Page 14 of Buried Secrets

The door opened with a creak, breaking her reverie. Amy York stepped out onto the veranda, brushing her hair from her face, her expression unreadable as she approached.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Amy said, joining Kaitlin at the railing. “Being interrogated by Matt is always a special kind of exhausting.”

“I’m familiar,” Kaitlin replied carefully. “Everything all right?”

Amy sighed. “Define ‘all right.’ My property might be hiding multiple bodies, the foundation repair just doubled in price, and the historical society is breathing down my neck at every turn.” She turned to face Kaitlin directly. “Let’s cut to the chase. Who are you, really, and why are you so interested in my mansion?”

The bluntness caught Kaitlin off guard. She’d expected polite circumnavigation, the typical American dance of pleasantries before getting to actual business. This direct approach was refreshing, if slightly alarming.

“I told you. I’m a historical researcher—”

“Yeah, I got that part,” Amy interrupted, waving away the words. “But there are thousands of historical properties in New England. Why this one? Why now?”

Kaitlin hesitated, weighing how much truth she could safely offer. “The home’s operation as a maternity facility for unwed mothers is significant in my area of research. My client is most interested in this one.”

Amy studied her with sharp eyes. “And?”

“And what?”

“And there’s something else.” Amy’s eyes softened slightly. “Look, I’m not a cop. I’m not Matt. I don’t care if you’ve got some hidden agenda, as long as it doesn’t cause more issues than it solves. I don’t need any more drama or expenses. But I like knowing who I’m dealing with.”

A dog barked somewhere in the distance, the sound carrying clearly in the still air. Kaitlin took a moment to compose her thoughts.

“My interest is professional,” she said finally. “The personal element is simply that I’ve spent years researching, and this location represents a rare opportunity: extensive records that haven’t been curated or sanitized. It’s like being the first person to find a buried treasure.”

It wasn’t the full truth, but it wasn’t entirely a lie either.

Amy seemed to consider this, then nodded slowly. “Fair enough.” She leaned against the railing. “So, here’s the situation. I need those records properly cataloged, both for historical preservation and because some of them might relate to whatever the hell happened to the poor person they found buried in my garden. But I can’t pay you.”

“I really wasn’t expecting payment,” Kaitlin assured her. “Access to the archives for my research is compensation enough. Buried treasure and all.”

“Good, because a very beloved grandfather figure granted me an endowment for repairs and restoration, but it’s draining faster than water through a sieve,” Amy said. “Sixteen thousand for foundation work, another twenty for the roof.” She shook her head. “Not exactly what I expected when I started turning this place into a retreat.”

“It seems like an enormous undertaking,” Kaitlin observed, genuinely sympathetic. “You’re doing this alone?”

“My sister Kelsey and her husband Mac are partners in the project,” Amy replied, but the clear frustration in her tone made it sound as though there were issues there.

Kaitlin nodded. “So what’s the vision for the retreat? Once it’s renovated?”

“Wellness,” Amy said, brightening slightly. “Eight luxury suites in the main house, spa facilities in what used to be the east wing, private cottages on the grounds for longer stays.” She gestured toward the gardens. “Organic kitchen gardens, a small restaurant featuring local seafood. At least, that’s the plan if we don’t keep finding corpses.”

The casual way she mentioned the remains made Kaitlin wince internally. Somewhere on these grounds, her mother might have suffered a similar fate. At least, that would be one explanation for why Kaitlin had never met nor heard from the woman.

“Where are you staying while you’re on the island?” Amy asked suddenly.

“The Harbor Inn. It’s quite comfortable.”

Amy snorted. “It’s also about two hundred dollars a night, and Mrs. Foster probably gave you the room directly beneath Mrs. Callahan and her blaring television.”

Kaitlin couldn’t help but smile. “You’re well-informed.”

“Island gossip. We have so little else to entertain us.” Amy straightened suddenly. “You know what? You should stay in the cottage.”

“Cottage?”

“On the property. It’s about a five-minute walk from here, just past the tree line.” Amy pointed toward a cops of birch trees bordering the eastern edge of the garden. “My sister and her son, Kelsey and Noah, were living there until they moved into Mac’s house… Their house. It’s fully furnished, has decent WiFi, and the heat works, which is more than I can say for half the rooms in the mansion.”

Kaitlin blinked in surprised. “That’s very generous, but I couldn’t impose.”