Page 17

“Deidre,” I whispered urgently, “This section looks tampered with.”

She joined me as I pushed gently on the brick. It moved slightly then caught. The ancient mortar crumbled slightly under my fingertips, leaving dusty residue beneath my manicured nails as I tried again, harder this time.

The footsteps on the stairs grew louder. I could hear Mrs. Collins announcing for everyone to take a final look at the view and then watch their step as they started back down the stairs. We had a minute tops. Maybe just seconds.

“Together,” I whispered, lining my fingers up with Deidre’s against the stubborn brick. “One, two, three.”

We pulled in unison, and the brick slid outward with a soft scrape that sounded thunderous to my hyperalert ears. It revealed a small cavity behind it, just large enough to hold?—

A Ziploc bag, yellowed with age, containing what appeared to be a small notebook and several folded papers. The bag had protected its contents from the decades of dampness and salt air.

I extracted the package with trembling fingers and nestled it into the deep pocket of my dress, the plastic crackling softly. I could hear footsteps on the metal stairs above.

In our haste, we’d left the brick displaced, a dark gap in the wall announcing our tampering to anyone who looked closely. Deidre’s eyes widened in alarm.

As the tour group began their descent, I pressed the brick back into place and gave it a good whack with my fist so it would go back into the slot. A wave of dizzying relief washed over me as I felt it slide smoothly into position.

“Thank God I wore black,” I whispered to Deidre. “I’m sweating like a racehorse.”

“Are you all right, dear?” Mrs. Collins asked, noticing that Deidre and I were waiting for the group. “You’re looking flushed.”

“Just a little lightheaded from the climb,” I said, forcing a smile. “All these stairs!”

“Take your time coming down,” she said. “I don’t want any accidents on my watch.”

Dash appeared at my elbow as we joined the group and made our way back down. “Find something?” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

I gave him a slight nod, trying to control my breathing. My hands were still shaking, adrenaline coursing through my veins like electricity. Whatever we’d just recovered had been important enough for someone to kill Elizabeth Calvert. And now it was in my possession.

I was a mess of emotions, and I could barely focus. Dash had moved off when one of the men in the group had started asking him questions about noise ordinances, and I was just trying to put one foot in front of the other.

I was so focused on appearing normal that I nearly collided with Deputy Larson at the bottom of the stairs.

“Enjoying the tour, Mrs. McCoy?” he asked, his beady gaze piercing into mine.

“Very much,” I replied, fighting to keep my voice steady. “I had no idea how complex the mechanical systems were.”

His gaze dropped briefly to my hands. “You’ve got dirt on your hands. Must have found something interesting up there.”

Ice seemed to crystallize in my veins, but I summoned a casual smile. “It’s an old place. I’m sure we’re all bringing a little bit of it back with us.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Some things are worth leaving in the past.”

I met his gaze without flinching, though my breaths came quick and shallow. “I disagree. I love the past. We can learn a lot from history. And a lot from the secrets that are buried there.”

“Just make sure you don’t get buried with them.”

I gave him a thin smile, but I maintained my composure as I brushed past him, the proof of Elizabeth Calvert’s final discovery burning like a brand against my skin.

I found Deidre across the room looking pale. “Are you okay, dear? You don’t look so good. Was that Deputy Larson?”

“Yes, that’s him,” I answered. “And I’m fine.”

“Does he suspect something?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “The only reason he’d have to suspect anything is if he knows about the diary.”

“Good point,” she said.

“We need to get out of here,” I said, feeling the weight of Elizabeth’s secret grow heavier with each passing moment. “Regroup somewhere safe.”

“Your place?” Deidre suggested.

I shook my head. “Too obvious. If someone’s watching us, that’s the first place they’ll look.”

“The tea shop, then,” Deidre decided. “Back entrance. One hour. I’ll tell the others. Be right back.”

I nodded, watching as she moved casually through the crowd before making her way to where Bea was holding court with a small group of society matrons.

I caught Dash’s eye across the lawn and gave him a slight nod toward the exit, and then held up my phone so he’d know to check my text message.

He acknowledged with an almost imperceptible tilt of his head, then deliberately turned to engage Mrs. Whitaker in conversation, providing cover for our departure.

“Let’s go,” I whispered as soon as Deidre came back. “Act like we’re leaving because you’re tired from all those stairs.”

“I don’t need to act,” she grumbled, rubbing her knee. “I’m going to feel this tomorrow.”

We made our goodbyes to a few key people, playing our parts as innocent attendees departing an ordinary fundraiser. As we walked to my car, an irresistible impulse drew my gaze back to the lighthouse, its rotating beacon punctuating the twilight with rhythmic flashes.

Elizabeth had trusted her secret to that tower, believing it would be safe until someone came looking for the truth. Now, twenty-eight years later, we’d found it—but I couldn’t shake the feeling that we weren’t the only ones searching.

As we drove through town, I took several unnecessary turns, doubling back and changing directions until I was confident no one was following us.

“I feel like I’m in one of those spy movies Walt is always watching,” Deidre commented as I made a third circuit around the town square.

“Better safe than sorry,” I replied, finally turning down the alley that led to the back entrance of The Perfect Steep. “I haven’t noticed that car that was following me before.”

“Maybe he got bored,” Deidre said. “You don’t really do a lot.”

