The Glass Alibi: A Heaven Mystery (Heaven Murder Mysteries)

The humidity in Heaven didn’t just sit on you; it claimed you. For Chief Derek Landly, it felt like a lead vest—heavy, familiar, and a reminder of the emotional weight he’d been carrying since the night a .38 caliber slug had tried to punch a hole through his retirement plans.

He stood in the doorway of the Heaven Police Station, his hand instinctively ghosting over the surgical scar beneath his uniform shirt and inches from his heart. It was just after six thirty in the morning. The station was quiet. Today was “Full Duty.” No more physical therapy, no more “light desk work,” and he hoped no more of my worried glances over morning coffee.

“You look like you’re bracing for a hurricane, Chief,” a voice rang out.

Landly turned to see Assistant Chief Paul McClusky leaning against the duty desk, a stack of folders in his hand and a look of cautious relief on his face.

“Just acclimating, Paul,” Landly said, his voice scratchy but firm. “Anything burn down while I was getting my final check up at the hospital in Harris?”

“The town is still standing,” McClusky replied, stepping closer. “But the ‘Jane Doe’ file is still sitting on your desk. I haven’t moved it.”

Landly nodded, his jaw tightening. It was the case that haunted his recovery—the woman who had staggered through these very doors nearly six months ago, her clothes soaked in marsh water, mud caked on her legs and feet, gasping for a breath she couldn’t catch. She’d collapsed right there on the tile floor, dying before the paramedics could even pull into the lot. No ID. No fingerprints on file. Just a look of absolute terror frozen on her face.

“Still nothing from the labs?” Landly asked, walking down the hall toward his office.

“Not a name, not a trace,” McClusky said, following him. “It’s like she dropped out of the sky and landed in the Lowcountry mud.”

Landly sat down behind his desk, the leather chair creaking in a way that sounded like a homecoming. He stared at the manila folder labeled UNIDENTIFIED FEMALE – CASE #2026-042. It was a jagged edge in a town that prided itself on knowing everyone’s business back three generations.