Page 15 of Finding Home

“Are you from Sapphire Bay?”

“Born and raised. Fourth generation.” Pride colored Ryan’s voice. “My great-grandfather homesteaded land about ten miles from here. So I understand both sides. We need jobs and economic growth. But we also don’t want to lose what makes this place special.”

Julie understood that tension more than she wanted to admit. She’d seen communities transformed by development, but there was a fine line between retaining the character of an area and making it look like every other development. She’d also seen towns slowly die when economic opportunities dried up and young people moved away.

“Thanks for your time.” Julie pulled a business card out of her pocket. “If you think of anything else, here’s my email address and phone number.”

Ryan took the card. “You might want to speak to the people who own property around Finley Point. Some have been more upset than others about the development.”

Julie frowned as Ryan returned to his work. She didn’t recall seeing any interviews with the resort’s neighbors, but that didn’t mean there hadn’t been any.

She spent another thirty minutes walking around the site, taking photos, and making notes about access points and sightlines. The more she looked, the more questions she had.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Cole: Any progress?

Some leads to follow, she typed back. I’ll see you this evening.

Julie had the rest of the day to put together what she’d found. She was sure most of it would be useful, even the information the police had dismissed as circumstantial.

But more importantly, she’d proven to herself that she could still investigate a story. Still make a difference in people’s lives.

Deputy Webb was waiting by her car when she returned. “Did you find what you needed?”

“I’m getting there.” Julie unlocked her door. “Thanks again for your help, Marcus.”

“Just be careful, Ms. Harrison.” Marcus’ voice deepened. “Whoever did this, they’re not going to appreciate someone poking around. Small towns can be funny about outsiders asking questions.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

As she drove back toward town, Julie was already sorting through what she’d learned. The fired equipment operator was an obvious lead and was worth tracking down. But there were other threads too. The environmental groups Marcus had mentioned, local opposition to the development, and competing business interests.

Plenty to investigate. Plenty to fill her days with purpose.

The realization hit her as she turned onto the highway. She felt alive. Energized in a way she hadn’t since before the layoff. Her brain was working, solving puzzles, connecting dots. She had questions to answer and people to interview and a story to uncover.

And it absolutely terrified her.

Because what happened when this investigation ended? When Cole’s mystery was solved and she had nothing left to dig into? Would she slip back into that hollow existence of rejection emails and empty afternoons, baking bread she didn’t really want to eat, and walking along a lake that felt more like a beautiful prison than a peaceful refuge?

Julie gripped the steering wheel tighter. She’d spent months telling herself that her journalism career was over, that she needed to accept retirement gracefully and find new purpose. But the last few days had shown her the truth. She didn’t know how to be anything else. Didn’t know who Julie Harrison was without questions to ask and stories to tell.

Her driveway appeared around a curve. The cottage she was renting was small and temporary against the vast Montana landscape. Just like everything else in her life right now.

She parked and sat in the silence, staring at the structure that wasn’t home and might never be. Then she grabbed her notebook and went inside, already planning the next pages of Cole’s report.

Because whether it terrified her or not, she was good at this. And maybe, for now, that was enough.

Chapter 11

That afternoon, Cole stood at the front of the church hall. He watched the faces around the long tables as residents peppered him with questions about the resort’s water usage. He’d organized these smaller community meetings after the initial presentation, hoping to address concerns in a less intimidating setting. Twenty people were here today, most of them familiar by now.

But each time he held a meeting, he wondered if the people who came knew anything about the sabotage.

“What about runoff during spring melt?” Dennis Carter leaned forward, his weathered hands clasped on the table. “That’s a lot of impervious surface you’re putting in.”

Cole pulled his attention back to the question, explaining the detention ponds and native plantings designed for Montana’s seasonal patterns. Dennis seemed satisfied, but Cole noticed the man’s wife whispering to their neighbor.

Was it innocent conversation, or something else?