“Thank you,” I said dryly. “All I know is that whatever’s in this package got Elizabeth killed. I’d rather not join her.”

I parked behind the shop and used my key to unlock the back door. The comforting aroma of bergamot and cinnamon that lingered even after hours of closure greeted us as we stepped into the darkened kitchen.

“I’ll put on some tea,” I said, flipping on the lights. “The others should be here soon.”

But before I could fill the kettle, the kitchen door swung open, and Sheriff Beckett stepped in. His suit jacket was gone, his tie loosened, and his expression serious.

“Did you find something?” he asked without preamble.

I nodded, pulling the plastic package from my pocket and handing it to him. “Hidden behind a brick in the mechanical room, just like Elizabeth’s diary suggested.”

Dash carefully took the yellowed plastic bag, examining it under the light. “This could be exactly what we need.” His eyes gleamed with anticipation as he placed it on the counter. “When will the others arrive?”

“They should be here shortly,” I said, filling the kettle.

I moved to put on some tea, my mind racing with possibilities about what might be inside the package.

My fingers still felt the phantom weight of the evidence through the fabric of my dress pocket.

Whatever had been in there had threatened someone powerful enough to kill for it twenty-eight years ago.

Elizabeth’s words from her diary echoed in my mind: The men who run this island—they think they’re untouchable. But I have proof now.

Three quick knocks sounded at the back door.

“That’s Hank,” Deidre said, moving toward the door.

I opened it to find Hank and Dottie waiting outside. Bea swept in behind them dramatically, the silk of her turquoise dress whispering against the doorframe as she entered.

“Did you find it?” Dottie asked without preamble.

I nodded, pointing to the package Dash was still holding. “Hidden behind a brick in the mechanical room.”

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Bea exclaimed, making a beeline for the teapot. “Open it! But first, who wants a little pick-me-up in their tea?” She grabbed the bottle of bourbon she kept under my counter.

“Sign me up,” Deidre said. “My knees are aching something fierce. Do you have any ibuprofen?”

“Look in the top right drawer of my desk,” I told her, and she shuffled off to the office.

“I’ll take a hit too,” Hank said. “But just a small one. I’m driving. I need something to take the edge off. I can’t stand those things. A bunch of uppity know-it-alls.”

“Most of those people have been your circle of friends your whole life,” Dottie said scoldingly.

“Didn’t say I didn’t like ’em,” Hank said. “Just said they’re a bunch of uppity know-it-alls.”

Dash carefully placed the package on the table. “It’s been preserved surprisingly well.”

“Plastic bag,” Dottie noted with approval. “Smart girl.”

“You have plastic gloves?” Dash asked.

“Of course,” I said, moving behind the display counter where I kept bakery items during opening hours. I handed him the gloves and he put them on with ease.

Dash opened the yellowed ziplock. Inside was a small notebook and what appeared to be several pages of financial ledgers. He gently removed them, placing them on the table.

I moved to the counter where the kettle had begun to whistle. As I prepared a pot of Earl Grey, I couldn’t help stealing glances at the table where they all huddled over Elizabeth’s hidden treasure. I arranged the teacups on a silver tray, adding sugar and milk for those who took it.

“It looks like accounting records,” I said, leaning closer as I passed out the cups.

“Not just any records,” Dash replied, his voice low. “These appear to be from the Harbor Development Corporation. And look at these notations in the margins—RM, PC. Initials.”

“Roy Milton,” Hank said immediately. “Our former crooked sheriff.”

“And PC could be Paul Cromwell, the current mayor’s father,” Deidre added. “He was on the city council back then.”

“There’s a third set of payments here,” Dash said, pointing to a column of figures with no initials beside them. “Regular amounts, substantial ones, but no identification.”

“These unmarked payments could be what Brooks was warning Elizabeth about,” I said, recalling our earlier discussion about Jason Brooks. “If he knew these payments were happening…”

“He’s definitely our next stop,” Hank agreed, examining the papers closely. “These ledgers show money moving through shell companies, payments to officials. Elizabeth was onto something big.”

“We need to talk to him as soon as possible,” Deidre insisted.

“I’ll call him first thing tomorrow,” Hank said, adjusting his glasses. “We served on a judicial panel together back in ’03. He’ll take my call.” He tapped his finger on the ledger. “I’ll tell him it’s about Elizabeth Calvert. If he has any conscience at all, that should get his attention.”

“This is just a piece of the puzzle,” Dash cautioned. “These records suggest impropriety, maybe financial fraud, but they don’t prove Elizabeth was murdered because of what she found.”

“No,” Dottie said, leaning in to study the pages. “But they give us a clear direction. If Brooks was warning her about the danger of investigating these payments, he might know who silenced her permanently.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Dash warned. “These documents are nearly thirty years old. We need to build this case carefully, interview people who were around back then. This is just the first step.”

“Well,” Bea said, raising her teacup that now smelled more of bourbon than tea, “To first steps and finding justice for Elizabeth Calvert. After thirty years, it’s about time someone finally looked for the truth.”

We all raised our cups in a solemn toast, the weight of what we’d found settling over us. Through the darkness outside, I could see the lighthouse beam sweeping across the harbor, circling endlessly as it had the night Elizabeth died.

Whatever secrets that light had witnessed all those years ago, we were finally on the path to uncovering them.