Page 69 of Buried Secrets

She began her warm-up stretches on the small porch, working the stiffness from muscles that had spent too many hours tensed with anxiety and lack of sleep. The fog muffled sound, creating an eerie silence broken only by the distant crash of waves against rocks.

Movement caught her eye through the gray curtain of mist. A figure approached along the path, tall and lean, with the familiar golden shape of a dog at his side. James, the elderly gentleman she’d encountered before, out for his morning constitutional despite the inhospitable weather.

Kaitlin frowned. She hadn’t seen him on the private drive to the cottages from the mansion. His presence seemed a bit invasive at this very early hour. Immediately, she thought of Amy’s little dog, Ollie, who would surely be upset at the intrusion of another animal in his territory. Amy wouldn’t be happy being roused so early. Ollie’s silence struck her as odd, almost unsettling. Where was the inevitable barking? Was Amy away?

The golden retriever bounded ahead of his owner, disappearing into the fog in the direction of Amy’s garden. Still no answering bark from Ollie. Amy must have spent the night at her sister’s across the bluff, which she’d been doing often since the remains were found in her garden.

“Good morning,” the man called as he drew nearer, his voice carrying a distant quality in the muffled air.

“Morning,” Kaitlin replied. He wore the same clothes she’d seen him in before: a navy sweater and khaki trousers that looked insufficient for the damp cold. “Quite a fog we have today.”

“Indeed. Makes everything look different, doesn’t it? Familiar places become mysterious.” He paused at the edge of her porch, his pale eyes fixed on her face with an intensity that made her uncomfortable.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked, noting the chill that had her shifting from foot to foot.

“Cold?” He seemed to consider the question with unusual seriousness. “I suppose I am. Wet and cold, you might say. Have been for some time now.”

Fine hairs on the back of Kaitlin’s neck prickled and she shivered, knowing she must get going before the cold air made warming up harder.

Something about him felt off. But before she could pursue the thought, Winston reappeared from the fog near Amy’s cottage, trotting back to his owner’s side with obvious reluctance.

“I should let you get on with your run,” the man said, though he made no move to continue his own walk. “Wouldn’t want to delay your routine.”

“Right.” Kaitlin stepped down from the porch, suddenly eager to put distance between herself and the walker. “Have a good morning.”

She set off down the path at an easy pace, her body grateful for the familiar rhythm of movement. Taking a corner through the trees, she glanced back in the direction of her cottage, but he’d already disappeared through the fog.

The main road materialized out of the mist like a gray ribbon, its familiar curves promising the five-mile loop that would carry her past the harbor, through the village, and back to the cottage. By then, it would be time to get showered and ready to meet her brother. The thought warmed her belly. It would be nice to have a connection, a sibling.

As her pace settled into the steady cadence that would carry her through the miles ahead, Kaitlin found herself thinking about Matt. He was probably already at his desk reviewing the case files about the murders that had happened before she was born. Part of her wanted to call him, to explain again why she’d lied, to make him understand that her deception had come from desperation rather than malice. She’d needed to shield herself from lurking danger.

Danger that was real.

The fire, the snake. Someone didn’t want her to find what was in those records. What they were both clearly close to finding.

But she had shattered Matt’s trust. Some things, once broken, could not be easily repaired.

The rhythm of her breathing matched the rhythm of her feet against the asphalt, carrying her forward into the gray morning and through the mournful sound of the foghorn in the distance. One step after the other was all she could do. Just keep moving forward.

Chapter 19

The gravel crunched under Matt’s tires as he pulled into Eleanor Holloway’s driveway. He’d timed his arrival carefully, knowing Mrs. Holloway would leave to be at her desk in the town offices by eight thirty. Her decades of municipal service had ingrained certain habits. Matt spotted her emerging from the side door, a small lunch cooler tucked under one arm, keys jingling in her free hand.

She paused when she saw his cruiser, surprised then guarded. Eleanor Holloway was in her late 80s, but her mind remained sharp as winter wind. She knew why he was here.

“Sheriff Winters.” She continued toward her small car, an aging Honda she’d driven for years. “You’re out early this morning.”

“Mrs. Holloway.” Matt approached slowly, keeping his tone conversational. “I was hoping to catch you before you headed into work.”

“I see.” She opened the car door but didn’t get in, using it as a barrier between them. “More questions about my late brother-in-law’s work, I suppose.”

“Among other things.” Matt leaned casually on the car door separating them. “We’ve identified the women who were buried on mansion property and are interviewing relatives.”

Mrs. Holloway’s laugh was sharp as breaking glass. “Good for you.”

The response caught him off guard. He’d expected denial, deflection, perhaps confusion about events from three decades past. Not apathy.

“You know why I’m here?” he asked.