Page 57 of Buried Secrets

The timing of her burned hand raised suspicion, but Matt shook his head. The elderly woman had difficulty standing from her rocking chair. He doubted she could have climbed through the basement windows to set the fire.

One thing still needled him about the conversation: Eleanor Holloway knew more than she’d admitted. Her elusiveness about her brother-in-law and the doctor didn’t read true for what he knew of Mrs. Holloway. She could extract details from anyone about anything on the island. Thirty plus years ago, he would have bet she was the same way, though maybe more discrete than now.

The question was whether that knowledge extended to who had killed two young women thirty years ago.

The sun climbed higher as Matt drove toward the station, burning away the morning mist to reveal the island in its autumn glory. Gold and crimson leaves clung to maples along the roadside, contrasting with the deep green of surrounding pines. The beauty felt incongruous against the darkness of his thoughts.

Chapter 16

The island’s small sheriff’s station, a practical brick structure built in the 1950s welcomed him to work. Matt entered through the side door, nodding to Alice Russo who’s turn it was to man dispatch on weekends. Her silver-streaked dark hair was pulled back in its usual practical bun.

“Morning, Sheriff,” she called, barely glancing up from her crossword puzzle. “Quiet night after you broke up that nonsense at Sullivan’s.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” Matt replied, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it on the wooden coat rack beside his office door.

“I put that bag from in Harbor Inn in the evidence room. It was stinking up the office. You know when he’ll be back?” Alice asked, looking at him over her glasses. It was a look he knew well; she wasn’t pleased about something.

“Who’ll be back?” he asked.

“Special. Agent. Cook.” Alice pronounced each syllable with clear disdain for the man.

“No idea.” Matt turned away from the conversation after a snort from the clerk.

His familiar routine—checking the overnight log, scanning the weather report for marine conditions, starting a fresh pot of coffee in the ancient percolator—usually centered him, but today his thoughts kept drifting back to Eleanor Holloway’s carefully curated responses and the promise of another evening with Kaitlin.

His phone vibrated in his pocket as he settled behind his desk. Kaitlin’s name appeared on the screen, accompanied by a brief message:

Dinner at my place tonight? I’m making pasta.

Matt stared at the text longer than its simple content warranted, a ridiculous smile tugging at his mouth. He typed several responses before settling on:

Wouldn’t miss it. Need me to bring anything?

Too revealing? Too eager? He hit send before he could overthink it further, then immediately distracted himself by logging into his county email account. The backlog from Friday’s absence stared back at him—meeting notices, budget reports, and several messages from the mainland police department requesting background checks on seasonal workers.

Among them, the promised email from Samira with its multiple attachments. Subject line: Widow’s Point DNA Analysis - PRIORITY REVIEW REQUESTED.

Matt opened it immediately and skimmed Samira’s professional introduction:

Sheriff Winters,

As discussed during our meeting, please find the complete forensic analysis of both victims recovered from Widow’s Point Mansion grounds attached. Victim #1 has been positively identified as Margaret Straub (see report). Victim #2 remains unidentified by conventional methods.

However, the commercial genealogical database search has yielded potential family connections based on autosomal DNA matching. The full genetic relationship report is attached, with likely relatives highlighted according to estimated relationship proximity (sibling, half sibling, aunt/uncle, etc.).

I strongly recommend you review the highlighted names per our discussion.

Please contact me directly at the number below, NOT through official FBI channels, with any questions or observations.

Dr. Samira HaddadForensic Anthropologist

He clicked open the attachment labeled Victim2_DNA_Familial_Matches.pdf and waited as his ancient computer laboriously rendered the document.

“Sheriff?” Alice’s voice interrupted from the doorway. “Mrs. Peterson’s on the line about those kids skateboarding in the library parking lot again.”

Matt suppressed a sigh. Island policing rarely involved major crimes, but the constant stream of minor complaints and community disputes consumed more time than outsiders would ever understand.

“Tell her I’ll swing by after lunch,” he replied. “And maybe mention that we’ve got an active murder investigation that might take priority over skateboard enforcement?”