Page 19 of Skin and Bones

“July 2, 1996,” I said. “Two weeks before she died.”

I flipped forward a few pages and found another troubling entry.

Sometimes I think I’m being followed. M’s car was parked outside the library again today. Just sitting there. When I came out, he drove away without a word. Do they know? Have they figured out what I found?

“M could be Milton,” I said, frowning. “The former sheriff.”

Dash nodded. “That makes sense.”

I scanned the entry again. “As for J…I have no idea. I was just a toddler back then.” I tapped my fingers on the table. “I’ve heard stories about the island’s politics from that era, but it’s all secondhand information.”

“The Silver Sleuths might know,” Dash suggested.

“Oh, they definitely will,” I said, smiling slightly. “If there was a prominent J in 1996, they’ll know exactly who it was and what they were hiding.”

I continued reading, growing increasingly disturbed by Elizabeth’s final entries.

The men who run this island—they think they’re untouchable. But I have proof now. Proof that would burn everything down. J says I’m being dramatic, that I should just leave town, go to Duke early and forget what I found. But he doesn’t understand. This isn’t just about politics or money. People died.

That last entry was dated July 10, 1996—three days before her body was found floating in the harbor.

“She knew something,” I said, looking up at Dash. “Something big enough to get her killed.”

“But what?” he asked, reaching for the diary.

Before he could take the diary, my phone rang, startling us both.

I held up my phone so he could see the caller ID and then I answered.

“Deidre,” I said. “Is everything okay?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” she said. “Mrs. Pembroke just called. Says the sheriff’s car has been parked outside your house since midnight.”

I closed my eyes. “Of course she did.”

“She seems to think you’re in some kind of trouble. Are you in trouble, dear? Because I can call Walt?—”

“I’m fine,” I said, cutting her off. “Sheriff Beckett is here on…case business.”

There was a beat of silence. “At midnight?”

“Yes.”

“And did this case business require you to wear your nightgown, or was that just a bonus for the sheriff?”

I felt my face heat. “How does she even know what I’m—” I stopped. “Never mind. I’ll explain tomorrow at the shop.”

“We’ll be there early,” she promised, then added in a whisper, “And Mabel, dear? You might want to close your bedroom curtains. Mrs. Pembroke has her binoculars out.”

I hung up and turned to Dash, who was failing to hide his amusement. “This is why I don’t date,” I muttered.

Dash raised an eyebrow. “The rumor mill works quickly here.”

“You have no idea.” I stood up, suddenly aware of how intimate this scene must appear—the two of us at my kitchen table in the dim midnight light, me in my nightgown and robe. “I need to try and get some sleep. I have to be up to open the shop in a couple of hours.”

“Keep the diary with you,” he said, coming to his feet. “Keep it hidden. I’ll call you tomorrow to discuss what you find.”

I nodded, clutching the diary. “What are you going to do?”