Pace, Florida—a sleepy suburb where kids zip around on scooters and neighbors wave from porches—has been thrust into the spotlight after a heartbreaking find in the woods off Kimberly Road. On December 4, 2025, the discovery of 14-year-old Danika Troy’s remains unraveled a tangled web of teenage drama, impulsive decisions, and a bizarre act by a grown man that’s left locals stunned. As the Santa Rosa County Sheriff’s Office digs deeper, the case has gripped the nation, with two young suspects in custody and a community desperate for answers.

Danika Troy was every inch the typical eighth-grader at Pace Middle School. With a contagious smile and a passion for art, she dreamed of designing video games or caring for animals one day. Her Instagram was a colorful mix of beach selfies, pet photos, and quirky sketches she’d scribble during study hall. “She was the friend who’d make you laugh till you cried,” classmate Mia Reynolds told reporters, clutching a purple scrunchie Danika had given her. In Pace, a town of about 22,000 nestled 15 miles east of Pensacola, Danika was a familiar face—zipping to school on her black scooter or grabbing ice cream with friends at the local Dairy Queen.

Raised by her single mother, Ashley Troy, a medical assistant who worked long hours in Pensacola, Danika was grounded in love but not immune to teenage rebellion. Ashley described their bond as unbreakable, filled with late-night chats and weekend trips to the Gulf Coast. “She was my partner-in-crime, always planning our next adventure,” Ashley shared, her voice breaking during a recent vigil. But on November 30, 2025, that adventurous spirit led Danika astray. Grounded for sneaking out the previous week, she slipped out of her bedroom window around 10 p.m., leaving a note: “Be back soon, Mom. Love you.” Her phone’s last signal pinged near a wooded trail—a quiet spot popular with hikers but deserted after dark.

When Ashley found the note at 7 a.m. on December 1, her heart sank. She called the Santa Rosa County Sheriff’s Office, reporting Danika as a runaway. In Florida, runaways trigger a 24-hour wait before full missing-person protocols, a rule that frustrated Ashley as precious time ticked by. Deputies began door-to-door checks, while Ashley scoured Danika’s social media for clues. Friends revealed Danika had been texting about a crush, her messages bubbly with the thrill of young love. “She was head-over-heels for this boy at school,” one friend confided anonymously. “She’d do anything to see him.”

The search escalated quickly. Volunteers plastered flyers across Pace, showing Danika’s bright grin and her favorite purple hoodie. Local shops displayed posters, and the Sheriff’s Office used drones to scan the woods. Sheriff Bob Johnson, a no-nonsense lawman with 30 years on the force, took to the airwaves on December 2, pleading for tips. “Danika’s out there, and we need your help to bring her home,” he told WEAR-TV. Behind the scenes, detectives were already piecing together a darker picture, combing through Danika’s Snapchat and text messages.

Then came the bombshell on December 4. Around 2 p.m., Mitchell Eddins, a 42-year-old mechanic and father of two, pulled his pickup truck off Kimberly Road for a quick break. Neighbors describe Eddins as a reserved man who kept to himself, often tinkering with cars in his driveway. That day, he noticed a black scooter leaning against a tree—an odd sight in the thick brush. As he approached, he made a grim discovery: Danika’s remains, hidden under leaves and branches. According to the arrest report, Eddins stood frozen, his mind racing. In a move that’s baffled authorities and locals alike, he decided to take the scooter, loading it into his truck before driving the five miles back to his trailer on Spartan Drive.

Why didn’t he call 911? That question has haunted Pace. Eddins later told deputies he thought the scooter might be evidence and planned to report the find later. He even mentioned the discovery to neighbors, who were horrified. “He was pale, stammering about finding something bad,” one neighbor told the Pensacola News Journal. “We said, ‘Mitch, you gotta call the cops right now!’” But Eddins hesitated, stashing the scooter in his driveway. It wasn’t until deputies, following a separate tip, spotted the scooter at his home that the truth came out. Eddins led them to the site, where forensic teams confirmed Danika’s identity using dental records and a charm bracelet Ashley had gifted her.

The medical examiner’s report revealed a tragic end: Danika had suffered multiple impacts, and traces of accelerant suggested an attempt to conceal the scene. The scooter, identified by its serial number, was indeed Danika’s—a birthday present from her grandmother. Eddins now faces charges of petty theft and failure to report a death, both misdemeanors. Released on $2,000 bond, he’s due in court on January 15, 2026. His attorney, speaking to FOX10 News, insisted, “Mitchell was in shock. He made a poor choice but meant no harm.” Locals aren’t so forgiving. “Who sees something like that and just takes a kid’s scooter?” asked Sarah Kline, a Pace mom, at a community meeting.

