Page 7 of Buried Secrets

“Among others,” she replied vaguely. “My research varies depending on the interests and needs of my client.”

“And they brought you all the way to our little island, specifically to the Widow’s Point Mansion.”

It wasn’t a question, but the skepticism was evident. Kaitlin met his gaze directly. “Research paths often follow unexpected routes, Sheriff. One connection leads to another.”

“Matt,” he corrected for the second time that day. “I’m off duty here.” He took another bite, studying her. “And which connection led you to Widow’s Point?”

The question hung between them as another gust of wind rattled the windows, stronger this time. A few patrons glanced nervously at the darkening sky outside, where clouds had obscured the last traces of twilight.

“Academic references,” Kaitlin improvised. “Records of the island’s British residents appeared in a journal article I was reviewing.”

“Must have been quite the article to prompt a transatlantic journey.”

“I’m thorough, and my client prefers hands-on research, as he is unable to travel for himself.” She took final bite of her fish to avoid elaborating.

Matt’s eyes never left her face, and Kaitlin had the uncomfortable sensation of being read like one of the documents she’d examined earlier. He had a detective’s gaze: patient, observant, cataloging details that others might miss.

“You know,” he said finally, “the interesting thing about small islands is how interconnected everything becomes. History, families, secrets… They all tend to circle back on themselves eventually.” He set his fork down. “Whatever you’re looking for at the mansion, Ms. Mathews, I suspect it’s more specific. Personal even.”

The accuracy of his assessment sent a chill through Kaitlin that had nothing to do with the strengthening storm outside. How could he have discerned that so quickly?

“That’s quite an intuitive leap,” she managed, keeping her voice level.

“Sheriff’s instinct, developed over years of watching people who aren’t telling the whole truth.” He gave a half smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “That and the mansion was used as a home for widowed and unwed mothers for decades. I’m assuming that’s the connection to your work.”

Before Kaitlin could respond, a brilliant flash of lightning illuminated the harbor, followed seconds later by a crack of thunder that seemed to shake the ancient building to its foundations. The lights flickered ominously.

“First real fall storm,” Matt commented, seemingly unperturbed by the dramatic weather. “They can get intense out here on the water.”

“So I gather,” Kaitlin said, grateful for the change in subject. “I hope the Harbor Inn’s infrastructure is more robust than it appears.”

“Mrs. Foster’s family has been welcoming travelers since the 1800s. The place has weathered hurricanes, nor’easters, and everything in between.” Matt took a sip of his beer. “Though I wouldn’t count on the power holding all night. They usually break out the oil lamps around the third or fourth outage.”

“How charmingly rustic,” Kaitlin murmured as another flash lit the sky, casting strange shadows across the dining room.

Matt studied her with that unsettling perceptiveness. “You know, if you were more forthcoming about your actual research interests, I might be able to help.”

The offer was tempting. But Kaitlin recognized the strategy: offer assistance to encourage disclosure. She’d used similar tactics herself in her professional life.

“That’s very kind,” she replied carefully. “I’ll consider it. I’ve worked with other law enforcement agencies in other research. It’s part of my profession.”

“And what would you call your profession, exactly? Beyond vague interests in immigration patterns?”

“I’m attached to the British Historical Society,” she said, falling back on the cover story she’d prepared. Her credentials were authentic, her reason for being there wasn’t. But revealing her true purpose would close more doors than open them.

Matt nodded, though his face suggested he wasn’t convinced. “Must be a fascinating job.”

“It has its moments.” Kaitlin signaled for the check, suddenly eager to end the encounter before she revealed anything else. “Though I’m sure it pales in comparison to law enforcement on an island of… what is your population now? Under five thousand year-round residents?”

“Four thousand eight hundred and seventy-three, according to last year’s census,” he confirmed. “But don’t let the numbers fool you. We get our share of excitement.”

“Unexpected human remains on historic properties?” Kaitlin provoked.

Matt’s frown cooled slightly. “Among other things.” He reached for the check as Jenna placed it on the table, but Kaitlin was faster.

“Please,” she said, “allow me. Consider it an apology for my prickly demeanor this afternoon.”

He hesitated, then inclined his head in acceptance. “Thank you.”