Page 1 of Buried Secrets

Chapter 1

The ring caught the last rays of autumn sunlight, a dull glint of gold against bone that had no business being exposed to daylight. Sheriff Mattison Winters crouched at the edge of the excavation, the knees of his uniform pants sinking into soil still damp from yesterday’s rain. He studied the skeletal hand reaching up from the earth like a macabre flower, its metacarpals curved in silent supplication.

This wasn’t what he’d expected when he’d answered the call from Kelsey MacCormack. Garden renovation discoveries usually meant old coins or perhaps a forgotten time capsule.

Not human remains.

Certainly not what appeared to be an adult human hand, complete with a tarnished friendship ring that suggested this was no centuries-old Native burial.

“You’re sure the dogs dug this up? No one was digging here deliberately?” Matt asked, looking up at Mac, who stood beside his wife Kelsey. Both of them were visibly unsettled.

“Noah and the dogs found it,” Mac confirmed, his arm protectively around Kelsey’s waist. “Ollie started digging, and Noah called us over when he realized what they’d found.”

Matt nodded, rising to his full height. At thirty-two, he’d been Widow’s Point Island’s sheriff for just under three years, and in that time, he’d handled missing boats, drunk tourists, domestic disputes, and the occasional drug bust from the mainland trying to use their isolated coves. But this, a body buried on the grounds of the island’s most prominent historical building, this was new territory.

Amy York stepped forward, bracelets jingling, her usual bohemian energy subdued. “I had no idea there was ever a cemetery here. The historical society never mentioned it when they reviewed my renovation plans.”

“That’s because there isn’t supposed to be one,” Matt said, pulling out his phone. “At least, as far as I know without looking through town records. The closest cemetery is over by the church. It’s pretty shallow for an official grave, and there’s no wood I can see from a coffin.”

A gust of wind sent red and gold leaves spiraling down from the massive oak overhead, scattering across them. Matt shivered, though not from the autumn chill.

He’d grown up on this island, knew every cove and trail, or thought he did. Had fished these waters, attended the small school, delivered groceries to the mansions of summer people and the modest homes of year-rounders alike. Yet, standing here now, he felt like a stranger in his own community. The island’s secrets were revealing themselves in unexpected ways.

“I need to call the medical examiner,” he said, already dialing. “And we’ll need to secure the site. This is officially a crime scene until proven otherwise.”

“What do you think it means?” Kelsey asked, her nurse’s training evidently helping her maintain composure. “How long do you think…?”

“Hard to say,” Matt replied over the roar of high tide waves against the coastal cliffs. “But given the condition and the depth, we’re not talking about a recent burial.”

The medical examiner answered his call, and Matt stepped away to explain the situation, occasionally glancing back at the MacCormacks and Amy, who huddled together against the cooling afternoon air. They looked shaken, and he couldn’t blame them. Finding human remains on your property would unsettle anyone.

After making arrangements for the forensic team to come over on the next ferry, Matt rejoined the group.

“They’ll be here in about two hours,” he informed them. “In the meantime, I need to tape off this area and start a preliminary investigation. I’d appreciate if you could show me any renovation plans you have for the property, Amy. I need to know if there are other areas being disturbed.”

Amy nodded, tucking a stray dark hair behind her ear. “Of course. I have everything in the cottage. The historical society approved extensive renovations to the main house and the gardens. Sullivan’s Construction has even started looking at the structural reinforcements needed inside. But we haven’t started much outside beyond clearing overgrowth.”

“And there were never any mentions of burials on the property? In any historical documents?”

“No,” Mac interjected. “My grandfather never mentioned anything like that, and he owned this property for decades. My grandmother worked here when it was still a foundation-run facility, before they purchased it.”

Matt remembered that much from island gossip—how old Truman Costigan had bought the entire estate for his wife, who’d once been employed there. One of those grand romantic gestures that became a local legend.

“Your grandmother,” Matt said, recalling something else. “Didn’t she make some claims about… well, about people disappearing from here?”

Mac’s frown tightened. “She had dementia in her later years. She became convinced something sinister had happened here, but when my grandfather and the previous sheriff looked into it, they found nothing to substantiate her concerns.”

Matt filed that information away. “I’ll check those old records.”

“You think our discovery here could be connected?” Kelsey asked.

“At this point, I’m not ruling anything out,” Matt replied honestly. “Though I’d like to know if we’re dealing with a historical burial or something more recent before jumping to conclusions.”

Retrieving the yellow crime scene tape from his cruiser, he began marking off a generous perimeter around the garden site. The wind had picked up, carrying the scent of salt and wood smoke and, beneath it all, the earthier smell of disturbed soil.

“I’d like to survey the rest of the property,” Matt continued, securing the tape to an ancient oak. “If there’s one burial, there could be others.”

Amy paled visibly. “You think there are more bodies?”