The investigation didn’t stop with Eddins. Hours after the discovery, detectives zeroed in on two of Danika’s classmates: 16-year-old Gabriel Coleman Williams and 14-year-old Kimahri Blevins. Both boys, students at Pace Middle School, were part of Danika’s social circle, sharing art and science classes. Williams, a charismatic athlete, was the boy Danika had been smitten with, her notebook filled with doodles of his name. Blevins, quieter and less outgoing, often hung out with the pair. Snapchat records showed the boys messaging Danika on November 30, luring her to the woods for a “surprise hangout.” Her reply was pure excitement: “This is gonna be so cool!”

What happened next is a chilling tale of teenage grudges gone wrong. According to affidavits, Williams and Blevins were upset over a falling-out with Danika. She’d blocked them on social media after a spat about online comments—a slight that stung in the high-stakes world of middle school cliques. Messages recovered from Blevins’ phone revealed the boys had planned a confrontation days earlier. In the woods, the argument escalated, and the pair allegedly carried out a premeditated act. Afterward, they used materials from the site to cover their tracks before slipping back home. Williams’ mother grounded him for coming in late, unaware of the gravity. Blevins, living with relatives, went unnoticed.

By December 4, tips from classmates and school counselors led deputies to the boys. Both were arrested without incident and questioned separately. Their stories clashed, but enough matched the evidence—phone records, witness accounts, and forensic findings—to build a case. Williams faces first-degree premeditated charges, while Blevins is accused of being a principal participant. As juveniles, they’re in detention awaiting hearings, but Sheriff Johnson is pushing to try them as adults. “This wasn’t a mistake—it was planned,” he told reporters. “A family’s been shattered, and we’ll seek justice.” The state attorney’s office is reviewing the case, with a decision expected by January.

The fallout in Pace has been profound. On December 8, over 500 residents gathered for a vigil at the middle school, lighting candles and wearing purple, Danika’s favorite color. Ashley Troy, overcome with grief, thanked the crowd for their support. “My baby girl deserved better,” she whispered before stepping away. Churches have rallied with meal deliveries, and the school brought in grief counselors. Principal Laura Jones told the Daily Mail, “Our kids are struggling. We’re doing all we can to help them process this.”

Social media, a key player in the case, has been a double-edged sword. While it helped track Danika’s final movements, it’s also fueled hurtful rumors. Ashley deactivated her accounts after trolls posted cruel comments, and local Facebook groups have cracked down on misinformation. “It’s hard enough without people making up lies,” said moderator Karen Holt, who’s been deleting posts daily.

Eddins’ actions, while less severe, have sparked debate. Florida law mandates immediate reporting of deaths, and legal analyst Dana Morris told the Daily Mail, “It’s a simple rule to protect investigations. Eddins’ delay complicated things, but he’s unlikely to face serious punishment.” With no prior record, he may settle with a fine or community service. Still, locals like retiree Tom Grayson are baffled: “You find a kid in the woods, you call 911. End of story.”

For the juvenile suspects, the stakes are higher. Florida allows teens as young as 14 to be tried as adults for major offenses, and the evidence—phone data, confessions, and physical findings—appears strong. Defense attorneys may argue the boys’ ages and emotional immaturity, but public sentiment is unforgiving. “They knew what they were doing,” said parent Lisa Carter at a school board meeting. “My daughter’s scared to walk to school now.”

Pace is trying to heal. Students are planting a memorial garden with purple flowers and a bench for Danika. Ashley plans to attend the first planting, channeling her daughter’s love for animals into donations for a local shelter. The school is launching digital-safety workshops to teach kids about online risks, a response to the Snapchat messages that lured Danika out that night.

As the legal process unfolds, investigators are still analyzing evidence, including additional phone records. While the main facts are clear, small details may shift before trial. For now, Pace faces a somber holiday season. The usual Christmas lights and parades feel muted, replaced by purple ribbons tied to mailboxes in Danika’s honor.

Danika Troy’s life was cut short, but her spirit lingers in Pace. Her artwork still hangs in classrooms, and her laughter echoes in friends’ memories. “She was like sunshine,” Mia Reynolds said, tying a purple ribbon to the school fence. In a town forever changed, that light is what residents hold onto as they seek justice and peace.