, its rotting wood groaning in the breeze. Inside, moonlight slanted through broken windows, illuminating desks overturned, and chalk dust still hovering in the air. Clara knelt by a desk. She noted the glass shards and a single, battered notebook. It lay open to a page filled with frantic mathematical equations. This was Benjamin’s lifework on the community’s crumbling dam.

Clara closed the book gently and pocketed it. The dam’s collapse would flood half the town; had Benjamin discovered a flaw and been threatened into silence?

As dusk fell, Clara meticulously combed through the Hawthorne farm. Benjamin’s aging parents stuttered about late-night visitors. Strange trucks idled on the gravel road, and their headlights flickered like watchful eyes. Their hands trembled as they described a low rumble, like a machine in the woods. Clara’s pulse quickened at the implication of clandestine logging or worse. She assured them she’d find Benjamin, her determination unwavering, then slipped out the back door.

By midnight, Clara was deep in the forest, tracking tire tracks that plunged toward the dam’s service tunnel. She shone her flashlight on fresh scuff marks along the tunnel walls. Heart pounding, she crept ahead until she heard a muffled voice. 

“Detective… over here.” 

Benjamin emerged from the shadows, bruised but alive, clutching the dam’s blueprints. 

“They wanted me to falsify the safety report,” 

He whispered. 

“When I refused, they locked me up.” 

Clara’s eyes narrowed as headlights flared above ground—masked men were coming back. Benjamin was by her side. She retraced her steps. She used the winding tunnel to slip past the guard trucks waiting at the entrance.

When they burst into the open, Clara raised her badge like a beacon. 

“State Police—step away from the dam!” 

Her command sent the conspirators scattering into the trees. Moments later, sirens rang in the distance—backup arrived earlier to secure the scene. In the stillness that followed, Clara handed Benjamin his blueprints. 

“Now the town knows the truth,” 

She said. As the first light of dawn filtered through the pines, Pine Hollow exhaled, its secrets finally laid to rest. 

The collective sigh of relief was relatable as Detective Vale boarded the morning bus, ready for whatever mystery came next.