Page 20 of Buried Secrets

Samira considered the question as she took a sip of water. “I’ve always been fascinated by the stories bones can tell. Each skeleton is a narrative—the healed fractures, the wear patterns, the evidence of disease or trauma. Together, they create a biography of who the person was.”

Her eyes lit up as she spoke, revealing a passion for her work that transcended professional interest. Matt found himself drawn in by her enthusiasm.

“And in cases like this one,” she continued, “it feels like giving voice back to people who were silenced.”

A gust of cold air blew into the dining room as another guest arrived out of the corner of his eye. Matt could tell it wasn’t an island resident by the way the waiter and bartender reacted. Samira’s own face registered surprise, followed by a look of disdain. Matt turned to see who it was.

Matt saw a man scanning the small dining room with the practiced eye. In his late thirties, with slicked-back dark hair and a leather jacket, he carried himself with the unmistakable confidence of law enforcement.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Samira muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Matt to hear.

The man spotted them, and his face shifted to surprised delight. He made his way directly to their table.

“Dr. Haddad,” he announced, a touch too loudly for the intimate setting. “What are the odds? I was told there was only one decent restaurant on this rock.”

“Agent Cook,” Samira acknowledged, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “I wasn’t aware you’d been assigned to this case.”

“Last-minute switch. Diaz got pulled into the Worcester situation.” He turned his attention to Matt, extending his hand. “Special Agent Reid Cook.”

Matt stood to accept the handshake. “Sheriff Matt Winters. We weren’t expecting FBI presence until tomorrow.”

“Caught an earlier ferry. Thought I’d get a head start.” Agent Cook’s grip was firm to the point of aggression. “Mind if I join you?”

Before either could respond, Agent Cook had already signaled the waiter for another chair and was shrugging off his jacket.

Matt caught the slight tensing in Samira’s shoulders, the subtle way she shifted her chair to create more distance. That there was a history between them was evident even without words, and he was certain it went beyond professional acquaintances.

Agent Cook turned his attention to the waiter. “I’ll have whatever the local special is and a scotch, neat.”

“So, what can you tell me about this mansion?” Agent Cook pressed, taking a sip of his scotch after the server delivered it.

“We can talk more in the morning. I’ll be at the site before eight. But I can tell you it was operated as a home for unwed mothers by a private foundation until the late 80s or early 90s,” Matt explained. “Then it sold to a local family who maintained it but left it unused. The current owner inherited it recently and is renovating it as a wellness retreat.”

“Unwed mothers,” Cook repeated, a gleam of interest in his eyes. “Now that’s promising. Vulnerable women, isolated location, institutional setting. Classic predator hunting ground.”

The assessment wasn’t wrong, but something about Cook’s almost enthusiastic delivery made Matt uneasy.

“Trying to keep this quiet,” Matt said carefully, quietly. “Small town and all.”

Cook nodded and took another sip from his drink. “Of course, of course. Excited to dive in.”

“Right,” Matt replied evenly.

Their meals arrived, temporarily pausing the conversation. Matt noticed that Samira had barely touched her wine and had grown guarded.

“So, Samira,” Cook said, cutting into his haddock, “How long are you staying on the island? Maybe we could grab dinner again tomorrow, catch up properly.” He flashed what he clearly thought was a winning smile. “For old times’ sake.”

“My schedule is pretty full with the analysis.”

“Come on, you have to eat,” Cook pressed.

Samira’s non-response caused an uncomfortable silence to fall over the table. They finished their meals with minimal small talk about the food and questions about the island.

Finally, the meal ended and Samira excused herself. Her exit was followed by Agent Cook’s shortly after, much to Matt’s relief. His mind flitted briefly to the conversation he’d had that afternoon with Amy, about how he treated outsiders. There was some truth to what she said. He wasn’t comfortable at all with the number of outsiders on the island specifically for the case, and his immediate dislike of Special Agent Reid Cook accentuated his discomfort.

Outside, the night air had turned colder, a hint of frost in the wind coming off the water.

Sighing, he got into his car and drove home.