Page 70 of Buried Secrets

Mrs. Holloway adjusted her grip on the lunch bag, her knuckles white. “The question is, do you?”

Matt noted the tension around her eyes, the way she held herself rigid. “I think you know more than you’ve shared.”

“Think. Suspect. Assume.” Mrs. Holloway shook her head. “You’re fishing, Sheriff Winters. And I’m not a foolish old woman who’s going to spill her guts because you ask nicely. I’ve known you your whole life, Mattison Winters.”

The steel in her voice reminded Matt of why Eleanor Holloway had been such an effective town clerk. Decades of handling difficult residents and complex bureaucracy had given her a backbone that age hadn’t bent.

“Mrs. Holloway, two women were murdered. Young women who sought your brother-in-law for help.”

“And you think what? That he killed them?” Mrs. Holloway’s eyes flashed with anger.

“I think someone at the Foundation was running an illegal adoption scheme after the Foundation closed down. I think when those women threatened to expose what was happening, they were silenced.”

Mrs. Holloway was quiet for a long moment, her gaze fixed on something beyond Matt’s shoulder. When she spoke again, her voice had lost some of its edge.

“You want to know the truth?” She looked directly at him. “Then ask the right questions, Sheriff. Be specific about what you think you know.”

“I know Robert and Dr. Whitaker were facilitating fraudulent adoptions with unjustified fees for profit.”

“Is that what you think happened?” Mrs. Holloway said the words slowly.

Matt felt like he was walking through a minefield. “You know more than you’re telling me.”

Mrs. Holloway slammed the car door, abandoning the conversation to leave for work. She rolled the window down for one last word.

“If you want information from me, Sheriff Winters, you get a warrant. You search my house, my records, my personal effects, and anything I may have of Robert’s. You do this properly, through legal channels.” The words cracked like a whip.

“Mrs. Holloway—”

“And we both know Judge Morrison isn’t going to give you a warrant based on thirty-year-old suspicions and DNA that proves nothing about what happened in my home. So until you have something more substantial than fishing expeditions and accusations, I suggest you direct your questions elsewhere.”

Matt felt his frustration building. “Mrs. Holloway, if you know something—”

“I know my brother-in-law wasn’t a murderer. He was many things, but not that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She started the engine, the old Honda coughing to life. “Good day, Sheriff. I have work to do.”

Matt stepped back as she reversed out of the driveway, gravel spitting under her tires. He watched until the car disappeared around the bend, leaving him standing alone in the morning silence with more questions than answers.

Eleanor Holloway had thrown down a challenge, demanding he come back with specific questions and legal authority.

The problem was, Matt wasn’t sure anymore that he knew the right questions to ask.

Matt’s phone buzzed for the fourth time in an hour as he sat at his desk, staring at the legal pad where he’d been trying to outline probable cause for a search warrant. The same number kept appearing on the screen. Samira Haddad. He’d been ignoring her texts all morning, too frustrated with the Holloway dead end to deal with whatever updates she had. They had their victims’ identities and now it was up to him, and Agent Cook, to solve the rest of the crimes.

Cook, whom he hadn’t heard from since their meeting at the ME offices in Portland, before his trip up to Presque Isle to meet with the Straub family. Whom Matt also thankfully did not run into this morning on a hurried trip off island to try to talk to his grandmother, the widow Whitaker.

Matt had been summarily dismissed and escorted to the door of the exclusive apartment house by an overzealous security guard.

The phone rang again. This time he answered.

“Winters.”

“Finally! I’ve been trying to reach you all morning.” Samira’s voice carried slight irritation. “Did you get my texts?”

“Sorry. Been dealing with uncooperative witnesses.” Matt rubbed his temples where a headache was building. He could have stopped by her office while he was in Portland, but thought better of it, not wanting to run into Agent Cook. “What’s so urgent?”