Page 74 of Buried Secrets

“You can show me. If you’re right about the Sheetrock we may not have the issue I thought we would with the historical society,” Amy replied as Kaitlin’s attention remained fixed on the contents of the pillowcase. “Kaitlin, why don’t you take a closer look at these and let me know what we found?”

“All right, come on then.” Sully headed for the door. “I’ve got a schedule to keep.”

Amy and Sully left Kaitlin alone in Amy’s office. Kaitlin reached for the journal, drawn by the familiar weight of aged leather and paper.

The journal’s cover was unmarked. Its leather binding was cracked but intact like skin stretched over old bones, likely damaged from being inside an air duct for decades. Kaitlin opened it with the reverence of someone accustomed to handling fragile documents. The pages were filled with a woman’s handwriting, neat script that grew increasingly erratic as the entries progressed.

She read silently, turning pages with gentle precision, absorbing fragments of a story. She gathered it was a journal of a resident of the foundation. The early entries spoke of arriving at the mansion, of gratitude for the sanctuary it provided. Its owner was quite a prolific journalist. She was excited about the baby growing inside her and had faith that her boyfriend would eventually come for them both. The prose was articulate, educated, suggesting a young woman with prospects that had been derailed by an unplanned pregnancy.

But as the dates progressed, the tone changed. Kaitlin went on to read the last entries, skipping over much of the contents. The handwriting here was shakier, the words pressed deep into the paper as if written with desperate urgency.

The last entry turned her blood to ice.

If you are reading this, maybe looking for me, it is because I am dead. I’ve refused their money and want to leave here with my baby. But they won’t let me leave with her. They say I need to sign away my rights to my sweet Emily, take their money and go. I’ve refused and they’ve locked me in this room. I think they’re going to kill me. Dr. Whitaker and Mr. Holloway. If you’re finding this, it’s them you’re looking for.

Kaitlin found herself running up the stairs.

“Amy!” Her voice came out strangled as she startled the construction workers with her cries. “Amy you need to call Matt. Right now.”

Amy ran to her. “What on earth is wrong? What does it say?”

“We’ve found what he’s been looking for.” Kaitlin held up the journal, her hands trembling slightly.

While Amy called Matt, Kaitlin quickly took digital photos of page after page of the fragile journal with her phone. It was faster and gentler than the copier, and she was sure she wouldn’t be seeing the journal again until after the investigation. Her hands moved with practiced efficiency as she documented what might be the most significant piece of evidence in the case.

The cover yielded little, just cracked leather and the ghost of an embossed pattern worn smooth by time. But the inside front cover held a treasure: a name written in careful script. Margaret Anne Straub, 1990. The same neat handwriting that would deteriorate into desperate scrawls by the journal’s end.

Kaitlin photographed the name twice, ensuring the image was sharp enough to read. Margaret Anne Straub. She must have been the other victim alongside Kaitlin’s own aunt.

“How are we doing?” Amy’s voice drifted from the doorway where she stood watch. “Matt’s on his way.”

“Almost finished,” Kaitlin murmured, not looking up from her work. She’d reached the middle sections now, where Margaret’s tone began to shift and the evidence became damning.

She read the words again as she documented them, each sentence an indictment that had waited thirty years to see daylight.

The photographs from the pillowcase were more challenging—faded faces that barely registered on her phone’s camera, requiring multiple attempts to capture anything useful. One showed Margaret herself, recognizable from the careful handwriting, with a young man, both smiling widely. Another seemed to be a family photograph with siblings sharing similar features.

Dr. Whitaker came again today, the journal read. He says the paperwork is ready and the adoptive family is waiting. But I told him no. I want to keep Emily. I want to try to make it work somehow. He got angry then, angrier than I’ve ever seen him. Said I was being naïve, that a girl like me had no business raising a child alone.

Kaitlin’s hands trembled slightly.

Mr. Holloway locked my door from the outside after Dr. Whitaker left. Said it was for my own protection, that I was having “emotional difficulties” that might harm the baby. But I heard them talking in the hall. I don’t think they’re going to let me leave. I just want to go home.

The final paragraph made Kaitlin’s stomach clench as she read it again. This poor girl. Tears were finding their way down her cheeks. Was this also what Marrissa and her sister had experienced?

The sound of gravel crunching in the driveway made Kaitlin look up from her phone. Through the office window, she could see Matt’s cruiser pulling up to the mansion’s entrance, emergency lights reflecting off the morning mist that still clung to the building’s weathered stones.

“He’s here,” Amy announced.

Kaitlin quickly captured the locket and the remaining photographs and emailed the files to herself and Amy as another back up. She slipped it into her pocket before setting the journal back on Amy’s desk.

She heard Matt’s footsteps in the corridor. In moments, he would take possession of everything they’d found, and it would disappear into the legal system. But Kaitlin would have her own copy of Margaret’s final testimony.

For the first time since arriving on Widow’s Point Island, she felt like she was holding more than just fragments of the past. She was holding proof of what had happened here, written in a dead woman’s hand, who’d waited thirty years for someone to find her story.

The footsteps grew closer. Kaitlin closed the journal gently and arranged it back on Amy’s desk beside the locket and photographs exactly as they’d found it.

Whatever happened next between her and Matt, whatever remained of their fractured relationship, this discovery belonged to all of them—to the investigation, to the victims, and to the long-overdue reckoning that was finally within reach.