Page 22 of Buried Secrets

Kaitlin managed a polite smile. “Good morning. Yes, thank you.”

Mrs. Holloway made a sound, a cross between a chuckle and a sniff. “That’s one way to put it. Town hasn’t seen this much excitement since the ferry ran aground in ’93. Or when Dr. Whitaker jumped off a cliff. And all because of what’s come out of that old mansion.”

Conversation at the surrounding tables seemed to hush subtly. Kaitlin collected her coffee order, the barista’s hands quick and businesslike, then turned back to the older woman. “I suppose news travels fast here.”

“Like wildfire in August.” Mrs. Holloway’s tone was genial, but her eyes were shrewd. “So many strangers on the island. Police, city folk, even the FBI, I hear. And all because of a murder.”

Kaitlin’s grip tightened reflexively on the cardboard tray. “Murder?” She kept her voice measured. “I wasn’t aware the sheriff had confirmed it.”

The town clerk waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, he hasn’t. But it’s obvious, isn’t it? Bodies buried on the grounds, all that fuss with the tape, the tents, and night-time security. Islanders aren’t daft, whatever outsiders think. Its True Crime 101, anyone with half a brain could figure it out.” She sipped from her mug, then leaned closer. “If you find bones in a garden, it’s not a history project anymore. Is it Ms. Mathews?”

A ripple ran through the shop, just a lull in the background conversation. Kaitlin felt the prickle of curiosity and suspicion from the subtle gazes and covert whispers, but she nodded neutrally. “Certainly is a lot to take in.”

“I bet.” Mrs. Holloway turned on her heel and rejoined the small group of ladies leaning forward in their seats to take in anything they could hear of the conversation.

Outside, the wind had picked up, sending a flurry of red leaves skittering down the street. Kaitlin hurried back toward the mansion with a racing mind. She’d known there was a possibility of running into people that knew the story behind the mansion’s activities. But reality was different than just a possibility.

If there was murder involved, and obviously it was a distinct possibility, searching for the truth about her mother and her adoption may take her into a dangerous situation. The islanders knew more than they let on about the mansion, about its history, about what had been buried there and why. Perhaps some even knew the truth, or pieces of it.

Perhaps some were determined to keep those secrets hidden.

A chill swept across her skin. She could talk to Sheriff Winters, if she was worried about her safety while digging for answers about her mother. But she shouldn’t be, if she was truly just doing research for her client. Anyway, wasn’t this what she had hoped for? For the truth to reveal itself?

She would need to stay silent for now, let things reveal themselves, and watch out for herself.

Kaitlin made a mental note as she drove. She’d been focusing on simply locating information about her mother. Maybe it was time to find out who from the island was connected to the mansion. She should look for payroll, employment records, anything in the archives that would reveal who had worked at the home in the years before it closed.

Someone had seen what happened. Someone had done far worse. Their identity could be there.

Likely, the sheriff or the FBI—if it were true the FBI was on the island—would want that information. If she were investigating a murder, that’s what she would do.

Kaitlin pressed her lips together as she climbed the mansion steps, balancing the coffees.

She closed the heavy front door behind her and stepped into the cavernous entranceway. The air moved around her as a hushed silence; obviously the construction crew was taking a break from their work.

Then, heavy, lumbering footsteps sounded in the foyer as the hulking form of a construction worker hesitated, finding her in his path. She’d run into the silent man before, but never this close. Her heart hammered. His size and his silence were downright creepy. Kaitlin stepped to one side to let him pass, which he did without muttering a sound. She exhaled the breath she’d held and made her way to Amy’s office to deliver the coffee.

Kaitlin located Amy from the sound of voices before she saw the open door. She hesitated just beyond the threshold of Amy’s office, balancing the cardboard tray and listening, her knuckles white. Amy’s voice was threaded with tension, and then a deeper, more familiar one: Matt’s. Another unfamiliar male joined, American, confident in a way that suggested he thought the world belonged to him.

Amy glanced up first, relief flickering across her face as she spotted Kaitlin in the hall. “Oh, there you are. Just in time.” She waved her in. “Coffee for the living. Much needed.”

Matt stood near the desk, posture guarded, his gaze flicking briefly over Kaitlin before settling on the stranger beside him. The new man was taller than Matt, with a crisp suit and a shoulder holster visible underneath the jacket, a detail Kaitlin registered with a muted jolt.

Amy gestured with one hand while the other reached for her coffee. “Kaitlin, this is Special Agent Reid Cook from the FBI. He just arrived from the mainland.”

The new man stepped forward with a broad smile and proffered his hand. When she shook it, his grip lingered, warm and strong. He scanned her face in open appraisal. “You’re the historian? I have to admit, you’re not what I expected. Most record types I meet are twice your age, at least. And not as good looking.”

Heat crept up Kaitlin’s neck and her mouth dried with embarrassment. So, he was one of those kinds of men. “Nice to meet you,” she managed, withdrawing her hand as soon as it was polite. She glanced toward Amy, who offered a small shrug and a half smile, as if to say men.

Agent Cook released her hand at last but didn’t move far. His proximity bordered on intrusive. She resisted moving away from him, determined to let the situation play out, to see what she could garner from it. “Heard you’re organizing the archives for us. Find anything yet?” he asked.

Kaitlin shook her head, setting the drinks on Amy’s desk. “It’s a mess, honestly. Years jumbled together in boxes, some files missing covers or labels.” She tried to keep her tone measured, factual. “I’ve only had access a few days. Most of my time’s been spent trying to make sense of what’s even here.”

Matt nodded, arms folded across his chest, his gaze unreadable. “We’re hoping you can help us narrow things down. Focus on employment records, payroll, anything that tells us who worked at the home from the seventies through the nineties. Especially anyone still on the island today.”

Amy took a grateful sip of her coffee, and the tension in her shoulders loosened just a little. “I told them you’d already started a list of the intact ledgers. And of course you won’t know who is still on the island.”

Kaitlin nodded. “There are some boxes marked ‘Personnel,’ but most haven’t been sorted. It’s slow work.”