Page 5 of Buried Secrets

“Find anything useful for your… research?” He emphasized research with just enough skepticism to make it clear he wasn’t convinced.

“Some promising leads,” she replied vaguely. “And you? Uncovered any deep, dark island secrets for your mysterious investigation?”

“Just scratching the surface,” he said, gathering a stack of documents. “I’ll be using that ancient copier now, if you don’t mind.”

“By all means,” she gestured toward the door. “I’ll just continue my apparently suspicious historical research.”

Matt couldn’t help a small smile.

The ancient copier hummed like an asthmatic dragon. As he fed documents through the machine, Matt found himself thinking about the woman across the room, and it wasn’t those green eyes or the curve of her jeans. She wasn’t telling the truth about why she was here. He couldn’t say how or why, but his instincts, honed through years of law enforcement work, were practically shouting that Kaitlin Mathews wasn’t here to research historical context. She wanted something specific from the mansion and its former occupants.

The question was what and why.

And whether it had anything to do with the skeleton wearing a tarnished ring that had spent decades in forgotten soil.

When he returned to the records room, documents copied and originals in hand, Kaitlin was carefully replacing folders in their cabinets.

“Finished already?” he asked.

“For today,” she replied, shouldering her messenger bag. “The Harbor Inn’s dinner is surprisingly good, and I have a reservation at six.”

Matt glanced at his watch—past five already. He smiled to himself. She definitely did not need a reservation for the inn. It was late September and well past the brief tourist season. The short autumn day was fading outside the small window, shadows lengthening across the town common.

“Find what you needed?” he asked, knowing she hadn’t from the tight set of her shoulders.

“A beginning.” She headed for the exit.

The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving Matt surrounded by dusty records and questions multiplying by the minute.

Chapter 2

The bay windows of the Harbor Inn’s dining room framed the last wisps of sunset like a living painting. The sky was a deep purple that bled into burnt orange, silhouetting the forest of sailboat masts that swayed gently in the rising evening tide.

Kaitlin cut into her haddock, the flaky white fish falling apart beneath her knife. The dish was surprisingly good, especially for an establishment that likely catered more to summer tourists than discerning palates.

She savored the bite, letting the herbs and butter linger on her tongue while her gaze drifted across the darkening harbor. A weathered lobster boat chugged toward the docks. Its navigation lights glowed against the twilight as the fisherman returned with the day’s final catch.

The dining room was only half full, mostly of older couples speaking in the hushed tones of those who had been married long enough to have run out of small talk.

Kaitlin detected occasional glances in her direction. A solo diner always attracted notice in places like this, especially a woman with no obvious connection to the island after the tourist season. She’d grown adept at ignoring such curiosity, having dined alone in far more intimidating establishments than the Harbor Inn’s cozy, knotty-pine restaurant with its nautical themed artwork and votive candles flickering in blue glass holders.

The waitress, Jenna—according to her name tag—approached with a practiced smile. “How’s everything tasting?”

“Lovely, thank you,” Kaitlin replied, reaching for her glass of pinot noir. “Compliments to the chef.”

“I’ll tell Maurice you said so. He’s particular about his haddock.” Jenna refilled Kaitlin’s water glass. “Anything else I can get you?”

“I’m fine for now.”

As the waitress moved to check on other tables, Kaitlin’s mind circled back to the afternoon’s discoveries, or lack thereof. The town records had yielded less than she’d hoped, though the interaction with Sheriff Winters had been enlightening in its own way. His presence at the archives, specifically researching the mansion’s history in investigation of what was obviously human remains, piqued her interest, but it also complicated matters.

She’d need to be careful. Small towns were notoriously tight-lipped about their secrets, especially when those secrets might implicate long-standing residents. Except for Mrs. Holloway, who was more than happy to elaborate on her own theories as she was leaving the town offices.

Kaitlin sipped her wine, letting the warmth of it spread through her chest as a fresh gust of wind rattled the old bay windows. A proper autumn storm was brewing; she could smell it in the salt-laden air that slipped through the cracks in the inn’s ancient frames. The season was turning faster here than in London, where autumn crept in reluctantly, with drawn-out days and gradually lowering temperatures.

Her parents would have loved this place.

The thought struck her like it always did, sudden and sharp, stealing her breath. Two years had passed since the car accident, yet time had done nothing to fill the vast emptiness they’d left behind. It wasn’t just their absence that hurt; it was all the spaces they should have occupied. The silence where their advice should have been. The phantom vibration of her phone that was never them calling to check in.