Page 21 of Buried Secrets

Dawn stretched its fingers across Widow’s Point Island, painting the sky in watercolor washes of red and gold. Kaitlin’s sneakers pounded the packed dirt road, her breath forming small clouds in the crisp autumn air. Three days in the cottage had established this morning ritual—a five-mile loop that took her from the mansion grounds through the wooded path, past Amy’s cottage, to the harbor, and back. Amy’s little terrier, Ollie, had still not grown used to her presence and announced her arrivals and departures by barking ferociously as she jogged past each morning.

The run cleared her mind, offering precious moments when she wasn’t consumed by the search for her mother. In these solitary mornings, with only the cry of gulls and the distant rhythm of the ocean for company, Kaitlin found brief, necessary peace.

She rounded the final bend toward the cottage, her pace slowing as she approached the cool down of her run. The mansion came into view. Its weathered shingles reflected the early light. Movement in the driveway caught her eye—a man standing at the edge of the property, gazing up at the building.

At his side sat a golden retriever, its coat golden in the morning sun. The dog spotted her first, ears perking up as she approached.

Kaitlin slowed to a walk and stretched her arms above her head as she caught her breath. The man turned at her approach. He was older, perhaps in his seventies, with silver hair and the healthy tan of someone who’d spent considerable time outdoors. He wore a navy-blue sweater over a checked shirt, khaki pants, and well-maintained boat shoes. The comfortable uniform of retired New England affluence.

“Good morning,” he called, his voice carrying a pleasant resonance. His smile revealed straight white teeth beneath a neatly trimmed mustache. “Beautiful day for a run.”

“It is,” Kaitlin agreed, her breathing still slightly labored. The golden retriever approached her, tail wagging in gentle sweeps. “Hello there,” she said, and extended her hand for the dog to sniff before scratching it behind its ears.

“That’s Winston,” the man said. “He never meets a stranger.”

Winston leaned against Kaitlin’s legs, clearly enjoying the attention. His fur was soft beneath her fingers, and the simple pleasure of petting the friendly dog made her smile.

“I’m Kaitlin,” she offered.

“James,” he replied with a nod. “Quite a place, isn’t it?” He gestured toward the Mansion. “I’ve always had a soft spot for this old building.”

“It has character,” Kaitlin agreed, continuing to stroke Winston’s golden head.

James chuckled, warm and genuine. “I hear there are renovation plans in the works?”

“I believe so.”

“Brave soul,” James remarked. “Place that size, with that history—bound to have its share of… challenges.”

Something in his tone made Kaitlin study him more carefully. “You’re familiar with the mansion?”

He smiled again, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Small island.”

Winston nudged Kaitlin’s hand, demanding more attention. She obliged as she considered the man’s words.

“Well,” James said, checking his watch. “I should get back. Morning walks with Winston are getting shorter these days—his hips aren’t what they used to be.” He gave a short whistle, and the dog reluctantly left Kaitlin’s side. “Pleasure meeting you.”

“Likewise,” Kaitlin said, watching as man and dog turned down the road leading toward her neighbors Kelsey and Mac.

“Enjoy your stay on our little island,” James called over his shoulder. “However long it lasts.”

Kaitlin went on with her routine of cool-down stretches as she watched them disappear around the bend.

The sun had fully cleared the horizon now, burning away the last wisps of the dawn fog. The mansion’s windows reflected the golden light as a chilled breeze raised goosebumps on her skin. She shivered and hustled back to her cottage for a hot shower and coffee, the brief encounter with the friendly neighbor slipping from her mind.

Chapter 6

Kaitlin stepped out into the chill of the late morning, the sharp salt air a welcome relief from the musty gloom of the records room. She pulled her cardigan tighter, feeling the ache between her shoulder blades from hours hunched over the boxes of dusty records.

Amy had begged for coffee, real coffee, not the dregs from the ancient percolator in the mansion’s kitchen. Kaitlin had leapt at the excuse for a break.

The drive into town was short, just past the clutch of wind-stunted pines and across the narrow green. Widow’s Point’s Main Street was quaint in a New England way. The post office, a hardware store, and blessedly Annie’s diner, its windows fogged against the cool air blowing from the Atlantic.

Inside, the place was busy. Locals, mostly older women in quilted vests and men in battered work boots, clustered at tables. Their voices were a low tide, punctuated by suspicious glances toward the door as Kaitlin entered. She ignored them as best she could and joined the queue behind a man in paint-splattered overalls.

As she waited, she heard her name spoken. “Ms. Mathews. Finding everything you need on our little island?”

She turned. Mrs. Holloway, the town clerk, approached her from a corner table, a mug cradled in her veined hands. Her gaze was sharp over her half-moon glasses, the kind of look that had catalogued generations of island secrets.